#such a spoilsport honestly

[119sigh]

[statementlou]

Speaking of screens.  Have you seen the ones for Back to You?? I'm convinced that one of them says HIM in huge capital letters and one says MAN and the rest is lyrics in tiny font.  Am I seeing things or?

I saw a post with a video showing the Him part! Would like to see the bit with Man in it, that must be a different part- I'd like to see the whole song and get the whole picture. Gives bigtime Just Like You MV vibes with the newspaper stuff, right? In the one I have it's the lyrics to Back To You stationary in the middle, behind the live video of Louis singing it, with some larger font parts cut off- it looks to me like those parts are, although extremely oddly formatted, back up vocal parts ("it fucks him up, it kills him....") So the "..LS HIM" is visible at the top and to the side you can see "...IM UP".

Last time on those live screens they did a lot of this overlay stuff too like it would be the crowd faces or phone lights with Louis over top. I would be interested to see if it's the same every night- the on the fly live editing of Louis and the band definitely changes every night, and some of the background stuff may also change show to show, or it may not. If anyone finds more video (from the shows we've had or in the future) please send!

[fraugwinska]

Hi! Okay, damn, sorry, i tried to chill out and not request again so quickly 😅 but I've been constantly thinking about your writing, and I've read all your Alastor one shots like 10 times each...

I'm especially hung up on the ending of More than Words, I did not expect you to end it in such a sweet way and honestly I'd love to see a follow up to that, basically a part two :)

Plot wise I was thinking:

It's been a few weeks since the two of you fell asleep on the couch and Charlie is getting impatient since nothing else happened between Alastor and reader but she can see the way the two looks at each other when they think no one is watching. So, Charlie being Charlie, makes up a plan to set you two up. She also involves everyone at the hotel and some people outside (Rosie) - she makes it so whenever there's some activity, you two are always paired up, or Rosie invites you both for dinner but five minutes into it she leaves saying she forget about something important. And you notice what she's trying to do and while you do appreciate it, you also see that Alastor feels anxious and pressured (you see that but not the fact he's growing feeling for you), so you decide to talk with her. And Alastor hears everything? And we get another amazing sweet emotional ending? 👀🥰

Last thing last - please do not feel pressured to write it or anything, i just wanted to share this with you cause it's been on my mind 😅❤️

You ask - the fluff fairy delivers! 🧚✨ I loved More than words, so I was super happy and excited to write a continuation - and it's as fluffy and wholesome as can be! :> Thank you, Anon, for the suggestion and your beautiful, kind words!!!

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Louder than Words

"...and with Niffty choosing Husk, that leaves you two."

Charlie clapped her hands together with a gleeful smile, eyes darting between an annoyed looking Alastor and an annoyed looking you.

"Yes. That leaves us.", you sigh.

"Again.", Alastor adds, the smile on his lips twitching.

"Oh come on, guys, don't be such spoilsports. Look at how much fun this is!" she gestured to a blindfolded and beaten up Vaggie, cursing at Angel in Spanish who howled with laughter as he pushed her through Charlies makeshift obstacle course with much too much carelessness.

"Well I'll be damned. Ange actually managed to get her to to run into the same desk twice without gettin' punched.", Husk said in amused bewilderment, just as a loud "OUCH, ey, stop it Vagina!" was heard. Niffty giggled, blindfolding herself and taking Husks paw. The cat groaned but started to lead her - or more she dragged him - through the course, constantly (almost purposely) hitting something in her way.

You and Alastor looked at each other.

"Well, I guess you don't feel like going through a minefield of office furniture.", you shrugged, and took the last blindfold from Charlies hands, ignoring her excited squeal as you put it on. "Don't let me run into the coffee table, my shins still hurt from last weeks bonding exercise..."

Alastor let out an exasperated sigh. "Very well, then."

This was getting out of hand. As you felt Alastor's hand on your back, pushing you into the blindness forward, you thought about the last few bonding and trust exercises and how blatantly obvious Charlie was in her determination to get you and Alastor together.

At first you didn't mind, since she didn't make you do anything that wasn't bearable. On one activity, you had to tell your partner what you appreciated about them, that had been easy. Before Alastor could turn to Niffty, who stood next to him, she had almost hauled herself away, insisting on Angel as her partner, and Angel - next to you - nodded with unfitting eagerness. Alastor told you about how good you were at listening and giving good advice, and you had told him you loved the way he spoke - the accent, his way of choosing words and the melodic voice he had, and that you liked his laugh. Easy.

On another activity, Charlie made everyone pair up (of course, you were Alastor's partner, and this time you were sure the sticks you drew were marked by Charlie and Husk by the way they had shared mischievous looks) and hug their partner for five minutes. That had been less fun. You were much too aware how averse Alastor was to physical touch, and although he could've had it worse with Angel or Vaggie, you still felt bad when you saw the look on his face as Charlie set the timer. "We don't have to, Al. I can just sit this one out.", you had told him, but with a pained smile, he wrapped his arms around you stiffly, holding you in an awkward embrace. "It's alright dear, just... stay still, would you?" It had been a weird, uncomfortable silence, those five minutes. You avoided any touch yourself and did not dare to look him in the eyes, so to not make it any more weird for him.

It had taken you a long time to understand that the radio demon was, in it's essence, just another former human being turned sinner. A man with a lot of traumas and issues, who had died and gone to hell. Not a good person by heavenly standards... by most standards really, being an overlord and cannibal and all, but in hell that didn't really mean anything, you were all there for a reason. It certainly meant nothing to you. With a lot of work from your end, he had learned to trust you, and in return he let you get to know him, step by step.

But all these efforts could go down the drain at this infuriating persistence of everyone around you to force something that shouldn't be forced. Alastor was already uncomfortable at being touched, already hesitant to share things from his past, or his feelings, already on the fence of showing genuine kindness and trust. The last thing you wanted was to lose all the progress you've made with him.

The feeling of his arms around you had burned itself into your memory, and the scent of him had stuck to your skin for a long time. You weren't stupid, it had been a long time coming, this goddamn crush on him, this fluttering feeling one gets when getting too close to another. You had fallen for him a long time ago, and you could argue with reason all you wanted - it didn't change the fact you liked Alastor more than just a friend. BUT - and this but was important - he never had shown any interest in relationships, romance, love or anything. And that was fine. You were content to have him in your life, and if that was as 'just' trusted friends, you would still take it in a heartbeat.

"Watch out, darling, armchair to your left." Alastor's voice, right next to your ear, made you flinch. "Careful now, the carpet is starting to change into hardwood.", he warned and you nodded, taking careful steps. You had no idea where you were in the foyer, or if you were nearing the door or the stairs. "Are we anywhere close to the finish line?", you asked him and you heard his quiet chuckle.

"Oh no, we still have quite a way to go. Don't worry, my dear, I'll make sure you're not going to run into the remains of the cupboard Niffty just destroyed." His hand on your waist, guiding you, made you swallow nervously.

That gesture reminded you of another instance of your friends overreaching insistence - your visit at Rosie's last week. Rosie, your long-time friend, had invited you and Alastor for a dinner party. She had sent a message through Charlie (which should have been your first clue that something was not right), but both of you had decided to go, because who were you to deny her hospitality? You had been surprised to find her emporium so... empty, when you entered. No servants, no other guests, no one. Only you, Alastor and Rosie, sitting in her lounge chatting about the newest gossip of hellish politics before she served a whole feast of venison, various vegetables and side dishes, all of which had looked exquisite and overly fancy.

She had left almost as soon as you and Alastor sat down, saying she forgot to pick up something important from across the colony, and to not wait on her while she rushed out of the room with a glistening smile. You had watched her suspiciously, knowing she was up to something. It didn't take a genius to realize she was trying to set you two up, and Alastor seemed to have understood the same, because of the way he pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly uncomfortable and tense the whole evening. It had been a somewhat awkward affair, the two of you eating and desperately chatting, unwilling to waste the food. But you couldn't even get a proper bite down your throat with how much your stomach was twisting.

When Rosie returned, she found you sitting on the sofa, drinking tea, while Alastor was absent.

"Did something happen?", she had asked you with a pinch of impish curiosity, and you had replied "No. Nothing." in a dry tone. She had sat down next to you, asking how dinner had been, and if the two of you enjoyed yourselves. "Oh yes, it was lovely, although your seat empty surely was a little damper on the fun." you had answered, giving her a fake smile. You never saw her that abashed before. When Alastor returned to bring you back to the hotel, the walk had been... silent. Awkward, as you hung on his arm he had presented you, with him unable to look you in the eyes and you not wanting to press him into more talking. When you had arrived home, he guided you through the double doors, his hand on your waist, before quickly saying good night and melting into his shadows to rush away into his room, leaving you alone in the dark foyer.

It was like you were standing on glass, always having an eye out to make sure others wouldn't push too hard and break the thin ice you walked on, with a dangerous fondness deep beneath the surface, too fragile to poke.

"...listening, Darling?"

"Huh? What?"

You felt the blindfold being removed from your eyes, the sudden light blinding you.

"You look a little flushed my dear." you blinked your eyes, only to see Alastor stand directly in front of you, just barely out of arms reach, staring you in the face with a scrutinizing expression. "The exercise is over, we made it through the course without a scratch, I hope I didn't cause you any discomfort."

It took a moment for you to realize that you stood at the edge of the maze of furniture, but what really knocked you off your balance was the way Alastor's head was tilted slightly to one side, his crimson eyes almost boring through you, staring deep into your soul, as if he was looking for you, truly seeing you, and how he reached out a sharp tipped hand towards you with the look of worry on his face. You took a step back, laughing nervously and raking a hand through your hair.

"All good, Al. I'm just glad there's no imprint of my face on any of the cupboards." You saw him jerk his hand back with a pained smile. "Splendid.", he laughed, the edges of it trembling. He looked everywhere but at you, "Shall we join the others, then?"

You followed him to one of the sofas and let yourself fall on the plush cushions next to him. You watched his ears twitch as Angel hollered a jubilant cheer of Vaggie's name, who finally reached the end of the course, the blood on her shins almost dried. Husk patted a panting Niffty on the back with a fond look, while Charlie cheered as Angel bowed for her with a big grin.

"Told 'ya the spicy taco and I could make it out alive and in one piece, Charls!"

Vaggie gave Angel a deathly glance, then sighed. "It's high time for lunch, hon. All the blood loss made me hungry..."

The group collectively agreed and headed towards the kitchen, talking and laughing loudly with each other. You couldn't help but give Alastor, who kept his gaze anywhere else than to you, a look, furrowing your brow. This had to stop, now.

"Charlie, do.... do you have a minute?"

The princess stopped to look at you, her smile disappearing and her eyes widening as she saw the stern expression on your face.

"Uh- Yeah, sure.", she shot Vaggie a look, as if begging for her help, but you just grabbed her hand and pulled her away into a nearby corridor while the others snickered and headed off, telling them to take their time. Charlie gave you a nervous glance, and the pitiful face of guilt only worsened your mood.

"Charlie, I know you mean well, but you have to stop."

"Listen, I didn't mean any harm..." Her face was full of pitiful remorse. You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed.

"I'm aware of that, Charlie, but you are making Al uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry, really, that's not my intention! I just Thought you two need a little push in the right..."

"This whole... THIS might end our friendship all together and I don't want to take that risk! You're even getting the others involved. For fuck's sake, even Rosie is in on it. Al doesn't want this - us, relationship-thing, WHATEVER, and it is not okay for you to press us!"

Her eyebrows shot up. "But you want it."

"What?", you said, irritated.

"You're only talking about him, and his feelings. But what I'm hearing is, that you... you like him, right? You'd say yes to..."

Tears of frustration shot into your eyes. Why didn't Charlie get it? "That doesn't matter. It's not something only one can decide, you should know that. He doesn't feel the same, and that's fine. He doesn't want to be with me, and that's fine. I can accept that. What I can't accept is the way you're hellbent on forcing a relationship on us. He is happy the way we are, and I don't want you and the others to mess that up."

You turn away from her, angry and hurt. "I just... want him to be happy. To have his boundaries respected."

"I... I'm sorry...", Charlie started, but you already walked off.

You were angry. Angry at Charlie, angry at everyone, angry at yourself. Almost at your doorstep, a hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"Dearest? I'd like to talk, if that's alright with you."

It was Alastor. Of course it was Alastor.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, a feeling of dread and guilt washing over you, as if he had overheard the entire conversation, and you slowly turned around, swallowing. He didn't seem upset, but his face was calm and serious, not the usual cheerful smile on his lips.

"Of course."

He held the door to your own room open for you, closing it behind him after you entered.

"Take a seat, Darling, if you would."

You sat down, hands in your lap, avoiding his gaze, looking at your carpet with feigned interest. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, a painful stinging sensation in your stomach.

"Darling, would you look at me, please."

With a heavy sigh, you obliged, looking up.

"Al, listen, I'm sorry...", you started, but were interrupted by the radio demon's hand, raising up.

"Please. Let me talk, would you, my dear."

You closed your mouth, and he nodded, a gentle smile on his lips.

"I know I'm a... difficult man. And I am not exactly the best in understanding the feelings of others. I also know that the princess and - under her meticulous orchestration - our fellow residents, are quite adamant in their endeavor to try and push us together."

You swallowed, hard. The way he looked at you made your stomach drop.

"Al, listen, it's alright, I've talked to Charlie and I'll tell the others to stop..."

"Darling, would you PLEASE shut up for a minute?"

The room was suddenly silent. He rarely talked like that to you.

"As I was saying..." He sighed, and you couldn't help but think he was utterly frustrated. You felt horrible. "I don't appreciate it when people assume what I want or don't want."

"Neither do I.", you mumbled, and he let out a laugh.

"That is precisely my point, Darling." Alastor took a few steps towards you, his cane twirling in his hands before he poofed it out of existence. "And as such, I've been pondering for a while how to proceed. The way the others keep pestering us, I thought it's better to clear things up between us."

Your heart sank. So he did overhear your conversation with Charlie, after all. You couldn't blame him. You would've done the same.

"Alastor, I understand..."

"Do you now?", he asked, tilting his head to one side, an incredulous smirk playing on his lips. Lips that were suddenly awfully close to your own. When did he get so close? Why did he get so close?!

Everything slowed down - his arm snaked around your waist, his hand came up to your neck, a thumb caressing the little dip of the bottom of your jaw. Your trembling hands came to rest on his chest, and you felt his heartbeat hammering underneath the fabric of his jacket. His eyes, those beautiful crimson eyes, were fixed on yours, and your breath came out in a shaky sigh before his lips closed over yours, kissing you so softly and sweetly you could barely comprehend what was happening. Your fingers gripped the lapels of his jacket, holding on for dear life, and as he deepened the kiss, you gasped, your whole body tensing, melting, yearning.

It felt like a dream, an out of body experience, and for a short, panicked moment, you felt the cold, hard grip of fear around your heart. What if it was just a dream, and when you wake up, everything is back to the way it was before? What if he would pull away any moment, and apologize, saying he made a mistake?

But the fear disappeared almost immediately, when Alastor hummed contently, and pulled you even closer to him.

You could feel the warmth of his body, the way his hand on your neck got tangled in your hair, how his breath was mingling with yours, and the scent of him filled your nose. The faint smell of spices, old books, wood and something like burnt amber, a scent you would never get enough of.

"Now tell me, dearest, if you understood.", he murmured against your lips, the grin audible in his voice.

"I... might need a little more explanation."

You could almost hear him roll his eyes as he leaned in to kiss you again, and his laughter against your lips made your heart skip more than just one beat. The sound of wood cracking and a loud rumble snapped both of your heads towards your door.

In a pile of heads and limbs, five bodies fell through the splintered wood of your door frame, groaning in pain, the remains of the door still swinging in its hinges.

Alastor looked at the pile of eavesdroppers, a wide, dangerous grin on his face.

"Dear me, what an entrance. I wonder, did the door offend you, or was that the result of a lack of proper manners?"

Angel, being the first to poke his head out of the groaning mess of sinners, pointed at you with one of his arms, the others fisted the air in victory.

"A-HA! WE FUCKING DID IT, fuck yeah!"

Niffty, the next one to crawl out of the pile, nodded eagerly.

"I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!", she chanted, jumping up and down excitedly on a groaning Husk's back.

Charlie's face came into view, a guilty look on her face as she untangled the others in a hurry, shoving them out of the door.

"Uh, so, sorry, the door was kinda in the way. Didn't want to interrupt anything, sooo, We're just gonna... get back to cooking."

With her tail between her legs, the flustered princess and her entourage vanished faster than the speed of light, leaving you and Alastor alone with your heart pounding fast, your hands still clutching the front of the overlords jacket, and his arms around your waist in a protective embrace, your breaths mingling.

"Would it bother you terribly if I killed them?", Alastor growled low in his throat, his smile widening.

You just couldn't stop grinning. "As tempting as that is... I rather you don't. For now, that is. Ask me again when they are finished cooking."

He returned your smile. "Fair enough, dear."

