#The craving to write things

[escortingsecrets]

HOPEFULLY. I will have the energy this weekend to do some replies. I swear Im not dead just been slammed irl with one thing after another. 😩 First think this weekend to be done is my asks. So if you wanna send more, then go ahead and load up the box!

[whos-the-seme]

very sleep deprived but what if: "I dunno, I'm just saying--" sqh wiggles his eyebrows at him.

"stop saying. immediately." to punctuate his words, sqq goes for his true and tried technique: throwing a fan at sqh's forehead with deadly accuracy. it strikes true before the other could dodge and the other lets out a hiss of pain, but stops talking with a small whine of "bro--" and a pout.

a few minutes later, when sqh is still sending him shiny wide eyes and exaggeratedly rubbing at his forehead, sqq sighs. without thinking, he leans over to smack a giant wet kiss on the slightly reddened spot, pushing a bit of spiritual energy into it. he dismisses down the intense urge he has to bite and make it worse. the mark disappears.

"there, I healed it. fucking happy?"

"very happy, thank you very much"

sqh looks at him from underneath his eyelashes, a teasing smirk growing on his face at getting sqq to capitulate, and sqq rolls his eyes, bc sqh honestly could've and should've done it himself, what does he look like, a fucking healer?? he already has to deal with without a cure and sure the amount of energy needed to heal a small knock on the head was so minuscule that it wouldn't affect him even on a bad day, but like???

he's been giving in more and more these days but its not his fault that the airplane was so convincing when he started to act fucking pathetic and just made sqq feel bad for him a little.

(and okay, he likes how vicious, apathetic, hyper competent a-hua can sometimes just be so cute and needy--)

someone cleared their throat.

sqq instantly freezes. he carefully does not notice from the corner of his eyes how sqh has also gone rigid.

in eerie and stiff unison, they both turned their heads to face the rest of the room. the very full room. the very full room of other peak lords. the very full room of other peak lords because they were currently at the monthly peak lord meeting.

the very full room of other peak lords that were staring at him and sqh because they just witnessed him plant a kiss on sqh's forehead.

the silence stretched.

damnit, airplane.

[laurellala-comics]

I finished watching a playthrough of the first Apollo Justice game WAAAAH NOBODY TALK TO ME I'M EMOTIONAL WAAAAAH THAT WAS SOOO SO EPIC AND GOOD. I'll draw nice things later, for now take these sillies

[fictionadventurer]

This AV Club comment is making me so desperate to write a romcom, you have no idea.

[stellewriites]

my silver tongue, your golden eyes

female space pirate!gaz x reader

“let me go and we can forget all about this,” you bargained, voice shakier than you’d have preferred given the situation.

you were cornered down a dark alley and a wild-eyed man blocked the other end, slowly making his way closer, panting and grinning as he too noticed your predicament. trapped.

you’d incorrectly deemed him an easy mark and slipped your hand in his bag before disappearing - or so you’d thought.

the man had given chase quicker than anticipated and was faster than his broad frame indicated he would be, but you were faster, if only because you knew the area well and had the best shortcuts memorised. you’d known what direction you needed to head in to lose him, but the hairs on the back of your neck had raised several times during the escape and sent you in opposite directions instinctively; you must have slipped up when getting turned around and taken a wrong turn at some point leading you to this dead end.

the wall behind you was too high for you to climb but you didn’t back yourself flat against it either even as the threat loomed closer, you left room just in case you became desperate enough to try and scale it and needed the small run up.

“give me what you stole,” the man said, a scottish lilt dragging his words long and low. he held out his hand and curled his fingers in a come hither motion.

“think you’ll remember i gave that back earlier in our little chase back that way,” you nodded over his shoulder. the golden sphere - the map - was heavy and you’d thrown it at his head to try and lose his tail when he’d gotten a hair too close. he’d ducked out of the way, but hesitated chasing you to look back at where it landed, which gave you a leg up in the hunt. he didn’t stop to pick it up, like you’d hoped, but a few seconds was better than nothing.

and losing the star map wasn’t a total loss, it was one of many like it and it hadn’t been what you were after anyway. what went inside and where that could lead you was what made it worth anything.

“aye, almost took mah other eye out,” he said with a huff of a laugh, his fingertips pulled at the thin skin under his left eye to reveal more of the bionic replacement. solid, smooth gold until it flickered to your right for a moment and revealed the edge of the grey steel inner workings.

you took a half step back as he continued to steadily gain ground.