He closed the gap between you and his lips meet yours halfway in a soft, and most certainly not-enough-to-last-a-lifetime kind of kiss. You thought you could get used to this.

"I'm sure they can handle lunch by themselves, don't you think?", he hummed into your ear. You didn't trust your voice to reply, and simply nodded.

"Wonderful."

Tagging all commenters on 'More than words', because LOVE @mysterypotatoink @ladyzaunis @penelope-potter @lustylita @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @katgirl05 @deadt3tinside and @minkdelovely (for the daily dose of fluff)

[imagines--galore]

HELLO HELLO I SAW YOUR LITTLE JIM HAWKINS POST AND I GOTTA ADMIT! I LOVE THE BOY TOO!

was wondering if could request a little jim x reader who meet at the academy and have a little rivalry before becoming lovers? thanks! remember to take care, drink lots of water and stay safe!

Summary: Jim Hawkins & Y/n Y/l/n. Two of the most promising candidates to arrive at the Interstellar Academy in years. From academics to knowing their way around a ship, the both of them were on equal footing. Too bad they see the other as a rival. Then again, perhaps it was a good thing. For if they were to team up, they could conquer the entire galaxy if they wanted to. But when did that rivalry changed into something more? Pairing: Jim Hawkins x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. None. A/N: I mean who doesn't love the boy :3 Ok so the song I decided to pick is Téir Abhaile 'Riú by Celtic Woman. And I borrowed some elements from Kingdom Dance from Tangled because I love that scene. :3 And this got a little longer then I intended it to be.......I added too much detail to everything. Woops? Had a lot of fun with your request though!

You pursed your lips as you observed your reflection in the full length mirror. To say Emmy had been insistent about you donning a pretty outfit for the occasion would be an understatement. Your roommate had practically threatened you with it, saying she would no longer speak to you if you did not dress up. Honestly the female Canid didn't need to threaten you, no one could say no to her. Not even you.

So when she had dug through your closet and taken out the articles of clothing she deemed worthy for the event, you had put them on with no complain. A blouse and a corset with a skirt paired with shoes. The latter you had picked out yourself, having no desire to wear anything impractical should you need to kick someone in the nuts.

"You look gorgeous, Y/n." Parla your third roommate trained one of her several eyes in your direction, while simultaneously applying some black goo to the eyelashes of her remaining eye. "By human standards." Quel barely glanced up from where she was oiling her arms. You were thankful she was, your android roommate had a tendency to squeak when her joints would run out of oil. Emmy grinned proudly as she put the final touches to your hair and stepped away to appraise her work.

"Maybe you'll catch a sailor's eye while in town y/n." She giggled, prompting you to roll your eyes at her. "I doubt I'll have the time." You crossed your arms over your chest. "Since I will be making sure you don't run off half-drunk, Parla doesn't get in trouble because of her wandering eye and avoid Quel being stripped for parts by some con-person."

You had grown to be protective of your roommates over the years you had lived together. Emmy cooed as she reached out to embrace you sweetly. "You don't have to worry about us, honey! We've all excelled at our combat classes. Not to mention we'll have dates who can protect us." Both you and Quel glared at Emmy who only gave a nervous laugh. "Did you have to rope us all into dates?" The android asked, her mechanical voice somehow sounding annoyed. "Its best to go in a large group." Parla came to Emmy's rescue. "My grandmother says there might be some pirates or thieves in the crowd. And given the number of people that have come for the Ball, its best to find strength in numbers."

Emmy nodded enthusiastically. "Perhaps it is best to accept our fate and simply go along with the situation." Quel spoke as she stood and gently placed a hand on your shoulder. You sighed, closing your eyes briefly before shrugging and allowing a smile to play on your lips. You weren't about to be a spoilsport and ruin everyone's fun. After the month all of you had had, with the exams and revisions and tests and selecting the courses you would be majoring in, you all deserved a break.

A bright smile pulled at your lips and Emmy very early squealed at the sight. "Here's to having a night none of us will ever forget!" You stated with conviction, opening the door and leading your friends out of your shared room.

Little did you know how true those words would be for you.

                                          ————————–

The town of Aonadh enjoyed a rather prestigious position. On one hand it was the closest to the reputable Interstellar Academy. An Institute that had been thriving for years and housed the future generation of sailors for the Queen's Armada. Many living in town had relatives who went there, or had some other form of relation with the Academy.

On the other hand, the town served as a harbor for many ships. From merchant vessels carrying riches and trading goods, to the crafts bringing new hopefuls to begin the next phase of their journey. The port of Aonadh was always bustling, always busy. There was never a quiet moment. Every other hour would bring a new ship in. Either to relieve itself of its cargo, have repairs done, or pick up people who wished to travel.

Really town was a small word for Aonadh, but the people refused to call it a city. Their ancestors started as humble farmers before the location of the Academy changed their status to something more. They were proud of what they had accomplished over the years as well as their status so a town it remained. One could find almost every life form residing in town, Arcturians, Aquanogs, Canids, Centaurous, Cragorians, Densadrons, Felinids, Geeories, Humans, Macriki, Mantavors, Minotarous, Optocs, Roboticas, Sirenius, Tuskrus, Zirrelians and a hundred more. No one could remember the first specie that lived in Aonadh and no one cared. Everyone was treated on an equal footing and the town had a huge council that had a member from every specie living in Aonadh.

There were several attractions that beckoned the young Cadets at the Academy to spend their time off in town. From pubs that never ran out of ale, to shopping markets that overflowed with the finest wares. Not to mention the massive library that housed more then a million scrolls, books, hoverstories and maps. To say nothing of the lavish streets and squares where something was always happening.

Of course the ports were the most exciting place to be. One could meet new people, learn about shipping from seasoned sailors, or even catch a tour of one if a Cadet was so lucky.

At present the excitement going about had something to do with several large ships that had docked not a day ago. Ships carrying Cadets who had passed out over the years and were coming back for their annual party of sorts. The Annual Ball it was called. Held every ten years. A huge affair. One of the biggest ones to ever occur in the entire galaxy. Guests of honor and other people of importance were sent invitations, while the rest of them simply showed up. Unless they were on duty or had anything of importance to attend to everyone came.

                                          ————————–

It was certainly the busiest Jim Hawkins had seen it. In the years he had attended the Academy there had been several festivals he had attended with his friends, but not one of them came close to the excitement of today.

However that excitement had died down to be replaced by a burning annoyance at the sight of the only other human in his year. The very human who was now sitting at the same table as him, both of you sipping from your drinks.

It wasn't that you had anything against being set up for a blind date, it was the boy you had been set up with.

What existed between you and Jim was something of an anomaly. The both of you were the best in your batch, and quite frankly, some Professors seemed to be of the notion that you were both the best Cadets they had seen in years.

If only the two of you got along.

A bitter rivalry had formed between the both of you. Neither of you remembered who had taken the first shot, but all you knew was that you had to one up the other. And that was how it had been your entire career at the Academy.

Spiteful comments thrown at one another. Hateful glances whenever the other would be praised. Childish pranks just to annoy the other. Goading and baiting that resulted in either one or both of you getting into trouble.

The list was endless.

Honestly, if it wasn't so entertaining the Academy would've had taken action years ago. You often wandered if perhaps you and Jim had a betting pool going around in the Academy. Parla had dropped hints here and there, but you weren't quite sure.

Well, whatever existed between you and Jim, it was destroying your evening. As soon as it became clear who your date was, Parla and Quel had made themselves scarce, having the intelligence to stay clear of the obvious Supernova that was about to erupt given yours and Jim's expressions. Emmy had quickly taken you aside, begging you to go along with it, and explaining how Lyon, her crush for a good year and a half, had said he didn't want to ditch his friend while he had fun.

So Emmy had offered a solution.

Correction.

Emmy had offered you as a lamb up for slaughter.

And being the soft-hearted idiot that you were, you had relented, agreeing to going along with Emmy's plan. Only because you knew she was half in love with Lyon, and maybe this night he would work up the courage to tell her of his feelings as well.

And as you sat there, watching your best friend sway in the arms of the half-felinid and half-human male, you couldn't help but give a small smile at the happiness that seemed to radiate from the both of them.

"There must be a Supernova freezing somewhere." Stars, even his voice was annoying.

You turned your head back to look at him, that annoyed frown returning. "And what makes you say that."

He smirked, hands behind his head as he rested against the back of the booth. "You were actually smiling. I thought she-demons never smiled. Something about bursting into flames and the world coming to an end, that sort of thing."

"I smile plenty Hawkins." You responded, pursing your lips. "I just don't happen to smile at maggots such as yourself." The insult, if it were called that, seemed to bristle him enough to warrant an eye roll, though he didn't respond.

Seemingly taking his silence as a win, you returned your attention to the dancing couples. The music was lively and there would certainly be more people coming in soon. Sighing, you wished you could join in the dancing. Of course there was no chance of that happening.

You had no desire to ask a stranger, for fear they would try something untoward. And there was no way in the entire galaxy you were about to ask Jim Hawkins to dance with you.

Glancing at your empty glass of drink, you stood and stretched, completely missing Jim watching you out of the corner of his eye. "If I am to tolerate your company for the rest of this evening I'm gonna get another drink." He rolled his eyes, prompting you to give him a glare that had one too many cadets backing off in fear.

But not Jim. Jim was used to your glares and stares and returned them at an equal footing.

Walking toward the bar, you waved at the many tentacled bartender who was quick to give you your drink. The glass was a little too full, prompting you to walk carefully back to your table.

Perhaps it should've been better that you kept your attention on the people around you rather then the drink you were trying not to spill.

A boisterous group of sailors jostled you, propelling you forward and causing your drink to spill.

Nearly emptying the entire contents of it down the front of one of the sailors who had bumped into you.

"What the hell!? Watch it!" He cried out, swiping at the front of his uniform in an effort to wipe away the liquid. Of course, that didn't help.

Angry at loosing your drink, you glared at the male. "You were the one too drunk to walk properly, how am I to blame for your incompetence?" Maybe it wasn't the wisest of decisions to be picking a fight with someone who looked like he had some Densadron blood in him, but you didn't care.

You were already having a horrible evening, so why not make it worse.

Your words only served to make the male, and his group of friends angry. Pursing your lips, your hand slipped to the hidden slit of your skirt where you kept a taser knife for safety reasons. Your fingers itched, ready to pull it out when suddenly the stare down between you and the male was broken by a very familiar voice.

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you."

Astonished, you pivoted on your feet, just in time to see Hawkins drape an arm around your waist and pull you to his side. That wasn't what shocked you.

What shocked you the most was the smile he wore. One that was directed at you.

"Making friends I see." He continued while your brain tried it's best to compute the situation that was going on. "I'm sorry about that, my girlfriend gets a little light-footed when shes had one too many."

Girlfriend?!?!?

The group of sailors seemed to be calming down somewhat. Jim had that effect on people whenever he stepped in to stop a would-be squabble.

Ironic considering the numerous fights he had started in his younger days.

"How about she pay for the damage to my uniform, and I let her go." The male grunted, scowling down at the both of them. Suddenly his eyes zeroed in on you the way they hadn't before. A lecherous smile formed on his lips, one that had you scowling in disgust. "She can either pay money or show me a good time. I don't mind either." The rest of his group laughed boisterously, elbowing one another, wearing the same smile as their friend was.

His words seemed to snap you out of wherever your mind was. Pushing aside Jim's previous words, and trying hard not to comprehend where his arm still rested around her waist you opened your mouth to tell the disgusting male where he could shove something where the sun don't shine.

A firm but light pressure around your waist had you stopping. You watched, astonished, as Jim moved to stand in front of you, his stance protective, and an anger in his eyes that had you blinking in surprise.

"Or maybe I should have you reported for showing such disrespect to a future Captain of the Royal Armada."

It was then that the group realized who they were speaking to. Their gazes flitted to the pin you had proudly stuck to the right side of your chest. A coat of arms that assigned your rank, despite having not even graduated yet. Jim had the same pin, though his was hidden by the jacket he wore. Though he made no effort to hide it as he pushed aside the front of his garment to reveal it to the buffoons.

Being Captain meant you had authority and power that no lowly sailor had. It didn't matter what age you were, so long as you were a rank above, you held power.

And at that moment you wanted nothing more then to throw the idiot in jail for daring to make such a proposition to you.

The group began to retreat, taking their friend with them. The danger past, Jim turned his attention to you.

"You okay?" He asked, his eyes roving over your frame, as if looking for some sign of injury.

You nodded. "I'm fine." Despite there having been no physical altercation, you were still a little shaken. "You didn't need to step in. I had it handled." You finally said, still clutching your half full glass. Jim rolled his eyes.

"Not from where I was standing."

You scowled. "I was ready to fight him if I needed to."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "And get expelled so close to graduating? You're reckless Y/n, but I know you're not that reckless."

"And why should you care? Wouldn't you prefer to graduate top of the class all by yourself? Not share your spotlight with anyone."

He nodded. "I would." He paused before a teasing smile pulled at his lips. "But then who would be my rival when I make Captain?"

You waved your hand. "I'm sure you would find someone else to piss off."

"I doubt they would be as beautiful as you."

You gaped at him, had barely voiced your astonishment when his eyes widened in realization of what he had just said.

A bright blush overcame his cheeks, one that had him gulping nervously, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

"Y-you think I'm.............beautiful?" You could barely believe the words coming out of your mouth. An awkward shrug was his only response.

Normally you would've teased him mercilessly about revealing something so intimate. But right then? Having just been saved by him, and watching him stand there, unable to meet your gaze, you couldn't help but smile.

"Don't tell me its because of my beauty that you've been a pain in my ass all these years." Your tone was light, teasing, compelling him to respond in his usual sarcastic way.

"That and you're annoying." He stated, a smile pulling at his lips as his blush began to recede. You hummed. "I didn't take you as the romantic type Hawkins."

He leaned closer. "Theres a lot of things you don't know about me y/l/n. Though one thing I can tell about you, is that you've been wanting to dance the entire night but have been too stubborn to ask me." Now, it was your turn to blush as you glared at him. Had you been that obvious? But Jim wasn't deterred.

"Shall we?" He held out a hand, indicating that you take it if you wanted to fulfill your wish to dance.

You pursed your lips, your previous annoyance for him rising to the forefront. You would never call what you felt for Jim hatred, but you wouldn't call it affection either.

But right then, you mused as you took his hand and he led you the dance floor, maybe you could label your feelings for Jim as undetermined.

For the time being.

The dance floor had lost a few dancers as the musicians in the corner prepared to play yet another song. You looked around, feeling a little nervous. It had been awhile since you had danced, and while you had no doubt in your dancing skills, you didn't trust your partner fully.

"You're not going to drop me during a dip or something like that are you?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Jim laughed before shaking his head. "No, I promise I won't."

You frowned, leaning up to press the back of your hand against his forehead. "You're not running a fever are you?" You inquired, feeling your own forehead to compare the temperatures. He flushed at the sensation of her touch against his skin.

"No, why would you ask that?" His questions prompted you to shrug. "Well you're being nice to me, and neither of us have thrown an insult at the other in the last five minutes.

Jim nodded, looking impressed. "Must be a new record for us." He commented to which you laughed softly. "And I'm nice to you because I am a nice guy Y/n." He stated, to which you let out a very unlady-like sound. "Oh please, you've been anything but nice to me since we first met Jim."

Alright so it was strange to call him by his first name, but he had used your first name. And when he had? You had felt a sliver of warmth flicker in your heart. Maybe he would feel the same sensation you did?

Well you were right. At least about the warmth part. And though Jim felt that warmth in his heart, same as you, he also felt it steal across his cheeks.

God! He had never blushed so much in such a short span of time his entire life.

"Well you didn't make it easy now did you? You just had to be a smartass." You smirked. "Better a smartass then an idiot." Jim rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his toned chest. "I don't know, we've both done some pretty idiotic stuff over the years."

The musicians were still tuning and drinking. Apparently it was their break, and while there were several other couples standing around waiting for the dance to begin, your and Jim seemed to be encapsulated in your own little world.

"True, but they've been fun years. Memorable." You stated with a nostalgic smile, thinking back on all the times you had gotten into trouble playing pranks on your rival. "Ones neither of us will be forgetting for a long time." He agreed, matching your smile with his.

Your eyes met his, and you suddenly realized just how much Jim had changed over the years. He had been a little reckless and rebellious in the start, but those traits had toned down over the years. They would never be gone completely, but he had matured, no doubt about that. And not just personality wise, you mused, eyes roving his face, as if you were seeing him for the first time.

He had grown a lot taller the past few years. Taller then you at least, since he was a good head taller then you. And he was handsome, there was no denying that, and kind, given how he had just helped you out of what could've been an ugly situation. Not to mention he was extremely loyal, a trait you had always admired in him despite your rivalry.

Little did you know Jim was thinking along the same criteria. Remembering the day he had met you, and how annoying he had thought you were. With your perfect hair, perfect uniform and perfect scores. Then again his scores had always been perfect too, but he made up for it by being messy and a little rebellious.

You? You were always the picture of perfection. Even so close to graduation, every aspect of your life seemed perfect. From your scores, to your attendance record. Your gorgeous face, and expressive eyes to your hair that always looked so soft that he had to fight the urge to touch it at times.

Though today, he didn't hold back. Raising his hand, he brushed a loose tendril behind your ear, and if his hand lingered a little longer then necessary, and if it brushed against your ear, causing a gentle shudder to race through your body.

Your eyes never wavered, and it looked like he was about to say something.

Just then the music started.

Jim cursed, prompting you to raise an eyebrow at him. "Its a fast jig. I'm not really good with those." You smiled and shook your head. "Thats alright, I can teach you. Its easy."

So saying you quickly placed his hands in the appropriate places, one at your waist, the other holding your own aloft, fingers intertwining togther. As soon as you started moving, Jim cast his eyes downwards, trying his best not to step on your feet.

"Hey!" Your voice compelled him to look up, nearly catching your foot but you gave him a reassuring smile. "Eyes on me. You gotta dance right. Don't worry about my toes, they're made of steel."

He gave a dry laugh, but did as you asked him to. Neither of you looked away from the other, allowing the music from the minstrels and the voices of the singers to overtake all your senses.

You would sometimes tease him for a misstep, he would comment about your being a talented dancer who hid their talent, but there was no malice in your voices. Only playfulness, and dare you think, affection.

The jig began to pick up speed, the footwork getting a little complicated, but the steps were ones that kept repeating over and over, and Jim had always been a fast learner, and he had seen many people dance to this particular song over the years.

So when the part came where he had to twirl you away from him before bringing you back, the move was so effortless and fluid that it looked like you had rehearsed it. Your hair and skirt flew about you as you twirled back into him, your back against his chest, his arms around your body, hands clasped, keeping you close.

You tilted your head, breathless from the dance, your gaze meeting his. Suddenly all that playfulness became charged, and your eyes glimmered with a passion you had never felt before. His lips were so close to your own. To him your lips looked so inviting.

But then the dance continued, and you straightened in his embrace. This time though, this time neither of you spoke. Neither of you looked away as you continued to dance. Hearts beating faster, steps picking up speed, your movements becoming wilder more impassioned.

You twirled away from him, holding one side of your skirt aloft. The song was coming to a close. The last verse had begun, where you would dance around your partner, slow and playful, never breaking eye contact.

And the final chorus? That was the main attraction. Knowing what was to come, Jim braced himself. You took a running start, jumping a little as you neared him to give yourself enough momentum to fly upwards, only to have Jim catch you around your waist, spinning in a fast circle.

A laugh fell from your lips, your arms held aloft at your sides, enjoying the sensation of flying through the air. As Jim began to lower you, your head tilted to look at him once more. Your arms dropped to wrap around his broad shoulders, while his rested around your waist.

The song had ended, the both of you were breathing heavily, twin smiles of jubilation stretching your mouths as the crowd around you roared. It seemed both your dancing had attracted quite the crowd.

And the cheering doubled tenfold when Jim suddenly closed whatever distance was left between the both of you and fused his lips with yours. A moment of disbelief, where your eyes widened almost comically, before closing shut, lips moving as you kissed him back.

It was blissfully sinful, the way he kissed you. You sighed almost dreamily against his lips, allowing your fingers to play with his hair. Jim was no better, he was doing his best not to let his hands explore too much. You were still in public after all.

"What in the furthest reaches of the galaxy is happening here?"

The shrieking voice tore your apart. Extremely reluctantly, you might add as you both turned to glare at Emmy and Lyon in annoyance. Emmy looked like she was about to faint, while Lyon looked utterly bemused.

"We weren't disturbing you while you locked lips, so why're you disturbing us?" You asked, your arms still around Jim's shoulders. Then again his hands still rested on your back, keeping you close.

"Weren't the two of you just at each other's throats?" Lyon asked, blinking stupidly at the two of them. Jim smirked. "Well I can get to her throat again if you prefer. Though not in the same way as before." His words had Emmy squeaking, Lyon gaping, and you rolling your eyes and smacking the back of his head. "Lets not ruin their innocence Jim." You grinned.

"Maybe we should take this someplace private?" You whispered, gesturing between the both of you. "Away from prying eyes." Jim needed no further prompting.

Grasping your hand, he began to lead you out of the tavern. "Don't wait up!" He called out to your two best friends.

"What did I just say about ruining their innocence Hawkins?"

"What? We can always say we just played a game of battleship?"

"Really? That's the euphemism you're using?"

"So long as it clarifies that I'm gonna beat you at whatever we'll be doing."

"What makes you think you're gonna win?"

"I always win."

"Oh, we'll see about that!"

Emmy and Lyon stood blinking in disbelief as you and Jim walked out of the tavern, continuing your arguing.

"Were they talking about having sex, or actually playing Battleship?" Emmy asked, sounding just as bewildered as she looked. Lyon made a face.

"Knowing them, they were actually talking about the latter before moving on to the former."

Emmy shook her head. "Oh, there was nothing in the betting pool for this." She giggled. "Everyone is gonna be so angry."

[holylulusworld]

Biggest grump

Summary: Your best friend’s friend is not as annoying as you believed.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: banter, language, mentions of pegging and anal play (they play a game, okay), snowed in, enemies to lovers, fluff

<;< Part 1

“So…how does this game work?” Bucky tries to buy himself some time. He doesn’t want to answer your questions. Especially when it comes to the girls he dated lately.

“Barnes don’t act as if you never played truth or dare before,” you slap his thigh. “Because you tried to trick me, I’ll ask you first.”

“That’s not fair,” he grumbles. Bucky looks at the glasses you placed on the coffee table. Drinking is out of the question for tonight.

“I don’t care.” You lean closer and stick your tongue out. “Fight me!”

He sighs deeply. “Fine. Whatever. I didn’t want to play this stupid game in the first place.”

You giggle at his pained expression. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“When you first met Steve, did you already know you’ll become friends?”

“He was a weak and sick boy,” Bucky smiles at the memory. “But he had guts. I first saw him when he was in trouble. Three boys tried to rough him. Steve stood his ground. A damn tough boy. I knew we will get friends right away.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet.” You swoon. “I met him when he was all grown. I wish we grew up together.”

“My turn,” Bucky grins. You swallow thickly, fearing he will ask you embarrassing questions. “What's a secret you've never told anyone?”

“A secret? Hmm…” You ponder. “Oh, I know!” Bucky leans a little closer when you grip his arm. “I stole a lace panty when I was sixteen. It was red, and my mom didn’t want to buy it for me. I wanted to impress my boyfriend.”

“You naughty girl.” He grins. “Did he like it?”

You sigh and shake your head. “He broke up with me after I told him I wanted to wait a little longer. He was clumsy and I didn’t like how he groped me.”

“His loss.”

“What?” You blink a few times.

“What?” Bucky clears his throat. “I mean, if he messed up it’s his loss.”

“I enjoyed wearing it, though. I sometimes buy underwear only for myself. I love to feel sexy.” You run your fingertips up and down his arm.

Bucky swallows thickly. “Your turn,” he breathes out. “Shoot me with your best shot, doll.”

“Hmm…Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What's something you're glad your mum doesn't know about you?” You ask. “Tell me everything about your dirtiest secret.”

“You want the dirt, huh?” Bucky flashes you a smirk. He wrinkles his forehead. “I let a girl peg me once.”

“No!” You slap his thigh. “Really? Who was it? Was it good? Did you like it? I didn’t take you for a guy letting the girl take the lead.”

“If it’s the right girl,” he whispers lowly. His fingertips graze your cheek and instinctively lean into his touch. “I let her have control once in a while.”

“Did you like it?” You press on.

“It was…different.” He answers honestly. “Not bad or anything. But she was a little impatient and uh…it wasn’t that good.”

“I guess she didn’t do it right,” you nod to yourself. “I let a guy finger my ass while he fucked me from behind. It was hot, and I came so hard.”

“Y/N…we should talk about boundaries. No more questions about sex,” Bucky suddenly says. His pants feel a little too tight and he doesn’t want to cross a line.

“Aw, don’t be a spoilsport, Bucky,” you whine. “Your turn.”

“Truth or dare?” He asks.

“Truth.”

“Have you ever cheated on someone?”

“No. Never. If I love someone, I do it with all my heart.” You grab one of the glasses to take a large sip. “If the love is gone break up. Don’t cheat. If he doesn’t fuck you right, talk. Don’t cheat.”

“You’re a good girl too.” His eyes drop to your lips. He whispers your name as you are engrossed in watching his long lashes flutter.

“My turn,” you stop Bucky before he can ask more. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

“What's the strangest dream you've had?”

“Dream…hmmm…” He closes his eyes and tries to recall the dreams he remembers. “I remember one dream. I had horns, and my skin was on fire.”

“You dreamed that you were the devil?” You ask.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Steve was there too. He was wearing a suit made of cookies. And then there was this girl. She was wearing wings and looked like an angel. But she begged me to kiss her.”

You lick your lips. “Your turn.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What's your worst habit?”

“I fall in love with the wrong guy every time,” you dip your head to look him deep in the eyes.

“Do I need to break someone’s face?”

You laugh at his question. “No. I haven’t been with someone for a while. So, truth or dare.”

“Dare.” His reply surprises you. “Come on, challenge me, doll. Do you want me to jump from the rooftop or empty the bottle on ex?”

“No.” You scoot a little closer to Bucky. He watches you place your hand on his chest eyes widen when you whisper the words in his ear. “I want you to kiss me.”

“Doll…Y/N…I can’t. I…Stevie will kill me.” You smirk at his nervous state. Bucky wants nothing more than kiss you, but his best friend will flay him alive if he dares to put his hands on you.

“Bucky,” you whisper. Bucky gasps when you straddle his lap and cup his face. He tries to protest but you claim his lips, making a move before he can chicken out.

“Doll…” he mumbles against your lips. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Kiss me again.”

You wrap your arms around his neck to kiss him deeply. He slips his tongue inside, swiping over your tongue. “Stevie…will kill me.”

“Who do you think made sure that we end up stuck at his cabin?”

Bucky looks at you in his lap. “Stevie…”

“The one and only. Now...do you want to see my red lace panties or do you want to play another game.”

>> Part 3

Tags in reblog.

[what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me]

(honestly just wanted an excuse to draw Sir Meteor, cause he's got such an awesome design tbh, but Phosphor is here to cause some chaos for a fellow contestant >:3) Phosphor : 'Ey! I know the Spoilsport over there -gestures to Meta Knight- said that the tournament isn't an actual fight, but how about a friendly lil' spar? you def look like a fun challenge!

Your presence on Planet Popstar is only tolerated for the tournament and I strictly uphold a no fighting policy. Especially because I know the tragedy that you bring.

@kirbyoctournament It seems that Sir Meteor's explosive entry made certain knights very distrustful of our dinosaur... or was it something else entirely? I wonder if any other familiar faces have followed as well...

<< Prev Ask ✨ Next Ask >>

>> Unfamiliar with Sir Meteor? Click here for more!

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Arpeggio

Chapter Twenty

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Sam/Madison, Bobby/Annie, Pam/Lee, OFC Gibson, Ash, Benny, Cesar/Jesse, Kevin, Cas, and Charlie

Word Count: 4031

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, recreational drug use, surprise birthday guests, Dean being a giant kid, actually it's everyone, more history and an uh-oh, unbeta'd

A/N: You know how you outline bullet points that you need covered in a chapter and then you write all day long and forget one of the biggest ones until literally the last sentence? Yeah, me neither.

Anyway, I can't believe we are TWENTY whole chapters into this beast. Thank you all, so SO much for hanging around. xoxo Stu

Series Masterlist

Dean’s morning began with a blow horn blast compliments of Sam, who then received a bitch slap from his very frightened and at odds older brother. 

“Rise and shine, jerk. It’s the last year of your thirties!”

Dean groaned and buried his head beneath the pillows, poorly hiding from anymore horns. “Hephha waaff to wff agy hpp birfay”

“WHAT?! I can’t hear you?!”

Dean flipped Sam off and rolled over. “Helluva way to wish a guy Happy Birthday.”

Sam laughed. “Don’t worry, that’s not all.”

He pulled out a bag of the greasiest breakfast burritos from a shop around the corner from Charlies that they had discovered after being up all night gaming, drunk and caffeinated out of their minds. 

“Oh my god, you do love me!” Dean snatched the bag out of Sam’s hand and grabbed a burrito and cradled it to his chest. He looked up at Sam and said fervently, “I take back every mean thing I’ve ever said to you.”

“No you don’t. You’re just hungry. You want me to leave you two alone or should I take it back downstairs where the coffee lives?”

Dean stared down at the warm lump in his hand and honestly considered eating it right away, but Sam was right and scrambled eggs and peppers were not something he wanted to clean off his sheets whenever he found them again after the coming festivities.

“Yeah, thanks, let me grab some clothes and I’ll meet you down there.”

“You got it,” Sam took the burrito back as Dean dropped it into his outstretched hand. 

“No fucking with it now, I know how it’s supposed to be wrapped,” Dean warned with a firm pointer finger.

Sam rolled his eyes and his hair along with them and stalked out of Dean’s room towards the backstairs that led into the kitchen.

They ate breakfast in relative silence, coffee and contemplation and all that. Just two brothers celebrating a year that both of them were worried wouldn’t come. Aging might be a bitch, but it is definitely better than the alternative. And for the Winchester brothers, a blessing they weren’t ever quite sure they deserved.

Charlie and you slinked in just after noon, after Dean and Sam had half-heartedly worked off their breakfasts and showered for the day. You had the most obnoxious balloon cowboy hat for him while Charlie presented him with a ‘birthday prince’ sash that he was under orders to keep on all day.

Dean eyed you both with a simmering shame-twinged annoyance. This wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. He already got looks when he went out as it was, plus only a douche of a grown man demands strangers acknowledge his birthday that way.

“Guys, come on. I’m not— this is a little ridiculous,” Dean didn’t want to be ungrateful.

You sighed. “Okay, fine, spoilsport. Just let us take a few pictures and you can ditch the hat.”

“Oh! The hat was the best part!” Sam lamented.

“Can it, Sammy,” Dean snipped.

Charlie chuckled. “Okay, but you can totally wear the sash where we’re going, because nobody else will even be there to see you in it, just your friends.”

Dean pursed his lips and looked the redhead in the eye, she wasn’t going to let him win. “Great—- just great.”

Lee and Benny were gonna have a field day with this one.

“Atta boy! Say CHEESE!” Charlie chirped, taking way too many shots and angles with him and his birthday attire.

They hung out and shared a joint, picking at a cheese tray that Sam had pulled out. Sure they had places to be, but that was the beauty of being the guest of honor, everything revolved around Dean-time. And as absolutely narcissistic as that sounded, Dean could get used to that kind of schedule.

The party bus arrived just before two. It was actually the band’s touring bus, which meant it was roomy and stocked to the brim with alcohol and edibles. Bud itself was never left on the bus to dry out. Inside were Benny, Cesar and Jesse, all moderately sober as they were also acting as light security detail for the day. Pam and Lee brought Gibson along, which told Dean wherever they were headed was going to be fun, however wholesome. Madison and Annie were there with Bobby upfront driving ‘The Proud Mary’ as the bus was so lovingly called. And around the table in the small kitchenette were Kevin, Ash and Cas.

Holy shit, Dean had to blink.

He turned around on the stairs and looked at you, who were the only one daring enough to pull this off. “Are you kidding me right now?!”

“What?” You smirked and batted your eyelashes with fake innocence.

Dean looked at you and felt something in his chest crack.  But before he could get overrun by the emotions, gratitude, fear, even anger, Sam cleared his throat.

“In or out, Dean, air’s on.”

Dean nodded and blinked away the awe. “Thank you,” he grunted beneath his breath and turned to the cheers and jeers of his people.

“There he is!”

“Birthday boy!”

“Hey Winchester, I like your do-hickey,” Benny teased.

“It’s a sash, dumbass,” Cesar quipped, flicking the brim of Benny’s cap.

“HAPPY BIRTH-DAY,” Pam started offkey and then everybody joined in. Dean nodded along, faux-conducting and fighting the blush on his cheeks with every out of tune note.

He bowed as the song ended and then griped, “Yeah, okay, enough of that. Let’s get this shit started, shall we?! Uh, Gibson you good to DD on the way home, buddy?”

Everyone laughed.

“UNCLE DEAN! I can’t drive yet.”

“You sure?”

“I’m only six!”

“I don’t know,” Dean said thoughtfully, bending to look the stringbean over. “I think you could pass for seven or eight maybe.”

“Nuh-uh!”

Dean ruffled his hair and pulled him into a hug. “Fine! I’ll let Bobby keep his spot for today, but when you get your license, come talk to me about a job young man,” Dean promised.

Dean eased onto the bus, with you and Sam on his heels until you broke off to find a seat. He nodded and accepted hugs and high fives before he made his way to the table in the back, well that section’s back. The bunks and the bathroom were down a short hallway past the eating area and bar.