“so you’ll remember i don’t have what you want,” you insisted hotly taking another step.

you froze at the feeling of a blaster press against your ribs; it was a familiar enough feeling that you knew not to continue to run your mouth for a minute. the heat of the muzzle singed your jacket as its power core surged and bubbled - ready to use. it would’ve been burning against your skin, you had the scars to prove it, but was just uncomfortable through your current layers.

a soft, female voice hummed in your ear. “let’s not play dumb now, eh, beautiful?”

you shifted carefully to look over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of dark eyes and a sparkling smile.

“listen, i dont know what you think i took—“

“this-“ she reached over your shoulder and down your loosely tied shirt, her chilly fingers brushing along your cleavage until she pulled out the small vial you’d stored between your breasts as you’d ran. “-is what im after.”

she held the vial over your shoulder so it was in view of all three of you; small, hexagonal and full of what looked like white sand - stardust from the planet you were desperate to get to. she let out a heavy, breathy chuckle against your ear and you shuddered as her warm breath fanned down your neck and over your exposed collarbone. your skin prickled pleasantly and you snarled at the cocky smirk on the man’s face opposite you.

“she’s got quick fingers, gaz,” the man said.

“hm. my type of woman.” gaz pushed the blaster further into your side until you winced. “don’t think i’ve forgiven her yet though. march. follow him.”

“no funny business, lass,” he called out as he led the way out of the dank alleyway, looking both ways as he peeked around the brick before waving you both forward. he continued to talk over his shoulder. “i saw the way ye favour yer right side. don’t even think a’ using that leg canon.”

gaz knocked her ring clad knuckles against your left thigh and grinned when it echoed back a dull clang.

“you don’t have to do this. i can be on my way, you’ll never see me again,” you tried to bargain with lies again as she ducked close to hide the gun plastered to your side and to keep you from slipping out of their grasp between the busy crowds on the way back to the dock.

“s’funny, you seem to be under the impression im asking. that’s my fault,” she tsk’d. “you are coming with us, gorgeous. the only question is are you gonna come easy or am i going to have to carry you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes?”

you swallowed thickly and didn’t think about that proposition for too long lest it distracted you. her arms were bare, muscles on show given her well worn waistcoat and lack of shirt, so you had no doubt she’d at least attempt to carry you. but you had more pressing matters to think about at that moment.

as you passed the smaller crews and walked up to her docked ship your heels began to dig in, reality setting in like a punch to the gut as you took in the size of it.

these were no run of the mill, petty criminals you’d crossed paths with.

“johnny, go check on the cargo, see how much is left to store,” gaz ordered and the man, johnny, jogged ahead.

no, you thought with growing panic. going by the amount of masts you could count and the dark sails tied to them, the size of the engines rumbling softly to keep the ship stationary, and the busy crew heading up and down the floating ramp, you’d fucked over a pretty important pirate.

you prided yourself on keeping your ear to the ground and knowing the biggest players in the game, and yet this woman matched no description or wanted poster you’d come across.

it worried you. the unknown was trickier to traverse and talk your way out of than even the worst of pirates you’d stumbled into.

“this is yours?” you asked as gaz kicked at your feet, getting you moving quicker again as johnny practically skipped up the ramp, a big grin splitting his face as he bumped shoulders with a behemoth of a man carrying a large crate.

“mm. for the time being,” she said noncommittally as you boarded the ship.

the crew, an amalgamation of all kinds of species, nodded to her as she passed by with you in tow, but you kept your head ducked low to avoid further confrontation.

she sat you down on the steps leading to the helm of the ship and raised an eyebrow at you when you huffed and glared at the rough treatment.

“spit it out then, good looking, how do you know about the map and the key?” she asked, blaster still held loosely in her hand, though hanging by her side and no longer actively aimed at you.

you eyed up the route back to the dock, you could try to sprint it but it wouldn’t be a clean run.

she snapped her fingers in front of your face. flinching your gaze back up to her you sighed through your nose at her unimpressed stare.

“my brother,” you started reluctantly. your eyes drifted without permission, flighty and nervous as your gaze trailed over her form, the ship, the crates and crew, the deep sky opposite the direction of the dock. “he joined a crew that were boasting about it in our home town. said they were looking for new crew members to search for it and share the wealth.”

gaz snorted and you looked down, embarrassed, tensing your jaw.

“it was a long time ago, we were both young. he didn’t know any better, just wanted to give us a better chance,” you whispered defensively. “but he never wrote. and he promised he would.”

“so you’re trying to find him,” gaz finished off for you, nodding along.

“for years i’ve followed the rumours, stories i thought maybe could be him, and they brought me here. i hoped i’d maybe bump into him along the way, hear his name spoken at least.”

“have you?”

“no.” you laughed, an empty and self deprecating sound. “i don’t even know what he looks like anymore.”

gaz looked you up and down, pausing for a moment back on your face as her own expression grew contrite.