“Hey guys, thanks for coming,” Dean said broadly, but his eyes couldn’t stop looking for Cas’.

“Of course, man! Gotta celebrate another trip around the sun,” Ash exclaimed, his hair bouncing with his enthusiasm.

Kevin sniggered as he looked up at Dean and back across to Cas. “You know he’s real and everything.”

“He even speaks,” Cas deadpanned, turning his glare at Kevin.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Happy birthday, Dean.”

Dean felt the lurch of the bus entering traffic and panic resurfaced. “Good to see you. But, uh, we’ll catch up at some point? I gotta,” Dean sputtered and thumbed toward the general direction of the side-by-side seats along one wall.

“Of course,” Cas nodded, but gave Dean a tentative smile. Dean felt lightheaded but he felt better when he had a solid seat underneath his ass. Talk about a mindfuck. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and silently thanked the universe that he agreed to these super secret, group, birthday shenanigans.

The adventure park was suspiciously abandoned, even for a weekend day. But Dean took it as part of the present, no paps, no families with kids too young for school clogging up the Skee Ball lanes or having accidents on the go karts. He was kind of amazed y’all were able to pull this off, but it was far enough away from the busier parts of town that maybe you had scored a good deal. Or maybe Dean didn’t want to think about how much you and Sam and probably Bobby had shelled out for the day.

Even after years of his own success, Dean felt guilty whenever people spent money on him.

“Okay, line up for your wristbands. Everyone gets one, if you run out of tokens, tough luck. Laser Tag and Go Karts are available if we ask, just make sure there’s a big enough group to make up for the staff being pulled to those locations. Pizza will be set out as a buffet at five. I’ll get pitchers of water and soda out in the meantime,” you used a teacher's voice over the rowdy crowd as they beelined out of the bus and up to the gates.

Dean was almost giddy; he was so excited.

You bestowed a lanyard over his head, instead of a wristband. Which meant unlimited tokens for games and a turn in the vortex machine where paper tickets floated around and he was supposed to catch them for prizes. He was banking on letting Gibson take that responsibility, but hadn’t said anything because he knew Pam hated to spoil him, especially on someone else’s birthday. Oh well, being a surrogate Uncle held some leeway afterall.

“First one to the gokarts is a rotten egg!” Ash called out, making everyone turn on their heels and book it through the doors.

Dean laughed at the reversion to grade school taunts, but definitely tripped Sam on his way passed.

Somehow, Bobby and Annie got the first kart, but then again Dean didn’t remember seeing them as you made your little announcement, so they must have had a head start. The line was a mass of people bickering for a turn, which color kart they wanted, or which number if you were Charlie and Kevin. Dean had his shotgun attached at his hip, bouncing on the soles of his feet. But everytime he glanced up and saw Cas talking to Sam or nodding at something Pam said, he had to do a double take.

In all, they filled nearly all the available twelve karts. Dean and Gibson were in number 11, Lee, Benny, Pam, Cas, Ash, Kevin, Cesar, Jesse and Charlie all drove solo. While Sam and Madison, Bobby and Annie paired off. No one could get you in one of those things if they tried, and they all knew better than to try. Which Dean was grateful for, he hated rehashing your shit for other people’s understanding.

They did four lap races for almost an hour, with Dean sneaking past Bobby for the final victory. But everyone (except for Ash and Charlie) had lost count of their stats by the time they got inside to chug some soda and hit the arcade area before dinner.

Dean was sweating, faux satin clinging to his back through his shirts as he polished off a cup of flat cola. But he couldn’t keep the grin off his face long, seeing all of his favorite people milling around, trying to one up each other or just beat one another to a coveted game. It was the stuff of childhood birthdays he had only ever dreamed about, but you had made possible.

Lee held Gibson on his shoulders as they took Sam on at the free throw alleys. Charlie and Madison were playing some kind of shooting game while Kevin and Cesar watched them, obviously impressed by their stances with the fake rifles. It made him think of Jo and Big Buck Hunter for the briefest moment, but he tucked that away and chose to relish in the moment instead. Cas and Jesse were at the air hockey table and Bobby and Ash huddled by the wall of Skeeball machines, not partaking themselves, just watching you as you sank ball after ball into the 300 or better rings.

Dean couldn’t pick what he wanted to do next, so he just watched for a few minutes, soaking in the joy around him.

Eventually, his stomach chose for him. The pizzas were delivered in a tidy row down a side table of every cheap topping option available. There was even a mushroom option, which was probably the only thing close to a vegetable in the place, but it meant Sam couldn’t bitch. Everyone chowed down, standing and sitting in hodgepodge groupings, laughing and debating on what to do next.

Pam was comparing Cas’ and Kevin’s tattoos as Dean approached, paper plate firmly in hand, chewing as he silently butt into the conversation.

“Looks good, I mean, he’d hate them, but you know that would only be for show,” Pam said about the late Rufus.

“Yeah,” Cas agreed, pulling his arm back.

“Crotchety old bastard,” Dean added between bites.

“May he rest in peace,” Pam added, respect and mirth flitted in her eyes.

“So, Cas, how’s the kid and the band and fucking everything?” Pam changed the subject.

“Uh, we’re—- making progress,” Cas said simply, clearly unsure what to do with Dean’s presence. He worried at his lip ring like he always did when he was uncomfortable, but Dean was too damn curious and stubborn to take the hint.

“They’re finding their sound, it’s kind of cool to see it happen. You should go with me sometime to their rehearsals. It’s very organic,” Kevin explained. “It’s like they can sense what the other is thinking and just go for it.”

Dean couldn’t even pretend that that didn’t sting.

He cleared his throat. “So, where do you guys practice?”

“Oh— my place,” Cas said.

The fact that Kevin had been hanging with Cas and getting tattoos was one thing. The fact that he was in on this new band and its budding chemistry all while getting to spend time in Cas’ space was nothing short of getting his knees kicked out.

Not to mention, Cas had barely a townhouse with only one extra bedroom. He always preferred to live simply, as he put it.

“How does that work?”

Pam crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, seeing where this was going better than Dean. “Are you a garage band, Cas?”

He just shrugged.

Dean chuckled under his breath. “That’s what you meant by organic,” he said to Kevin.

“Not exactly— that’s part of it, but I don’t know if it’s like some gene thing or a psychic connection. They’re just really good together.”

Pamela inhaled as Dean squinted at Cas, who had gone stock still with Kevin’s words.

“Gene thing?”

“Dean—,” Pamela warned.

“Oh, crap,” Kevin said, realizing too late that Dean was apparently more in the dark than he’d known.

Castiel remained silent, eyes boring into Dean, waiting for the explosion. It made Dean sick to realize that Cas was afraid of him, of his temper, still.

Dean set down his slice of pizza and squared his shoulders, trying to keep it civil. To not be that guy anymore. “Cas, come on man. What’s that about? He some long lost cousin or something?”

“Jack’s my kid, actually.”

Dean sputtered. “Yeah right, nice one.”

Everyone glared at him.

“You’re serious? How? When? I would have fucking noticed if you had actually boned down some chick—- I mean how old is he?”

Cas rolled his eyes and Dean had the sinking sensation that absolutely none of this was his business. But Cas had been his best friend for most of their lives— it was important information to have, even if it was twenty years too late.

Kevin and Pam silently agreed to disappear, but Dean couldn’t pinpoint the moment it happened. They were there and then they were gone.

“Dean,” Cas chastised.

“No— I deserve to know. I mean, what the hell? A kid?”

Cas raised his eyebrow, the one with the damn ring in it and Dean wanted, not for the first time, to yank it out.

“Kind of like I— like we deserved to know you were in an underground fighting ring? Like you had some sort of deathwish pact with a pimp and a known murderer?”

Dean felt an icy chill run down his spine, his hands instantly turned to fists and he had to breathe to keep the rage at bay. But his chest was so tight and the shame had become worms in his stomach. He wasn’t going to puke at his own birthday party, not from something as pathetic as his own mistakes. Alcohol would have been an easier taste in his mouth.

The party continued around them, but Dean didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

Cas seemed to register that and looked down at his boots before meeting Dean’s eye once more. “Dean, I’m sorry— that— that was uncalled for.” 

Dean swallowed down the bile and exhaled.

He unclenched his fists, shaking them slightly to feel something other than overwhelming emotion, the kind he’d need a few sessions with Missouri to even name.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean grunted, head down as he got himself together.

“Dean— we should talk, but I can’t really explain myself in front of everyone.”

Dean hummed.

“It’s just— I think there’s a lot we never got off our chests and it only made the last couple of years harder— on both of us.”

“It seems like everyone else already knows your business, Cas. Just kind of sucks to be the last to know.”

Cas nodded, eyes still tight, still on guard.

“But I guess the way I was— kind of makes sense. I didn’t deserve to know.”

Cas’ face softened. “Dean— that’s not. Let’s not, right now. Later. Okay?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Dean inched around the corner, weapon drawn and head on a swivel. He couldn’t see much, but endless nooks for the enemy to hide. The arena was dark, out of necessity, but it only added to the adrenaline pumping through him. Dean nodded to his teammate and they spun around the next edge, fingers on their triggers as they stood back to back. 

He really wished they had communication between the other members of Green Team, but that was just rich people thinking for a family entertainment center. It wasn’t like they were storming the beaches of Normandy here.

Something moved in his periphery but before Dean could turn you shot behind him, getting Kevin square in the chest. You both watched as Kevin fell dramatically to the floor, one down, five more to go.

“Nice shot,” Dean said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I feel like that was too easy,” you replied, searching the area while you whispered.

“Might have been a scout,” Dean agreed.

“Yeah, but—” 

He felt you shift behind him and he rounded to cover you, but Benny was already there, a near wall of guns behind him. 

“It was a fire fight!” Ash screamed out of his spot above them, taking Charlie out with the distraction.

You kept your body turned, lessening their target and fired without even blinking, but Sam had height on you and you ended up taking each other out. Dean, unable to make a shot connect, cursed, turned tail, and ran, ducking down a ladder and trying to loop back on Benny and Pam.

Three down to his team’s one, that he knew of, still good odds.

But then he saw Jesse sitting with his back against a wall, clearly down. Dean needed to find Cas and Cesar yesterday. Or they wouldn’t be able to call it in their favor. He crouched down and checked his back, without you to watch his six he felt extra exposed, though he kept to the edges, using the shadows to his advantage.

He heard whispering and he immediately hit the deck, rolling until he was flush with wall length-wise. But the voices stopped about ten feet away, either on the level above him or around the corner out of sight. Dean waited, gun drawn and senses on overdrive.

The telltale electronic chime of a chest plate activating sounded off and the voices turned from whispers to shouts of shock. Someone had gotten Pam. 

Which meant that Lee and Benny were the only ones left from Sam’s team.

And Lee was alone looking to the rafters from the sounds of it.

Dean army-crawled around the corner and got Lee from underneath, his cackle of victory the only way Lee even knew he was there.

“You sonofabitch!” Lee griped, helping Dean up before disappearing to the land of misfit toys, aka following Pam to the nearest exit.

Cesar appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and nodded Dean back to the rest of the team. Cas and Ash were still alive and kicking, strategizing on how to find or draw out Benny. But before Dean could turn and let Cesar back into the huddle, his chest piece crackled to life: Benny had shot him in the back.

Dean waved him off, trying to catch up with Benny’s trail, as Ash and Cas flanked him widely. They tried to cast a broad net, but instead they left too much space and Benny wound around them and took Ash out without Dean or Cas even seeing him.

Dean looked at Cas and Cas nodded, doubling back and letting Dean take point. 

It felt like hours, but really it only took maybe five more minutes of creeping around the obstacles in the center of the arena for Dean to catch sight of Benny. His sturdy frame ducked behind a pillar as Dean slowly followed. But he was too slow, because Benny had spun around and had his gun on Dean’s back plate before Dean could move.

“Bang bang,” Benny taunted, but he didn’t pull the trigger. He wanted Dean to surrender, but that wouldn’t do anything unless… Benny didn’t know Cas was still out there.

Dean held up his arms, but he didn’t drop his weapon.

“Alright, cher, nice and easy,” Benny coaxed Dean to turn face him.

“You got me,man,” Dean huffed, playing it up.

“Well, even the Birthday Prince loses sometimes.”

Then Benny’s chest flashed to life.

“What the—”

“And sometimes they still win,” Cas’ deadpan interrupted Benny’s surprise.

“Nice one, Cas!” Dean held up his hand for a high five, but Cas just cocked his head as the overheads snapped on, blinding them all in sudden light.

It wasn’t the first time that Dean thought Cas had some super-human senses. And he was happy to think that it probably wasn’t the last time either. Not anymore.

Everything considered, Gibson won the day. Every single adult, even Kevin, forked over the prize tickets they had wracked up on their wristbands for Gibson to exchange for a four foot long stuffed dog from some show or another. Dean fist bumped him and helped him carry the thing back onto the bus. But before Dean could haul himself up the first step, Sam pulled him back to the curb.

“Here— don’t say I never got you anything.” Sam handed him a massive rainbowed Slinky.

“Holy shit! I didn’t even see that! This is awesome,” Dean geeked out. “Thanks, man.”

Sam just shook his head and grinned.

Everyone got back on the bus and started in on the adult beverages as you sorted the tab and made sure everything was alright with the staff. Dean sat on his hands, forcing himself not to run back in and add on his own tip. He really did trust you, but some habits were hard to break. 

“Ready?” Dean heard Bobby ask you before cranking the door shut.

The bus rumbled off the curb and into the neverending traffic of the city at night. But they had everything they could possibly need on board. And when you sat down in the spot beside him, Dean couldn’t think of a single thing that could make his birthday any better.

He looked over at you and smiled, soft, just a hint of it on his lips, trying to keep himself from saying something stupid. You rolled your eyes and smiled back. And yeah, today might have been one for the books. But there were still chapters left unwritten between you two and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to wait anymore to find out what they’d said.

Then his phone rang. “Dean? Happy birthday! How did you want to go celebrate?”

It was Bela.

He had completely forgotten to invite Bela.

And apparently, somehow, so had you.

Fuck.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

Chapter 22: Dolce

[trulycertain]

Blech

Karlach guesses she shouldn't be surprised when she's popping off to the river for a quick dip, and halfway into the woods, finds Fangs and their mighty leader snogging furiously.

In which Astarion gets his groove back... and is deeply obnoxious in the process. Based on the arse-grab in the Patch 5 kiss, that banter with Lae'zel about he and Tav barely being able to keep their hands off each other, and the fact that even if Halsin's not involved with them, he's noticed Astarion and Tav having sex again. Because they're clearly That Damn Couple.

Tav/Astarion, background Karlach/Wyll. 2.6k. SFW - some mild accidental voyeurism and mentions of Astarion's canon sexual trauma, but all the bedroom business is implied.

Ao3 link

Something's different, after Lora and Astarion sneak out of camp to do... whatever they did. Karlach probably doesn't want to know. Honestly, she thinks it's got more to do with the fact that his old bastard of a master is dead. Finally being able to take a proper breath for the first time in two hundred years... or the dead-guy equivalent, anyway. Must be a hell of a feeling. Invigorating.

Sure, Astarion still has times when you reach out to touch him and he gets that face, the one that says he'd flinch but he's too well-trained. And sometimes he gets that haunted look in his eyes, the one that makes Karlach think of blood and fire and something getting shoved into her chest; she's only been able to see the edges of his nightmares, but she guesses for him they're probably torture and sex he doesn't want to have and being so. damn. hungry all the time. (Like being lonely, like wanting to be touched so much it aches, and suddenly being awash in a wealth of it. Wyll must've spent most of the journey since her engine got fixed up hugging her - and that's after they spent what felt like three days in her tent. For Astarion, she guesses that it's blood and not getting staked. Sudden scary kindness, all the same.)

But he doesn't snap anymore - not unless he thinks you're doing something really stupid. She offered him a fist and he actually bumped it the other day, while Wyll cackled in surprise (and then coughed when he realised he was doing it). Miracles never cease.

Astarion and Lora have always been, well, weirdly soppy, once you got past the sniping. They'll tell jokes about blowing up hags, disagree on everything, call each other idiots with fancy words while laughing at each other's annoyed faces... and then you'll find them by the campfire, Astarion sewing some frilly thing with his ankle absentmindedly wrapped round Lora's. They hold hands, when they're at the back of the group and think they're being sneaky about it and can pretend it’s just their shoulders bumping; Wyll gave her the eyebrow-nudge the first time he noticed it, and it's been hard not to see ever since. And if you're looking for one of them, it's usually best to knock on Lora's tent so they've at least got time to spring apart and pretend they weren't cuddling.

But something's new. Something obnoxious and... kind of hilarious, if Karlach's being honest.

Lora eats stew in the Elfsong while trying to keep a straight face, but Karlach spots Astarion smirking into his wine glass in that way he gets when he's being a little shit. On impulse, she checks under the table and... she recognises that fancy gold-embellished shoe. And the fact it's sneaking up Lora's shin. Sure enough, there's a far less fancy boot hooked round Astarion's knee.

Karlach snorts when she comes back up. "Footsie? Really?"

Lora seems like she might be blushing, if it was dark enough to show up; Astarion just looks innocent, but his eyes are gleeful, crinkling at the corners.

Gale sighs, "Do you mind?"

He just gets an even louder, more dramatic sigh in response from Astarion, who says, "All perfectly innocent, I assure you. I hadn't even managed to get above the knee." He mutters into his wine, "Spoilsport." Swallowing, he adds, "And no-one's saying anything to Karlach, considering she's had her tail on Wyll's arse for the past half-hour."

Wyll jumps.

Karlach says, "Snitch."

"Coming from you, darling? Really?" But he's smiling into his cup.

Karlach guesses she shouldn't be surprised when she's popping off to the river for a quick dip, and halfway into the woods, finds Fangs and their mighty leader snogging furiously. Except Lora's paused to laugh and go, "Really? Really?" Probably referring to his hands on Lora's arse, unabashedly getting a good grip. (Karlach can't especially blame him. That's a whole lot of woman.)

Astarion's voice is cheerfully haughty. "What, I can't appreciate art?"

"You're ridiculous."

He rubs his nose against hers. "And you're beautiful." Karlach waits for the punchline or the sting in the tail, but it doesn’t come. His voice is soft and silly, like he’s just been hit round the head with something heavy. Fuck. Is that what Fangs in love sounds like? Sure seems like it. At least he’s put his hands somewhere less enthusiastic.

"Sweet-talker." Lora's voice is low, that soppy teasing way that lovers get with each other.

"...Yes, so I've been told. Except this time I get to mean it.”

Yeah, much as a formerly-pent-up part of her would really like to see this, Karlach also isn't paid enough for this shit. Even if she's not a merc anymore. She stares up at the trees and whistles a tune, pointedly. 

Lora actually jumps.

Astarion turns his head and says, “Karlach? I thought that might be you.”

Karlach rolls her eyes. “Just looking for a bath. Not… this. Cute, though.”

Astarion gives a tiny half-grimace, and Karlach realises it’s the closest he gets to embarrassment. “Yes, well. I’d thought I was decent at finding a secluded spot.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, I bet you are. But there’s a whole camp trying to do the same.”

Lora tugs at his hand. “Come on. Let Karlach spend some quality time with the river.”

Astarion throws a jaunty wave Karlach's way as he saunters off. “Later, darling."

So yeah. That's... either not been a thing before, or they're being way more obvious about it.  Which gives everyone full licence to tease, in Karlach's opinion. Especially later, when Astarion won't lace up his stupid frilly shirt, and he has like... wow, are those three lovebites on his neck? Pretty impressive ones. Even Wyll and Gale are staring.

Shadowheart says, "I thought you were meant to be the vampire here."

Lora suddenly pokes the rabbit on the fire with a lot more force; Astarion takes his nose out of his book to give Shadowheart a sharp look, but his mouth's twitching when he gets back to it.

Karlach's even less surprised, somehow, when she goes to answer a call of nature and finds him pinned against a tree with his legs around Lora's waist, mouthing at her neck like he's about to try for another snack.

Karlach says, "Nice," cause it is, and cause it'll annoy them enough to let them know she's there.

Lora freezes; Astarion seems totally unsurprised. And makes no move to get himself on the ground, just opens an eye and says cheerfully over Lora's shoulder, "Why hello, Karlach. I always had you down more as the 'getting stuck in' type than liking to watch." And then the bastard winks. Astarion's always acted like a massive perv. A massive perv and happy? He might be even more of a pain.

Karlach says, "I wasn't watching. Some of us poor fuckers are trying to find a place to piss. You don't own the woods, you know."

Lora puts her face in Astarion's neck like she wants to die a little, but somehow still doesn't drop him. It's kind of impressive.

"I'm gonna find a good hedge. And take a different path back." Karlach gives them a nod. "Soldier. Fangs."

Lora mumbles, still muffled by smug vampire neck, "Thanks, Karlach."

Astarion, being Astarion and tactful as a very pointy brick, cackles so hard it follows Karlach out into the woods.

Not that whatever they have going on isn't hot; neither of them's exactly ugly. But she's not actually trying to know about that much of it. Especially not the big stuff, the real stuff.

Sometimes you don’t manage to dodge the real stuff fast enough.

She hears one night, as she's heading back to camp, "You've gone somewhere else." Lora. Sounding worried.

"Don't be ridiculous, darling. There's nowhere I'd rather be than - all right. No, I can't do it. Don't - We don't have to stop."

"Sure we do. My thigh's killing me, anyway. Oof. Move over." That fidgety sound you get when someone’s shifting bedrolls and a vampire’s stupid-huge pile of cushions around, now Lora’s finally got him to sleep on more than a damn board. (Karlach doesn’t care if he says it helps his back. She’s got enough problems of her own to know that’s a load of shit.)

His voice is fainter. "My sweet, I..."

"Astarion, what's my name?"

Karlach’s trying to head fast to her own tent. Really, she is. But hers is next to his and it’s… hard, when you’re worried for a friend.

"I…" A pause, and he swallows through such a dry throat you can hear it click. "Lora? What - For a moment I thought you were someone else."

"There you are."

"I'm so sorry, I..."

“Why?” Lora asks – gently, but she’s never good at being bullshitted.

“Because it shouldn’t be like this.”

Karlach heads over to her own tent, sits and tries not to listen; strokes a hand over Clive’s fuzzy head. Wyll’s still sleeping in there, bedroll carefully a ways from hers but close enough to hold her hand – she can hear him. She’ll head in given a sec, as subtly as a seven-foot flaming tiefling can.

Astarion says, unsteadily, “He’s dead. They’re all… they’re all dead, or down there in the dark. I’m free. I’m with you. I want to be with you, not… every ghost I’ve ever lain down for. You deserve better.”

Teddy bear fuzz. She can touch fuzz now, and Wyll, without the singeing. She’s here. She’s here, and there are owls and trees and Wyll making those little snoozy breaths behind her and no flames other than a damn campfire. Fuck. She knows Astarion would bite her if she even suggested it, but sometimes she really wishes he had a Clive. Something. She’s seen that ratty old blanket he insists on carrying round and tucking ashamedly into his tent; maybe that’s something similar for him.

Lora says easily, “You’ve got that one wrong.”

Astarion mumbles, fancy cut-glass syllables muffled by a bedroll, “Why didn’t you pick someone easy?” He laughs bitterly. “Well, I’ve always been extremely easy. Isn’t that just the problem. Why didn’t you pick someone normal? Someone boring, with a cottage and a dog and – someone who could fuck you without losing himself.”

Lora says, “Because that’s not my type. I want you. The fucking is secondary.”

He snaps, “It’s never secondary. It’s all there is. It’s all people want me for.”

“Hm. I want you for your sewing, and the way you grin with all your fangs, and your shit taste in books.”

 “It’s better than yours.” Astarion sniffs – the haughty kind. Better than the kind he was verging on before.

“I want you for the way you hold me when I’m afraid, and you get so damn angry when someone hurts me.”

“That’s just common sense. You’re our leader.”

“Hmm. Tactical cuddling’s a new one. …I want you for your gold thread and your sunrises and your little presents you sneak me when you think I’m not looking, and the way you pretend to hate puns but you laugh at them. All the tiny things in life you hoard like treasure. I’ve been free all my life, but I’ve never enjoyed it as hard as you.” There’s a pause, and a shuffle of fabric and bodies. “…I like the way you hold my hand, too.”

“Thank you,” Astarion says, very quietly.

Karlach manages to sneak into her tent without setting Wyll on fire. And she gives him, and Clive, a quick squeeze.

Karlach manages three days before she gets done by a bunch of sneaky-bastard nettles in the woods, and hobbles back to camp. She keeps setting the fucking dock leaves on fire.

“Lora!” she whines, because Shadowheart’s deep in scary intense prayer – she’s switched it to a moon goddess now, sure, but she still looks like she’d stab you in the kneecaps if you interrupted.

“Karlach!” Lora says brightly, even if it’s all muffled, from her tent.

There’s a very posh sigh from the same tent.

Oh. Well. Right. Karlach tries, “You decent in there?”

Astarion drawls, “I was trying very hard to get her indecent, actually.”

Lora groans, “Ignore him.”

“Oh yes, please do. As usual. It’s not as if a man can find any privacy in his lover’s tent.”

Karlach says, “It’s a tent, mate. Privacy and tents aren’t a thing in the same sentence. You can keep it in your trousers ‘til we hit an inn tomorrow, right?”

Astarion mumbles something that sounds like it’s into a pillow. Karlach makes out something about “two hundred years” and “freedom.”

She says, “Yeah, yeah, I get that, but my arse is stinging something fierce.”

Astarion sits bolt upright so obviously the tent moves. “Wait, wait, I’ve changed my mind! Now this I have to see.” The tent flaps swiftly get undone by hands that are obviously way too good with knots, and then he crawls out into the camp, still shirtless and wild-haired, shit-eating cat’s grin all over his face. “What happened, darling?”

A dark brown foot follows him out, and gently prods at the side of his thigh ‘til he moves over.

“Nettles happened,” Karlach says, miserably.

Lora says, “Ouch. Let me see what I can do.” She stands and heads over to Karlach.

Astarion, still outside the tent but now sitting cross-legged, squints at Karlach’s leathers; he’s about knee-height, after all. Not that he ever gets much taller, when he's standing next to Karlach. “Are those brambles? Here I thought they’d all just burn away.” He looks up at her, and the smile in his eyes is less sharp-edged, now; he's trying for comfort. “Do you want to keep them? They really do add something. Like the studding.”

Yeah, the brambles were what she was trying to avoid when she landed in the nettles. “I want to forget all this ever happened,” Karlach moans.

Which is how she ends up sitting on a few borrowed foofy plum cushions outside Lora’s tent in her pants – look, it’s a camp and modesty is a distant memory – while Lora heals her thighs and the side of her glutes (and her shoulders, and that bit under her chin from when she tripped), and Astarion sits with her trous in his lap, picking out bramble after bramble with some fancy little tweezers he’d got stashed away. “Is that better?” Lora says, checking her over.

“It really, really is. Thank fuck. Thank you, soldier.”

Lora beams at her, all sweet and pretty, the way that makes you get how Astarion fell for her – he does have a weakness for sunshine.

Astarion neatly folds Karlach’s battered leather trousers and hands them back to her without a word, even a snide one.  

“Thanks, Fangs.”

All right, so they make her a little sick. But they seem like they’re getting better at subtlety, lately. And times like this, she’s glad that her friends are a weird little couple. Seems like they're good for each other.

Astarion claps her on the shoulder – a rare thing, for him – and gives her a broad grin full of fang. “Marvellous. Always glad to help a friend in need. Now, would you mind being elsewhere, so we can ravage each other?”

No, Karlach takes it all back. She’s gonna feed them both to a beholder.

[mamoonde]

thinking about wcz seeming the "calmer/less reactive" parent (and he usually is) so wwx typically confided in his dad more... until wwx tells his dad "offhandedly" about his cool new friend in school who's really smart and funny and "perfect-looking, honestly" for over an hour, to which, wcz just "hmm"s and "ahh"s and "i see"s from where he's "tinkering w a talisman" (but has actually ruined the paper with huge blobs of ink).

wwx retires to his room with a, "we're gonna be best friends, i can tell!" and wcz chokes out a, "uh-huh, that's nice, a-ying."

and the moment the door closes, wcz dashes out of the study to where cssr is rush-ironing out their formal robes for the conference tomorrow (like he knew she would even though he'd reminded her about it everyday for the past 2 weeks) and blurts out in a panic, "A-YING IS IN LOVE!"

CSSR: He is? Really? And he told you that?? WCZ: Well, no, not exactly, he claims to wanna be this boy's best friend, but- CSSR: so why are you freaking out about this? it's just a friend- WCZ: No, you don't understand, he's your son, he had that look and- CSSR: Hey, what's that supposed to mean?! WCZ: He talked about the boy's 'perfect hair' for 15 mins and every other way he's perfect for the rest of the hour. CSSR: Oh. Huh. He is my son then. Who's the boy? Did he say? Maybe we can look him up! WCZ: No, he didn't, but that's not the point! A-Ying, our baby!!! Is in love!!!?!?!! CSR: And? WCZ: And!! He'll want to marry the boy!!! And move out!!! And never wanna see us again!!!! 😭 CSSR: Hold your horses there, buddy. If they do get married, which I imagine isn't going to be any time soon, I will demand visits, especially with the grandchildren- WCZ: Grandchildren!?!??!?! Nooo, not my baby!!! He's still too young for such things! CSSR: Our boy is almost 20, baba. WCZ: Yes, but he's our boy 🥺 CSSR: And he always will be, but remember, we weren't that much older when we made him- WCZ: Cangse...! CSSR: -and anyway, if you're feeling the empty nest now, we could always make another... 😘 WCZ: 😳 A-ahem. You should, uh. You'll burn our robes again.

Much Later in the Wei Household

CSSR pats WCZ's hand where it lay on her bare stomach. "There, another one cooking."

WCZ snorts. "Your period starts in two days, love, I highly doubt it."

"Spoilsport." CSSR blows a raspberry at him, then sighs with a smug smile. "Wait 'til I tell Qiren about this! We may not be Lans, but we Weis do fall pretty hard, you know." She boops his nose.

WCZ smiles. "That we do."

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Waiting For You

Chapter 1; Dolore

Siobhan Roy x fem!Reader

a/n: i’m in love with shiv thank you goodbye ! hope u enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it x love u all

Word Count: 3.308k

“How crude.”

You turn, seeing her for the first time. Her hips fill out her dress, the collar low cut. That was a lie, though. You’ve seen her plenty of times before. You were co-heads of News at Waystar Royco.

You can barely remember the first time you two met. Your family had been close enough to her father to bring you round often. You’d met when you were five, clicked, and haven’t separated since.

You do remember the first time you’d found her pretty- more than platonically. The feelings were big and, honestly, horrifying. You knew your parents would never accept any sort of same-sex relationship, let alone one that you had. She was, is always so damn ethereally breathtaking. And the tightening anxiety in your chest is telling you what it’s always said; this will never happen.

You and Siobhan Roy stand shoulder to shoulder, staring up at Michelangelo's David.

“You’re a spoilsport.”

“Nobody says that but my mother.”

You try to tune out the chatter around you. “How many people did he fucking invite?” you mutter to her.

“I don’t know. I can’t care enough to ask.”

You knew how she felt about her father remarrying for the third time. She didn’t like it the first time it happened when she was alive, obviously, and the new woman wasn’t an improvement. She was closer to him in age, thankfully, but was almost definitely a massive piece of shit he was marrying because she ‘gives him what he wants’, whatever that means.

The two of you, despite your initial not wanting to come, have to save face. After all, she was his daughter, and you have known him long enough to consider him close to you.

“Where are they, anyway?” you ask, peering out at the crowd.

“Probably fucking.”

“Ugh, you’re fucking gross.” She grins back at you, hooking her arm through yours. Your chest flutters at the touch. You drop your voice low. “You think he’ll do it?”

Kendall and Logan Roy are at war. After painful, elongated internal conflict, Kendall broke away with the support of a few major shareholders. He started his own company, and now there were two large media corporations dominating the world market- both pitted firmly against each other. You didn’t really see Kendall as a villain, nor did Shiv. Honestly, you think you prefer him over Logan.

And since Logan can’t take anything lightly, he’d secretly bought up shares within Kendall’s new company and, as per Shiv’s words, was getting ready for a proxy battle. You knew that the entire reason Kendall quit Waystar was because Logan had refused him the throne, over and over again, despite his promises. And now, his father was after him. Again. Shiv told you he was going to serve Kendall soon. You didn’t know when.

“God, I hope not. It’s too much to think about,” she says back. “It’s already enough that he’s running around shitting on so many journalists. Dad wouldn’t stand a chance against Kendall, if poor Kenny knew what was happening. Anyways, if Dad does anything dumb, we’re going to have to clean it up.”

The two of you take a stroll, arm in arm. Your heels click on the marble tile once you arrive back at the massive stone mansion rented out for you to stay in. Shiv redirects you to the bar. Even though you didn’t drink, you always accompanied her.

Her first glass of whiskey goes down slowly as you watch the people around you. Kendall is minding his business, his kids curled up against him, asleep. You have no idea where Roman is, and you think that’s for the best. Connor and Willa entertain their own group, his arms gesticulating in weird directions. Greg wanders around, drink in hand, chatting idly among the crowd.

Then there they are, at last. Logan, his soon-to-be wife right at his side.

“What’s her name, again?” you ask Shiv.

“Maria, I think.”

“That’s… really similar to Marcia.”

She lifts her shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know what he sees in her. She runs some press/media company, and first time I met her to tell her to piss off on one of our news sects, she called me a cunt and then released that one paper with a picture of me sneezing.”

You sink into the couch you’re both sat in. “I don’t understand some people.”