“fuck it, it’s what cap would do,” she mumbled to herself. she tucked her blaster back into its holster. “right. you’ve convinced me; i’ll bring you along if you do as your told.”

you shook your head, a frown creasing your forehead.

“i’m fine on my own, i don’t want to owe you anything,” you protested.

“too late for that, handsome, you already stole from me once.” she cupped your chin with a grin and bent at the waist to lean close. “you’ll have to make it up to me to get back in my good graces, yeah?”

you yanked your chin out of her loose hold and shoved at her shoulder with both arms while her centre of gravity was off, tipping her into an unsuspecting crew-mate that was walking by.

in a flash you were up and running across the deck, a fierce grimace on your face as you slipped by the others, too late to realise they needed to stop you.

a hand around your wrist yanked you to a stop mere feet from the ramp and you swung back blindly, instinctively, hitting johnny squarely in the nose and managing to escape his grip.

“fucking— sweet mary and joseph!”

you stumbled back and twisted to get a good running start again, but you’d barely made two steps before you came face to face with the behemoth you’d spotted with johnny earlier.

though face to face wasn’t accurate; carrying a large crate in his arms, he unfolded his second pair from his sides to clothesline you without dropping the crate and sent you sprawling at his feet with a wheezing cough.

you blinked the stars from your eyes and rolled onto your side to try and ease the pain and struggle to pull a breath back into your empty lungs.

“good job, ghost,” you heard gaz say as she strolled up to stand over you. you were tempted to spit at her boots, but you couldn’t suck in the breath necessary to send the spit flying. instead you wheezed in a thin breath and looked up; wishing you hadn’t when she flashed that insufferably bright and smug grin. “i think we’ll have fun, you and me,” she said. “if price were here he’d have liked you too.”

“liked knocking some manners into her maybe,” ghost grunted before heading off to pile the crate with the rest. you didn’t see him stop by johnny’s side first, one hand reaching up to chuck his chin to check the damage or the pleased little smile he gave under the tied handkerchief as you hacked a racking cough as you tried sitting up.

gaz smiled placidly and squatted to your level.

“he’s right. you’re lucky we’ve not found him yet or you’d be dealing with more than a few bruises and the wind knocked out of ya for that.” she tilted her head and smiled a little weakly. “who knows, maybe he’s with your brother right now. seems like the kind of luck i’d have.”

she grabbed you non too gently by the elbow and pulled you up, practically dragging you to the captain’s room as you struggled to gain your footing. she slapped your back once and you sucked in a wet breath, then she rubbed your back soothingly over your jacket and shirt and closed the door to the private room behind you.

through watery eyes you looked at the half used room; the bed a mess of unmade sheets but the clothing drawers and chests seemingly unopened and untouched.

she pushed you down next to the desk while you were distracted and you hissed.

“stop pushing me around,” you huffed. she smirked.

“be good and sit still on that ample arse of yours,” she mumbled and opened a drawer in the desk. she rooted around and when she came up empty she opened a second drawer before finding what she was after with a small, ah hah!

before you could ask her what she wanted, she had cuffed your wrist to the closest leg of the desk.

you rattled the thick iron cuff and squirmed at her feet.

“couldn’t get the comfier set?” you complained, rubbing at the soft skin of your wrist beneath the rusting metal.

johnny and ghost walked in and you glared automatically, embarrassment at your position heating your cheeks. ghost ignored you but johnny, with dark, dried blood smeared under his nose and dribbled down his chin and neck, scowled back at you.

“laser ones cost, lovely,” gaz answered half distractedly as she cleared a space on the desk. “those can’t be so easily cracked open either. can’t imagine you have a lock pick in your boot but i know something in that leg of yours could disrupt weak little laser cuffs. i’ll let you go later, the key’s somewhere in here.” she tapped the desk.

gaz didn’t wait for you to reply and pulled the map key from her own hidden pocket and nodded at ghost to set the metal ball down on the desk. once he’d put it down, he leant over the desk with two hands flat on the wood and the other two on his hips. they ignored you, sat below them, and the angle you’d been chained meant you couldn’t subtly look to see what they were doing.

gaz pushed the hexagonal tube into the aligning hole in the spherical map, watching as it began to turn on its own as it got sucked in deeper to the centre. eventually only the cap was visible and it laid perfectly flat against the rest of the metal, imperceptible as a separate piece.

they waited a moment with baited breath and you watched gaz’s expression to gauge what was happening.

you heard the map click and a flash of blue light flickered over her soft face; you heard johnny swear.

“cursed skies above,” he rumbled with a gasp. “is that—?”

“yeah, i think so.” gaz nodded faintly.

“and you think he got there himself?” ghost asked. “without the key?”