“She wants my job. Technically also your job, but mine because she wants me gone.”

“Why?”

“Greedy,” is all Shiv says. “Her company is doing shit. But she stays afloat ‘cos she’s tethered to Dad.”

The elderly couple are making their rounds, greeting all who are gathered. Mostly everyone has flocked back from the art viewing, and the alcohol is beginning to flow. The two finally make it to you, and you and Shiv get to your feet.

“Logan,” you greet him, only giving Maria a slight not. He leans forward and claps a hand onto your shoulder.

“I’m glad you could make it. Tell your old geezer I say hi next time you see him.”

“He’s around here somewhere,” you laugh.

“The bitch has been avoiding me. He has some loudly wrong opinions on tie fabrics, eh, Y/N?” He laughs with you. Here, away from business, he’s a completely different person. You pray he doesn’t serve Kendall during your stay in Florence- this new Logan is a welcome change in persona. Shiv says nothing, eyeing Maria with her lips pursed.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Shiv says finally, whiskey in hand. The amber liquid swirls as her weight shifts from foot to foot.

“Work’s been busy,” Maria says back. “Lots of… digging to do.”

“Really? That must be such an interesting line of work,” Shiv replies immediately, “Anything juicy?”

Maria’s eyes meet hers. “Very.”

You and Logan exchange a glance.

“Well, if you ever need any help…,” Shiv begins, looking between her father and his fiance. “Y/N and I are pretty good.”

Maria presses her lips together in a thin line. “I’ll let you know. But, why talk of work when we are in Italia?” Her Italian accent twists all of her words, making them lilt, dance, and mingle together.

“Because,” Shiv says. “Business can’t just be left alone.”

Maria turns to you. “You share this sentiment?”

“I do,” you say, meeting Shiv’s gaze. “But I’m happy to be in Italy. It’s beautiful.”

“I think our shared ‘sentiment’ is that we take care of things we need to, even abroad,” Shiv continues.

This conversation has too much reading in between the lines than you’d like.

“Oh, don’t you worry, then. You’ll be able to enjoy the wedding day in peace.”

“Just the wedding day?” Logan asks, slightly miffed. “I think I should remind us we’ve agreed to ‘no business’, especially with Kendall and I’s… issues.”

You and Shiv exchange a glance. “No promises, Dad.”

“I’m being serious, Siobhan,” he says gruffly. “No funny business.”

Her whiskey’s all the way gone, now, and the two of you return to the bar. While you wait for her drink, you spot Roman pushing his way through the crowd towards you, buttoning up his dress shirt. He comes to lean against the countertop next to you, and leans close to whisper in your ear.

“Hey, my girlfriend told me to tell you that Maria’s a scheming bitch.”

You snort. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, when my girl was at work at her firm, she overhead a call being taken by one of her associates… She eavesdropped, and apparently, Maria’s been looking into the legal side of business.”

“Why aren’t you telling Shiv this?”

“Because I know you’ll know what to do with this better than she would. Besides, Maria gives me an icky feeling. Fucks with my ju-ju.” He gives your arm a pat. “Fuck my step mother up for me, will you? Thanks.”

You make a face at him and wave him off. He flips you off as he walks away.

Shiv’s now Ieaning against you, glass of presumably more whiskey raised to her plush lips. They’re stained a rich red, offsetting the orange of her hair and making her eyes glint in the bar light. Her lashes flutter against her creamy skin, staring at the bottom of her drink.

“Feeling okay?” you ask over the chatter.

Her cheek presses against your bare shoulder. She’d convinced you to wear some off-the-shoulder dress she said was the ‘pinnacle of style’. She sighs melodramatically.

“All of this bullshitery. Their wedding is all just another stunt. Business wise, press wise. I can’t escape the theatrics,” she whines, taking a sip from her drink.

“What do you mean?” you prod gently. She got a bit erratic when drunk, and even though she was just barely buzzed, you didn’t want to push her to do something rash.

“Their entire marriage.” She leans close, her breath fanning over your face. “I swear she’s marrying him for the money. But look at him, Y/N… he’s so in love.”

You both watch as the couple slow dance together on the makeshift dance floor. Logan’s gazing at her, positively smitten, like Shiv had said. Maria, on the other hand, peers over his shoulder disinterestedly as they twirl around.

“She could at less sell it better,” you mutter. Shiv’s head is back on your shoulder, and she downs the rest of her drink.

“Also,” Shiv begins, turning and flagging down the bartender, “Conner said he saw her at dinner with Wyatt Harson. That guy that runs that other company that’s also miraculously Dad’s biggest enemy.”

Maybe you were wrong about her not being drunk.

“How much have you had…?”

She takes her next drink. “I don’t remember. I don’t care.”

Shiv wasn’t much of a reckless drinker. Something is bothering her.

“Wanna get out of here?” you ask, trying to lure her away from the bar. She nods, taking your elbow.

“Let’s go sit in my room. It has a big-ass living area,” she murmurs, leading the way.

You leave the main atrium, Shiv gripping at her skirts as you make your way up the stairs. When finally in her room, she throws herself onto the sofa and sighs, relaxing.

“So many fucking people,” she groans. “All of them scheming and plotting and villainous. Makes my head fucking hurt.”

You sit next to her, dress skirt pooling at your feet. She’s already finished her drink, and she sets the glass on the small coffee table in front of you.

“Wanna tell me why you’re trying to drink yourself to a bout of early onset dementia?” you ask her softly.

Shiv frowns at you. “How do you know?”

“I’ve known you long enough.”

“I couldn’t say, out there. When there were so many people. When Dad was there.” She sniffs, readjusting so that her legs are propped up on the coffee table. “Maria’s after my job. After me, the company, whatever.”

“I don’t like her either, but we can’t just speculate.”

“I’m not speculating.” She takes a deep breath, centering herself, and probably staving off an oncoming headache. “She’s blackmailing me,” she admits quietly. “She’s dangling information above my head in exchange for garbage on Dad and Kendall’s dispute. She’s… I’m pretty sure she’s trying to take Dad down. Maybe she weaseled her way into the will, I don’t know. But I can’t say anything.”

“Shiv, what the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me?” You turn to face her completely, folding your leg under your body.

“It literally happened this morning. I gave her some bullshit lie, saying something about how Kendall was planning to serve Dad instead of the other way around, but lying is only going to work once.”

“What does she have on you?”

Shiv bites her lip, worrying at it with her teeth. “It’s… it’s bad. Like, in my own writing bad.”

“You’re Siobhan Roy. And I love you, Shiv, but you can just lie. You’ve done it before.”

“This is different, Y/N. I… I can’t. She, like, needs to die.”

You blow out a breath of air. “What do you want to do?”

“Kill her,” is her first answer. When you make a face, grimacing, she amends, “Try to figure out what she’s really doing.”

“Better,” you mutter. “How about we just… forget about it? For now, at least. She won’t have any time to do any sort of work, Shiv, promise. We’ll deal when we get back.”

She pouts. You feel your face go warm. Fucking hell, she's gorgeous. “And if she does have time?”

You shrug. “We deal anyway. But, come on, we should be enjoying ourselves. We’re in Florence. Can we just have fun?”

“We always have fun. You’re my only friend. My best one.” She takes your hand and gives it a tight squeeze. “And I really need to puke.”

“Buttering me up so I'll hold back your hair?”

She nods, lips pressing together. You shoo her into the bathroom, following and sitting by her side on the cool tile of bathroom floor. If it were anyone else, you’d have been disgusted, but this was a regular enough occurrence that you could keep her hair from her face with one hand and rub her back soothingly with the other.

After flushing the toilet, she groans. “Why’d you let me drink so much?”

“I literally only saw you drink three glasses. You snuck the other hundred. You should take a break from alcohol, don’t you think?”

She stays silent for a moment, staring into the toilet bowl. You’re sat flush against each other, your skin touching hers from shoulder to thigh.

“I’m sorry,” Shiv says under her breath. You almost don’t catch it.

“No you’re not,” you reply teasingly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She chews at her lip before glancing sideways at you. “I feel like it’s always like this. You helping me when I do something stupid. I feel… I feel like I never do anything for you. And I don’t… It makes me feel so shitty.”

All you can do is look at her, stunned. In all your years of friendship, she’d never been so vulnerable. It’s the first time you’d ever even heard the words ‘I feel’ come consecutively from her mouth. You hold each others’ gaze, her glazing over with a sudden clarity.

You don’t say anything. You know she’ll talk when she’s ready.

After a few moments, she does.

“I… you’ve been around for so long. You’ve stuck with me for so long. And I… I… I don’t appreciate you enough. I don’t ever tell you how grateful I am to have you with me, that you’re literally my business partner, that we’re together 24/7. I know you mean well, and I’m a shitty person for thinking this, but whenever you’re supportive like this, you love me like this, a bit of me fucking dies inside because I know I’m never going to do something like this for you.”

Quietly, you ask, “But do you want to?”

“I do. I swear I do. You’re such an amazing friend, and I-”

“Shiv, stop.” You press the heel of your palm to the spot between your brows, trying to will away the forming migraine. “I just… Just try, okay? That’s all I ask.” Wordlessly, she leans towards you and gives you a loose hug, burying her face into your shoulder. You return it, pressing her to you tighter than you probably should. “You should go to bed,” you tell her. “You’ll be thankful for it in the morning.”

She sniffs. “There you go again. The perfect friend.” She wipes at her eyes, and you help her get to her feet. Her words bounce around in your brain. A friend. That’s what you are to her, and that’s it. Nothing more, you tell yourself. For your sake and hers.

Shiv’s changed into her pajamas, and you’re about to bid her goodnight so you can go rot in bed. Before you can, though, you remember something.

“Hey, can I ask something weird?”

“Always,” she says, crawling under the covers. You lean against the doorway to the bedroom.

“Don’t you think we should… warn Kendall? I feel horrible, just sitting here, waiting for him to get executed.”

She presses her lips together. “Why would we do that, though?”

“Why not? Honestly, I think he’s a better person, businessman, and boss than your dad is. And Logan’s been shitting on him for no reason his entire life. I’d feel like I wasn’t doing my due diligence if I didn’t say anything.”

She takes a second to think. “You think this can help in the long run?”

“From my point of view, we’re doing him a big-ass favor. And he’s the type of person to actually treat people around him the way they treat him.” You cross your arms over yourself, getting a little cold. “And I really wouldn’t mind jumping ship from Waystar to Kendall.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Shiv snaps suddenly. “Don’t flip. You can’t, and you won’t.”

An uncomfortable silence ensues. Through gritted teeth, all you say is, “Shiv.”

“I’m serious. I’m all for telling Kendall that he’s about to get fucked over, but you can’t abandon Waystar. Not if I’m going to still be there.” She catches the slight tremor that racks through your body from the chill. “But we won’t talk about that now. Like you said… We should be enjoying ourselves.” She breaks eye contact, looking down as she traces over the flowers printed on her duvet with her finger.

You sigh lightly, pushing off from the doorway. “Okay. I’ll go tell him before I go to bed.” You smooth out the wrinkles in your dress. “Good night, Shiv. Sleep well.”

So much for your earlier heart to heart. You turn, about to walk out into the hall.

“Good night, Y/N. Thank you.”

You give her a smile over your shoulder before shutting off the light and closing the door behind you.

You slowly make your way back downstairs, piecing together your speech in your head. The party is still going strong, and you feel like the noise has gotten ten times louder. You spot Kendall at the bar on his own, his thumb gently stroking the wedding ring sitting on his finger. You go to join him, and he gives you a soft hello and a small cupcake he’d mentioned was made by his wife.

“How are you feeling?” you ask quietly. “I know it’s been… a bit much.”

He laughs bitterly. “God. Dad’s been making my life hell. And I can only do so much to keep my wife, the kids, Rava out of it.”

You hum sympathetically. “Well, I hope what I’m about to tell you helps with that.” He turns to you, expectantly. “Mind if we take a stroll outside? The weather is always gorgeous.”

When the two of you are successfully away from any prying eyes and ears, walking through a garden, you let yourself relax. “Your dad has had a new investment interest.”

“Oh? I hadn’t heard.”

“Because it’s in your company.” He stops walking. “He’s secretly buying your shares, Kendall.”

“Oh my fucking god,” he says under his breath. “That’s why- shit, Y/N, that puts a lot into perspective.”

“Spike in purchases?” He nods, grim. “Yeah, thought so. And, uh, Ken?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“He’s going to proxy you.”

“That fucking dirt bag,” he hisses. His entire body tenses up, but he takes a breath, controlling himself. “Thank you, Y/N. This means a lot to me.”

“I thought you deserved to know.” A soft breeze blows back your hair from your face. “And between you and me… I’m glad to lend my help whenever you need it.”

Kendall nods slowly, hands clasping together.

“I’ll make sure to remember that.”

[invisibleraven]

Back hugs for the rarepair of your choice?

If there was one chore that Luke hated more than anything, it was doing the dishes. He hated how pruny it made his hands-and yes, he knew he could wear gloves. He hated the tedious process of scrubbing every pot and pan with them still not coming clean because he forgot to soak them. Then the whole drying and putting them away nonsense...

But it was his turn, and so he sucked it up, standing at the sink, hating everything.

"Lukey?"

"In here!"

Strong arms wrapped around his midsection and a chin rested on Luke's shoulder. "Hey babe."

"Hey yourself. How was work?"

A groan, with a forehead pressed down. "Hell. Can we please win the lottery so I can become a kept man and not have to slave for the whims of capitalism any longer?"

Luke snorted. "That's the dream. Though since we always forget to buy lotto tickets, I doubt it will become a reality any time soon."

A hum then, and a line of kisses up Luke's neck that made him shiver. A nip to his earlobe that had Luke's knees go weak momentarily. "How about a bank robbery?"

Luke barked out a laugh at that. "I would prefer to stay out of prison if it's all the same to you."

"But be gay do crime!"

Luke turned in Willie's arms and looped his soggy fingers around his neck. "Babe, I think you have both of those covered what with the graffitti."

Willie pouted, and Luke just had to kiss it off his face. Willie grinned as he pulled back. "Spoilsport. Anyways, what's for supper?"

"I was thinking we could go meet up with the guys for tacos and beer before trivia night?" Luke suggested.

"You mean before they kick our butts at trivia?" Willie replied cheekily.

Luke stuck his tongue out at him, but what could he say? Reg and Lex crushed them at trivia every week. Luke didn't really mind though, as they did more for fun than to win, even if he'd love to get a free pitcher of beer and plate of whatever appetizer he wanted every so often.

"Well how about I help you with these dishes so we can get to our butt kicking all the faster?" Willie offered.

"That'd be great honestly," Luke sighed. "I hate dishes."

"I know sweetie, believe me, I know," Willie replied, kissing his cheek, and picked up the towel. "I'll dry."

Luke groaned, but picked up the next pot to scrub, scowling at it as the metal slowly revealed itself. "I really gotta start soaking these." He then pointed a soapy finger at Willie. "And not a word from you mister."

Willie mimed zipping his lips, but couldn't suppress his smile, because he was always telling Luke to soak things to make this chore easier. Willie tried his best to do that, but with his job having shifts all over the place, it was harder for him to get to that kind of thing. Where Luke's schedule being far less crazy, he volunteered to help around the house more.

Willie gave him a small hip check then. "Hey, I know this isn't your favourite chore, but I do appreciate you doing it. Hopefully next month things will calm down and I can take a few loads."

"I told you I don't mind," Luke insisted. "But it would be nice not to have dishpan hands for once." He then flicked a small bundle of bubbles at Willie.

"I am buying you gloves!" Willie stated, blowing the bubbles back at Luke. "Bright blue ones with frilly cuffs at the ends."

Luke grinned, hugging Willie from behind, kissing the hinge of his jaw. "I'm just teasing, nothing some moisturizer won't solve. Thanks for your help by the way."

Willie grinned, turning his face to kiss Luke before he went off. Only then did he notice the small pile of dishes left to wash. "Hey, no fair!"

Luke's giggles echoed around the house, and Willie sighed, shaking his head before going over to finish the dishes. With his own pair of gloves.

[codelyokooutofcontext]

Today marks the one year anniversary of this blog's first post!

One year ago today, I acted on a whim and made a new blog to post moments from this show that, without context, look absolutely insane. I thought it was funny, my friends thought it was funny, but I didn't really have any big plans. I thought "I'll keep this around for a little bit and then probably drop it". Like I usually do with most projects of this nature.

If you'd told me I'd still be here a year later, I wouldn't have believed you. I especially wouldn't have believed you if you told me how many followers this account would amass in that time period. Honestly even being here now and seeing all of it, it's still a little hard to believe.

Thank you all for supporting this ridiculous little blog. It means a lot.

And after all this time, perhaps it's time for a proper introduction.

Hi, I'm YoshiStack! I've been utterly obsessed with this show since I was 4 years old and I've been involved in the fandom in some capacity since I was 13. Given that I'm about to turn 24 here in a little over a month, you could say I've been here for awhile!

Aside from this blog and the other few video edits I've done, my main contribution to fannish materials is fanfiction! I mostly write gen work about the friendship between the characters, as that's always been one of my favorite parts about the show and characters. You can find my CL work (and other oddities too if you're feeling adventurous) on Ao3 also under the name YoshiStack.

I'm also on YouTube! Right now I'm wrapping up a playthrough of the original Super Mario RPG before the remake releases and in the middle of a playthrough of a childhood game of mine, Thrillville: Off The Rails. I'm still a novice when it comes to recording stuff, but I'm having a lot of fun doing it and it'd mean the world to me if you checked it out.

(And as an aside: if you have audio or video editing you need done, hit me up either on here or the email I have listed on youtube! We'll see if we can work something out!)

Zero obligation to check out either of those ventures, but it'd mean a lot to me if you did!

Now here's some answers to some basic questions for CL and this blog that you may or may not have wondered about:

Favorite Character: Definitely Aelita! I love her arc! Her development from this character the others feel very protective over to ultimate sass master is so fun to watch

Favorite Episode: Oh that's so hard. But If I had to pick just a few...[REDACTED UNTIL POLLS CONCLUDE]

Spoilsport. Favorite season then?: Oh this one is easy! Season 2 for sure! It does a great job introducing all the new elements you need to know about in the beginning of it (Franz Hopper, William, Sector 5, etc) and has well done pay off at the end. And the stuff in the middle is just downright fun! A well executed season all around

Favorite Sector: Prooooobably forest? Something about all the trees is fun to me. Honestly I like most of the sector though. Minus desert. Too much desert in S1

Favorite Monster: I used to be all about the Bloks, but after running this blog for a year now I've gained an appreciation for the comedy that the Tarantulas often pull off. From well timed devirtualizations to killing one of its buddies with their own lasers, they're unintentionally really funny!

Favorite XANA Attack: I unironically love the food monster. Also the rat army. It's absolutely horrifying but pulled off so well

Favorite relationship: Ulrich and Aelita all the way man. Platonically I mean, their friendship is so underrated in the show itself but the few times they get to interact they're just gold (I am Jerlita trash too if you want to know more in that kind of relationship sense)

How do you pick out of context moments?: Honestly most of the time I just pick a random few episodes and skim through until I find something. Sometimes I'll have a particular moment in mind, but sometimes the funniest clips come from me just mindlessly looking through some episodes

Will you ever do Evolution out of context?: I considered using a clip from it for April Fools Day but I got lazy and never got around to it lol. Aside from that idea though, I don't know Evolution well enough to pulls clips from it, and I'm just not super interested in doing so at the moment. If anyone else reading this though has a burning desire though then you absolutely have my blessing (not that you need it obviously)

What do you think about the idea of the show possibly getting a continuation?: So I’ve always been pretty set in my thought that the show doesn’t really need a continuation. While more backstory on Project Carthage would be cool, it never really mattered to the Lyoko Warriors in the end, and the idea of bringing XANA back after they fought so hard to bring it down always felt cheap to me. They had their fight, they won, let them move on in peace.

That being said, the idea of the brains largely responsible for the original show having a genuine interest in continuing does have me at least a little intrigued. It’s way too soon to say whether or not anything will come from that interest of course—TV is a complicated thing and interest from creators alone isn’t enough to make it happen. But if nothing else, it’s nice to know that even all these years later, there’s still interest in the show and these characters from them.

How long will this blog be around?: Honestly I have no idea! I never thought I'd make it this far! I have no plans on stopping any time soon at least—there's tons of episodes I haven't even touched for out of context moments, so I'm not running out of material any time soon!

For now I’m just going to letting things run their course naturally and enjoy the ride.

That’s all I can think of to put here, but my askbox is always open for more questions!

Thank you all once again for your support for this year. I hope you'll join me going into our next one and beyond.

Here's to another year out of context!

[volivolition]

Any updates on all wip fics? and what is your ao3 username if you have one?

if you don't want to share any info, it's all good

i hope you know how hard i am YIPPEE-ing after getting this ask, I LOVE TALKING ABOUT MY FIC WIPS!!!! YEAHGKJH!!!! <33 my AO3 is also volivolition, but i dont have anything posted there yet :]

TL;DR: I have 4+ WIPs im working on simultaneously: Unstoppable Force Kisses Immovable Object - A Voli/Echem enemies -> enemies with benefits -> friends with benefits -> lovers fic that started as PWP but whoops its not just smut anymore lmao? Meet the Parts that Make You - A "Kim introduced to the Skills" fic! Let's Make It (a) Home - A Skills fic showing the aftermath of the amnesia wiping out Harry's mindspace, with the Skills working together to rebuild it into a home during the Hanged Man case. Mostly domestic fluff. Swept Up in the Feeling - An Empathy-centric fic, originally an excuse to do Skill character studies. Empathy understanding each skill while they do activities together <3 (gained a plot. suddenly.)

ANYWAY!! more info, snippets and musings under the cut!

Unstoppable Forces Kisses Immovable Object Word Count: 18722 Rating: Explicit Okay, so technically this document isn't just one story. It's my catch-all "any Volistry writing goes HERE" containment zone. Like I said, this wasn't supposed to be anything big, I just wanted to write a bunch of drabbles and practice writing smut because I've never done that before. But then the drabbles started connecting to each other and Voli and Echem started falling in love without asking me and so it's like. A whole thing now lmao?

they bring me so much joy. they're so fun to write, because volition will say something so normal and echem will find some way to misconstrue it and volition will bicker and echem will flirt back and volition will sigh and they're so fucking funny to me. they just keep talking, their back-and-forth banter is so natural to write, which is why this fic is so long hkgjh

they learn to balance each other out!! i want them to be soft and witty with each other and i'll. cry about them. if you catch me at the right time i will wax poetic about their relationship but right now they're just being incoherently rotated in my brain.

anyway here's a snippet, i have so much written for this damn fic that i had trouble choosing lmao. it's like. mildly suggestive? but truly nothing blatant, just cutesy shit lmao

Meet the Parts that Make You Word Count: 3886 Rating: Mature This fic is the closest of the four to being abandoned lmao? Or at least I want to finish Swept Up before writing this one, because as it stands I feel like I can't grasp everyone's characters right without doing some character study beforehand. It might also be because I'm currently more obsessed with the Skills instead of the humans, though i still love them.

but yes! Meet the Parts that Make You is a fic after Martinaise, established relationship for KimHarry, where Kim is casually introduced to the skills over dinner, and they document their findings in Kim's notebook over the course of about a week. it's a lot of skills banter and silly moments!! harry can honestly say that every single part of him loves Kim.

here's where they're trying to show off each of their different specialties, featuring Reaction Speed and Hand/Eye Coordination who are my sillies.

Let's Make It (a) Home Word Count: 1896 Rating: Teen+ I think if I want to finish any fic first, I want it to be this one, because it really sets the scene for the rest of the universe of all my other fics. The main gist is that Perception can pull in anything that Harry's looking at into the mindspace, and once they figure this out, most of the skills go "Hey we should bring in more things so we can decorate!"

volition my friend and perpetual spoilsport :3 anyway, different skills affect the object's properties! Perception can pull things in, Interfacing can give it texture, Conceptualization can make it different colors and Reaction Speed can duplicate it. Empathy makes it so the object has the correct feelings attached to it (Dora's letter, for example) and Half Light can immediately destroy the object (Dora's letter, for example).

this fic is basically The Hanged Man case, but from the perspective of the Skills. i think it focuses on some specific skills, but maybe not all of them because I'd die if i had to give each one of them an individual chapter. maybe i'll smoosh some skills together? i love all of them and i want all of them to get some screen time, but it would wreck me lmao

i have a whole Volition scene written out and i think its so fucking gorgeous bro... i love writing. it's like... rebuilding after death, the skills have a kind of blank slate too, you know? they're learning to work together again, regaining memories, making new ones, making a home together. the way different skills need to work together to make an object in the mindspace real. I WANT THEM TO BE A HAPPY FAMILY. AUHG.

Swept Up in the Feeling Word Count: 5103 Rating: This is Mature. Except the Echem chapter. Which is Explicit.

EMPATHY MY FAVORITE SKILL. OUGH. EMPATHY. MY FRIEND. this fic is about Empathy getting roped into a bunch of shenanigans with the other skills, and goes along with it all while better understanding each of them.

so remember when i said I'd die if i had to give each one of them an individual chapter? yeah. that's because THIS is the story where i give each one of them an individual chapter.

24 chapters, one per each skill. Including, but not limited to:

Exercising with Physical Instrument!

Art time with Conceptualization!

Performance with Drama!

Listening to Encyclopedia infodump!

Reminiscing with Volition!! (THEY ARE CHILDHOOD BEST FRIENDS!!!)

Staying up late with Endurance

"Overstimulated Skills Support Group" with Perception

Talking about understanding people vs understanding machines with Interfacing

Talking about understanding people vs understanding specific people with Esprit de Corps

Apologizing to Composure about making their life harder with UNNECESSARY FEELINGS ("as if we don't deal with enough of our own, you bring in other people's emotions for me to hide?" "why do we always need to hide them?" "BECAUSE... :| Just because.")

A Talk with Half Light.

Y'know... with Electrochemistry (there's more to it than just that though lmao)

This fic will be the death of me, with all the skills, but I really really want to do skill character studies. I need to research their lines on Fayde and understand each of them so I can write all of them better.

This is also so I can be obsessed with each of them. Currently I have a lot of faves, but I don't care about all of them yet when i WANT TO!! i want to know each of them intrinsically!! I wrote a bit of the Endurance chapter and I didn't use to care for him very much, but then I wrote the lines

"Endurance is not tired; he can't afford to be. Not when everyone else is. He would stand before any of them, from the first intellect to the last motoric, in order to take a blow meant for someone frailer, less capable of surviving it. He will endure it instead."

and now I'm sympathetic to him. like, ough. If I understand them, then I learn to love them, and that's also why I'm writing it from Empathy's perspective! Empathy feels what other the other skills feel and does bonding activities with them with similar feelings, does that make sense? i really want to learn characterization for each of them, this fic truly is just an excuse for me to do character studies so i know all their character motivations.

BUT. it also has backstory plot now that im invested in lmao? based off of character design that i have. I STILL NEED TO POST MY SKILL REFS. RAUGH. but yeah all of my stories get too big for me really, i always bite off more than i can chew for projects like this lmao.

Other Fics: Skill Body Swap Fic! its shoved into Unstoppable Force's document for the time being, since this is mostly an excuse for Volition/Echem swap (Echem's body is ~sensitive~ if you're not used to it and i love putting voli through Situations. meanwhile Volition's body has the morale health pool in it that echem has to take care of), and ive only written that specific swap, but i think it'd be cool if i swapped EVERY SKILL.

Logic and Drama would be funny hkjgh Drama would 1) immediately slot into the new role and be extremely good at pretending nothing is wrong. What do you mean, he hasn't switched bodies with anyone? That's highly improbable. 2) love saying lies as if they were appropriate conclusions, and actual Logic would be like "That's literally wrong. Stop that."

Empathy and Composure would be interesting! Empathy's body is constantly picking up on everyone's emotions, and also is always on the brink of tears. Composure's body is not made to experience the same emotions, much less the emotions of others. Empathy's cut off from feeling and Composure is struggling not to fucking cry, poor guy.

Shivers and anyone? I just think Shivers should be small and worried about her connection to Revachol. and some other skill is just like "WHY IS THIS SO OVERWHELMING. HELLO??"

i dont know, theres a lot of ways i could go with this, i'll figure it out lmao. if anyone has suggestions for interesting/funny swaps and is even reading this far, let me know

The Sunrise Momentum. I SWEAR TO GOD IF I DONT WRITE THIS FIC. I NEED TO FUCKING WRITE THIS. Volition's vow with Harry that i cry about once per day. VOLITION IS TO HARRY AS HARRY IS TO REVACHOL. AUGH. "I will do everything in my power to keep you alive. I will keep you on this earth." my knight in lavender armor i am OBSESSED WITH YOUUUU!! *vibrates at high velocity*

okay that's about it, thanks for reading my RAMBLES!!

[batrachised]

7 and 19 for the ask game pls!!! also i’m a little curious about #2 if you’re comfortable answering that 😅

~@no-where-new-hero

i didn't remember what 2 was and looked it up curiously, intrigued by your description, and began wheezing. (2. a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom). I can honestly say, being completely genuine, that I have never thought about it😂the seed has been planted though, so maybe I will eventually grow to have very strong opinions on this lol

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

I have star wars answers, but they're so irrational they're embarrassing lol, so I'll stick with lmm. speaking very carefully because I don't want to land this in the tags or the posts and be a spoilsport, but the new tv show about Anne seems to have a lot of OOC moments to say the least, and it kind of rubs me the wrong way when people think it's an improvement. In my opinion, it's often so different it's not really the same character anymore. So, a lot of the characters from there. Also, maybe I'm just old, but the new Gil and Anne look SO young to me that I can't get into it lmao, it's one thing when they're actually young teens but they're supposed to be adults and they look fifteen to me still 😭

19. you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like…

uncle benjamin

[karamazovposting]

On Ivan and bipolar disorder (part four)

Since this is (finally) the last part of this essay and I've already previously mentioned what it will be about, I don't have an introduction to make, but I do think I need to give a couple disclaimers before getting right into this mess. First one: I have a lot of explaining to do because this gets medical again and I can't just assume you all know exactly what I'm talking about and/or to what extent; I hope I won't overexplain or sound condescending. On this same note, I forgot to open part one by explaining that bipolar disorder is a chronic mental illness that is treatable through lifelong medication and not necessarily lifelong therapy but not curable because to me that's a given, so sorry if you didn't have much knowledge on the topic and had to read my yapping with little or even no context. Second one: I will be using some words (such as "delusional") that are to be taken literally, in the medical sense. I'm not saying this because I think you are all stupid of course, but to highlight the seriousness of what I've been talking about these past months; it seems to me that lately medical terminology regarding mental health has been watered down a lot by Internet culture to the point of it losing its meaning, with memes about being "delulu 🤪" or reducing mania to dyeing your hair by yourself at 2 AM leading people to not take these things seriously. I don't mean to be a spoilsport or anything, I like and share those memes too but I've actually been (hypo)manic and delusional in the past so I guess I have the right to joke about it at least. Maybe it's not that serious but I want it to be serious at least here, which is also why I've never referred to episodes as "mood swings". I don't do that in real life either, even when talking to people who don't know much about bipolar disorder, because I've always found the term reductive and misleading: everyone has mood swings, it came free with being a human being. In my opinion it contributes to the misunderstanding of this disorder and the people who have it; no, we are not moody by default and no, we don't change our minds every five minutes or are happy one moment and then suddenly sad the next (seriously, who came up with these stereotypes and how?), but I digress.

This said, let's get down to business. I want to start with one detail that is either one of the most absurd coincidences in the entire history of literature or proof that Dostoevsky was somewhat somehow familiar with bipolar disorder and decided to integrate some things he witnessed in Ivan's character (I guess without knowing, as at the time there was very little understanding of it to the point it wasn't really considered an illness and was referred to as circular insanity and later as manic-depression, which are both cooler names than bipolar disorder but again I digress) because I swear I can't find any other explanation for it: the timeline of The Brothers Karamazov. It might seem like a very small detail, but as soon as I figured out the timeline I thought of fucking course. Now, we all know the timeline of this novel is a little confusing at first as there are almost no indicators of how much time has passed between Alyosha running from one house to another first and shit going down second, but in the first half of the novel we know it all starts in late August and honestly I didn't make anything of it, but then the timeline becomes clearer after Dmitri's arrest and we end up in early November for the trial and I mean, nothing particularly interesting or peculiar about a book covering the events of a (little over) two-month timespan, right? Technically yes, because it's not the amount of time that has passed that matters, but the time of the year: if it all had, for example, taken place from late June to early August or from late December to early February I wouldn't even be talking about it, because there's no seasonal change taking place in those months. August to November, however, is another story. I also find it interesting that it's the change from warm to cold weather, as it's the one that's the hardest for most people (for me personally it's the opposite, the shift from Winter to Spring is a nightmare, but I'm a rare case when it comes to that); I don't really know why, but the seasonal changes are always delicate periods for people with bipolar disorder as they can trigger episodes, I guess it's pretty much the same mechanism that occurs in seasonal depression. So, let me lay the timeline out for you: the Karamazovs reunite in late August, Ivan leaves a few days after, Fyodor is murdered shortly after, so probably in early September and Dmitri is arrested the same night, then Ivan comes back five days later, the trial takes place in early November the day after Pavel hangs himself, and Dmitri is sentenced five days before the story ends with Ilyusha's funeral. This timeline detail seriously drives me insane because all the other puzzle pieces I've been putting together for a while could be related to other disorders/conditions as well, such as schizophrenia (schizoaffective bipolar disorder is a thing too but I don't have it so I can't really say anything about it) and autism (autism and bipolar disorder have a lot in common), or even to just personality, but this? It's a little too oddly specific in my opinion, but I'll just keep assuming it's a coincidence for the sake of my own mental health.

Anyway, this means the story starts when a seasonal change is approaching, which is already a delicate time on its own, and Ivan has to put himself in an unpleasant situation that has a high chance of turning into a shitshow (and it does): going somewhere he wants to leave as soon as possible to discuss things he doesn't want to discuss surrounded by people he doesn't want to deal with. That's not a good start at all and it would be enough to put me, someone who has been medicated for seven years, on edge (and it has in the past); no wonder he's pissed off all the time. And it's only the start since, as we all know, the worst is yet to come. I love that the reader only gets bits and pieces of the build-up of Ivan's episode through the other characters' points of view and I particularly love how said build-up reaches its climax; it doesn't happen when Ivan hallucinates the devil (as it's mentioned he's seen him before and has also had other similar experiences in the past, I'll get into that later), but exactly a moment before that. But first, let's focus on the main build-up moments we see bits and pieces of before that. I was impressed by how realistically the whole thing was portrayed, especially considering that at the time almost everyting about this disorder was unknown; still to this day, in 2024, many people think bipolar disorder is a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation, with the person being "normal" one day and waking up "crazy" the next like some sort of magic happening overnight, but that's straight up not true, it doesn't happen. Bipolar disorder is way more rational than one would think (very fitting for Ivan, isn't it?) and at times you do have an awful amount of self-awareness but can do nothing with it, it's kind of like being stuck in the passenger seat of a car with a broken steering wheel and broken breaks that's speeding straight against a wall; you know what's happening but can do nothing but watch and hope the crash won't be that painful. And that's how I felt reading too, every time I saw those bits and pieces of Ivan's story I thought oh no it's happening. And Ivan knows it's happening too, as we see in Book Eleven.

I've focused on The brothers get acquainted, Rebellion and The Grand Inquisitor already, but I have to mention them again because as I've already explained they're such a pivotal point; before that we don't really know what Ivan's deal is, but as soon as we get acquainted (sorry, I had to) with him we start to notice that something's definitely up, and there is one seemingly small detail that I just can't get out of my head: when Ivan gets up and starts walking after his talk with his brother, Aleksej points out to himself that he's swaying a little. Considering it's implied that Ivan has a problem with alcohol (it runs in the family after all) in other occasions too, that's probably an indicator that Ivan had been drinking during his stay. Not only is there a strong link between bipolar disorder and substance abuse (how could there not be? Shit's tough and sometimes you have to self medicate, especially in the 1800s), but alcohol and drugs can trigger episodes or make them worse; Ivan is also once again dealing with everything alone and trust me, that's recipe for disaster. And of course after that the aforementioned metaphorical car does nothing but gain speed and Ivan increasingly becomes angrier, restless and frantic: he has trouble sleeping, he starts isolating himself even more, he talks faster, his thoughts start racing, his speech pattern becomes more and more incoherent and he can't stay still as he's mentioned walking back and forth for seemingly no reason in different occasions; all textbook symptoms. He visibly looks sick too and bipolar episodes are known to take a toll on your physical appearance (I looked like a walking corpse for years) as well as having physical symptoms manifest along the psychological/psychiatric ones, such as headaches caused by stress, which Ivan frequently has, because stress is a major trigger for bipolar disorder (and Ivan is undeniably quite stressed). Sleep also plays a huge role when it comes to bipolar disorder as it can quite literally determine your faith: the the very first sign to watch out for if you feel something might be wrong is a change in sleeping habits; if they start changing significantly it means something's definitely up and you need to intervene as soon as possible (I have prevented episodes from either spiraling or happening at all like that but it takes years of practice). Ivan's sleep schedule, if we can even call it that, during his episode reminds me of my own during an insane (no pun intended?) mixed episode I've had and it makes sense since after every manic episode comes a "crash", and during mixed episodes you can crash back and forth for days; it happened to me. But what is a manic crash? It can be summed up with a simple phrase: what comes up must come down. It's like throwing a ball in the air, it reaches its peak up there and after that it's all downhill until it crashes down on the ground and the higher it goes, harder the crash: if you stay up all night while manic, you'll sleep all day while depressed, the more euphoric you are, the more dysphoric you'll be; so it makes sense for Ivan to sleep more and more as he "comes down". As for the fever, stress can do that. Brain fever is nothing but a 19th century literature thing because it's not a real diagnosis and at the time severe emotional and psychological upset was classified as either that or hysteria, which isn't a real diagnosis either.

Another puzzle piece that fits way too well is that little mention of him tidying his room himself despite having someone to do it for him; I know it's probably thrown in there to highlight his self-isolating independence, but cleaning and tidying are very common (to the point it's almost a cliché) activities to do when you're having a (hypo)manic or mixed episode because they help getting rid of all the extra energy and give you a sense of control over your life; for me it's almost compulsive (compulsions and obsessive thoughts are common in bipolar disorder because bipolar disorder is like three different conditions in a trenchcoat), I've found myself obsessively cleaning my bathroom every day for months and fighting the compulsion to do the dishes even when it wasn't necessary. It's mentioned that Ivan feels the increasing loss of control and is ashamed of it, which brings us to the very important topics, when it comes to him, of self-awareness and control.

I already mentioned it in part one but I want to say it again: control is crucial when it comes to bipolar disorder; something out of your control happening in your life or not having enough control over your symptoms and emotions is enough to send you down (or up) a dangerous path (sounds familiar?). It takes years of treatment to be able to deal with the unexpected and to let go of this control freak attitude, but Ivan is riding this rollercoaster with no seat belt so here we are. I think this reflects best in his attitude when visiting Pavel in the hospital after Dmitri's arrest, when Ivan says he came back from Moscow as soon as possible to fix the mess they all made in his absence. He's particularly keen on letting Pavel know he has no intention of playing games and it's clear he has a no bullshit allowed policy when it comes to his family, which checks out with what I went over in part three: Ivan's presence in the Karamazov household means quiet and order. Ivan definitely has a strong personality and to me it feels like that kind of strong personality one has to develop to stay afloat, and considering Ivan is not comfortable with showing "weakness"...well; I'll get to that later. I don't know if it's a middle child thing because I'm not a middle child but I'm the only diagnosed and medicated person in a family that feels more like an emotional minefield and let me tell you, I've been running that shit like it's the Navy for years and I'm pretty sure I'm the only case of a youngest son with eldest daughter syndrome in human history and yes, it's a bipolar thing. The need for control is so strong that it extends to your surroundings and therefore the people around you; I don't know how to explain it because it's not a manipulation thing, it's an I can't deal with my own emotions so having someone express theirs in an extreme way makes me uncomfortable and I also need a stable environment to not lose my mind so I need to de-escalate any situation that might trigger me thing; it's cleaning up after other people's mess for your own sake. And maybe a little savior complex, at least in my case. Anyway, if Ivan keeps his family stable he keeps himself stable as well, so he has to take matters into his own hands even when it's too late. Damage control is a very important skill if you have bipolar disorder.

I've already been over Ivan's visceral anger so I won't go over it again, but I want to spend a few words for that one part where he punches Pavel: been there done that, and normally I'm not even a violent person. It was a pretty similar situation too: someone had been tormenting me for months while I already wasn't doing good at all, took it too far one day and I just snapped; I didn't even mean to hit that person but it's not something you can gain control over when it gets to that point, so I get where Ivan was coming from and I'll defend him until the day I die.

Since I'm going in chronological order, as you might have already noticed, this means I've finally reached the fun part. Brace yourselves, this is going to be long. I don't have much to say about the whole devil ordeal that hasn't already been said, after all it's the most blatant manifestation of Ivan's mental health status, and I think it's more important to focus on what's around the hallucination rather than the hallucination itself. The first and most important thing I noticed is that Ivan is not scared, and it makes sense for him to not be because the narrator says that situation feels familiar to Ivan, making this the second time it's mentioned by the narrator that Ivan has a past history of both depressive and dysphoric manic (usually referred to as mixed) episodes, which alone qualifies for a formal bipolar disorder diagnosis; now that I think about it I could have just said this instead of making four posts about it, but where's the fun in that? Also I don't have enough information to armchair diagnose this 19th century fictional character with a specific type of bipolar disorder, so I laid out all the relevant information for you to interpet it however you want, if you're familiar with this stuff. I think he could be either bipolar I or bipolar II as there aren't many differences between those two types. For reference, I'm bipolar II (electric boogalo), which is usually mainly depressive and has less intense "ups" (mania when it's bipolar I and hypomania when it's bipolar II, but mania and manic are often used as umbrella terms and I've used them as such in this). Ivan's episode seems more mixed (having both manic and depressive symptoms at the same time, I should've explained it earlier, sorry) than purely manic and mixed episodes are more likely to happen in bipolar II and/or to those who start having symptoms in adolescence regardless of type and I think that checks out (go to part two for that). However, hallucinating a whole person and having conversations with them is a pretty big deal and my own hallucinations are nothing like that, usually hearing noises such as knocks on my door or seeing shadows or bugs at the corner of my eye and things looking slightly off and changing in shape and size; nothing big that I can interact with and I can easily ignore that the rare times it happens. Wikipedia says that any kind of hallucination classifies as mania, but my psychiatrists obviously know I've hallucinated in the past and still haven't changed my diagnosis so don't trust Wikipedia I guess, probably because my hypomanic episodes have never significantly impaired my ability to function (like they haven't significantly impaired Ivan's; trust me, he could be doing much worse). There is a lot of nuance that Internet articles lack in my opinion.

Anyway, let's go back to focusing on how Ivan feels: he's not scared, but he is exhausted and desperate. And it's heartbreaking. Not the hardest part of The Brothers Karamazov for me to read, not at all actually, but way too familiar. Ivan, who has a strong personality and a no bullshit allowed policy, who usually speaks in a firm voice and who refused to get help even if he knew his mental state was getting worse, breaks down (in private, of course) and begs and pleads; please leave me alone, shut up. He goes back and forth between desperation and rage (very mixed episode of him) and what struck me the most is how harsh his words are: almost every time the devil says something, Ivan replies with an insult or even more in a row. Yes, it's not that atypical of him considering how he talks and refers to Pavel or Dmitri, but it's, again, heartbreaking because he's never acted like that with them (or even with his father) and he knows the devil is actually himself. He's reserving his worst words, his worst attitude, his most burning and consuming rage and hatred, for himself. And he knows that. Worst thing of all to me is that at some point he covers his ears to not hear the devil, his own thoughts, and I've done that. Sometimes those thoughts are so loud that they seem to come from an outside source and covering your ears comes naturally. It obviously doesn't work. I have many other thoughts about Ivan's devil but they don't have much to do with bipolar disorder so maybe I'll write another post in the future if I feel like it. Also honorable mention to the thrown glass because apparently I've done something similar once even if I genuinely don't remember it at all (bipolar disorder also causes memory loss so you barely rememeber your episodes, it's kind of like trying to recall the events of a party you got drunk at, we're not getting into that though).

Maybe I see Ivan's story and character as less dark and tragic than the average reader does, because to most people constantly walking up and down restless with racing, out of control, incoherent thoughts and experiencing delusions and hallucinations is understandably a terrifying experience, but for me up until a couple years ago that was just a random Tuesday. I mean it is terrifying but you get used to it, after a while you understand the twisted logic bipolar disorder operates under and it becomes less scary (still is at times) and more annoying, you try to keep up with your meds and manage your symptoms as best as you can and just go on with your life while still trying to fight it when/if you can (it's less depressing than how I'm describing it I swear, I really don't know how to convey that feeling). I don't see myself as a walking tragedy or as doomed (anymore), mental illness is just mundane to me and so is to Ivan; I think Dostoevsky did a marvelous job at portraying just how uneventful it can feel from the inside and we see it the contrast between what's happening to Ivan and his reaction to it and also between the other characters' perception of him and his own perception of himself. There is nothing other than concern coming from his loved ones, no judgment, they acknowledge that he's unwell and they usually refer to him as such; Ivan on the other hand refuses to and therefore refuses to take care of himself or, God forbid, let others take care of him. He knew an episode was approaching, but as long as he was physically okay his mental state didn't matter to him. Ivan's biggest flaw is that he's independent and self-absorbed (for lack of a better word) in an unhealthy, negative, bipolar way and it only fuels his anger: the only valid judgment and opinion of himself is his own and he doesn't have a positive view of himself. The devil tells him the people at the trial will pity him and Ivan snaps; he doesn't want to be pitied, he doesn't want to be seen as "weak" because he has internalized refusal for "weakness" and "cowardice" (he asks himself if he's a coward in different occasions, sometimes straight up calling himself that). How could he not have internalized it? He was neglected growing up and as an adult he always seems to be held at an impossible standard due to the way his personality was forced to develop, from being expected to keep the peace between the Karamazovs to even after his father is brutally murdered; at the trial Ippolit Kirillovič says that if Ivan was so sure of his brother's innocence, why didn't go to the police after Smerdyakov's confession? To them that must mean said confession never happened and that Dmitri is the murderer, but in reality Ivan (poor thing) didn't go because he was delusional and thought the two of them were going to confess together the following day. People expect him to be able to think straight and fix his family's mess even when he can't. And still, he doesn't break down even at the trial: he's firm even in his delirium, he never falters, his voice never breaks, he's determined and strong like he's expected to be, even if the others can't see it. He does the right thing for himself, not caring about anyone else's opinion, and in a sense he's some sort of modern Cassandra, cursed to tell the truth without being believed by those who can save his family (and in some versions of Cassandra's myth she goes mad due to witnessing the fall of Troy). He never cries; there's only one mention of him crying in the whole novel and contrary to other characters crying, it's not something we are told by the narrator himself but it's thrown in a conversation between Katya and Alyosha by Katya. Ivan only cried in private, in front of the person who insisted to take care of him. This talk about his relationship with "weakness" and the (partial) act he puts up definitely makes more sense in relation to part three and I hope you get what I'm trying to say.

Speaking of the trial, I was struck by the attention brought to the Karamazovs', as a whole, ability to see and navigate through two opposite abysses. Dostoevsky, what the hell? Does it mean what I think it means? I don't know, but it sure is a familiar image to me and Dmitri does seem to walk the fine line between regular human behaviour and diagnostic criteria, but I don't have many thoughts about that, it could be anything really, mostly because none of them are actual real people. My own interpretation of those characters is more "literal" even if I know they're just tools to convey certain topics and messages and if you want to get more symbolic with them please do, I'd love to read it. Honestly I like the idea of a character with a heavily emotion-driven arc such as Ivan having a disorder that fucks with one's emotions so much; also seeing someone behaving like me being treated with tact and a particular kind of sensitivity by the other characters and the author himself is so special to me (at least considering the historical context, I mean they could've just thrown him in a madhouse and called it a day but nobody even thought about doing that) because uhm...I didn't receive such kindness growing up.

There are many characters from other books, movies, and shows that I love and relate to but have never seen as bipolar coded in any way, they were just relatable, but Ivan hits different as he's the first character I've seen that is so unapologetically bipolar. I've watched shows and movies with characters that canonically have bipolar disorder and even they can't hold a candle to him (let bipolar people or at least people who are familiar with them write bipolar characters I'm begging you). There isn't a single character from The Brothers Karamazov that I hate or even dislike (yes, not even Fyodor, he's not a good person but he's a good character) and all the brothers are special to me, but I just can't help having this soft spot for Ivan, I want to give him a hug and my meds.

I'm not really going to talk about Ivan's ending because while I do obviously have things to say, they don't belong here. I just want to say that him having an open and uncertain ending (I love open and uncertain endings) even more than the other characters do is very fitting.

And that's a wrap! Thanks for sticking with me and I hope this was an interesting and maybe even educational (there's a lot of ignorance regarding bipolar disorder and I try to raise awareness every time I can) read, but most of all I hope I managed to make sense. I like this part more than part three because I wrote it after surviving the seasonal change while during part three I was in the trenches but oh well, the past is past. No notes on part one and two, those are good I guess. Also I've said variations of been there done that a ridiculous amount of times in this whole thing but my Twitter display name is Ivan Karamazov kinnie for a reason. And I won't apologize for the shitty jokes by the way.

See you soon* with other literary analysis!

*= don't rely on my words too much, it could be tomorrow like it could be in ten years

[pigeonwhumps]

Sleepy

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Tiny bit of fluff! Phoenix wonders about Kai's powers.

126 words

CWs: none

"What happens to your clothes when you're in wolf form?" murmurs Phoenix sleepily.

Kai blinks. "What?"

Phoenix grabs his hand clumsily and starts moving it over their head where it's pooled in Kai's lap. He takes the hint and starts stroking again.

"Mmm. You have clothes when you transform and then you have clothes when you come back. 'N they fit too but your wolf is big big. Do they become part of you or something? You naked now?"

"I– honestly, I've never really thought about it that much." He does wonder now, though.

Phoenix is quiet for a few minutes, long enough that Kai thinks they might've fallen asleep.

"Should do 'speriments. To find out."

"Maybe when you're not about to pass out, hmm?"

"Spoilsport."