“if price will be anywhere, its there,” gaz said firmly. her hand lifted delicately to pass through the light of the 3D map floating between them. her fingers danced along the plotted stars, the route they’d need to take to find john. “key or not, i know in my bones that’s where we’ll find him.”

ghost nodded and straightened up as johnny continued to stare at the map dancing along gaz’s hand before she dropped it and firmed her shoulders.

“we set off at the next toll of the bell. get the crew ready,” gaz said.

“aye, cap,” the pair of them answered, synchronised. you saw how gaz winced at the title but she nodded nonetheless.

you shut your slack mouth with a clack when she looked down at you.

“ready for an adventure, pretty?”

[diyasgarden]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DH9PitshUF6/?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ== another addition for your diya craves domesticity tag!!! saw this and thought about a world where patrick ended up in a position similar to art’s as one of the top tennis players in the world and he ends up sweeping you off your unsteady feet after a very fun night at a fundraiser gala :’) <3

YES!!! i absolutely love thinking about the alternative universe where Patrick makes it as a tennis player because it’s the best parts of the cocky, self assured man he is and the perks of a lavish lifestyle.

He would absolutely adore taking you to every event and showing you off. All the small talk and sponsors bore him, even when he cares about the fundraiser itself. He found it stuffy as a kid being dragged to event after event because of his parents, and that opinion just never left. But there is just something about being able to spend the night with you all dressed up makes it worth it.

He’d be by your side all night, hand glued to the small of your back, and just making sure you’re close. It’s a comfort to him really. And really, the night is never boring when you’re within arm’s reach.

But when things do slow down and it’s time to go, you two aren’t adverse to sneaking out to go home. An irish goodbye at it’s finest, and just another thrill altogether. And after all the walking and dancing of the night, the minute you mention your feet are bit sore, he is lifting you up without a second thought. It’s his favorite thing actually, being able to carry you back home.

[avichor]

platonicism and found family being viewed as lesser in comparison to romance will always be my villain origin

[sleepy-steve]

@steddieangstyaugust 05/08 // ‘Please Please Please, Let Me Get What I Want’ by The Smiths

wc: 2.2k // rating: M // cw: language, negative self talk // tags: YEARNING, post-s4 but vecna dies, eddie has some self-esteem issues, mild references to sexual content

divider credits @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Eddie isn’t sure when it started. When this… obsession took over his life. When he suddenly couldn’t think of anything but Steve Harrington.

It could have been when they started hanging out every day, the threat of otherworldly horrors gone and the Big Evil defeated. When they realised that while they don’t necessarily have much in common, they both care to learn about what the other likes.

It could have started before that, when Steve continually showed up to help him through his physical therapy, never wavering in his kindness despite how many times Eddie snapped in frustration or lashed out at him. Steve always took it in stride, but never patronised him. Or was it even before that? When Steve showed up everyday to his bedside in the hospital, at first appearing to just be chauffeuring Dustin, but then visiting on his own. Spending hours talking with him or letting the silence settle between them, filling the hours where Wayne couldn’t be there.

Shit, if Eddie really thought about it, it went further back than that too. Before Steve carried him out of hell and quite literally saved his life—though that alone was enough to make a guy swoon—and before the moment Eddie flirted with him in the RV (and really, what was he thinking with that?) and even before their little heart to heart in the aforementioned hell after the first bat attack.

No, if Eddie was honest with himself, it all went back to Steve’s surprise appearance in the boathouse, shoved up against the wall with a shard of glass pressed to his neck and fear in his eyes. Eddie remembers feeling Steve tremble as Eddie held tight to his jacket, watching as he swallowed, skin of his throat pressing against the glass. Eddie’s own hands shook around the broken bottle, from exertion and fear, and god help him he was not going down without a fight in that moment. Their all too literal colliding of worlds was not something he could have been prepared for, nevermind the fact that Eddie almost killed him. But it was that brief moment, so miniscule, right before Eddie let him go, that he realised Steve really wouldn’t hurt him. Despite being held up and almost having his throat slashed, Steve had dropped the oar.

It was the first hint he got that all those things Dustin had said about Steve were actually true. That all the ideas he’d previously had about Steve Harrington were undeniably false. And Eddie only continued to be proven wrong by the sheer magnitude of Steve’s kindness, his patience, his unending love for his friends. Which now, by some miracle, Eddie was a part of.

It had grown. Out of something that should have just been a trauma-bond that then dissolved once they were quote-unquote healed and realised they actually had nothing in common besides the shared experience of almost dying in an otherworldly dimension. It had grown into something much more than that, something that Eddie never really had before. He’d had friends before, sure, his little sheepies and his band mates, but nothing quite like this. It was both his fault and also not. When he arrived in middle school and was immediately bullied for daring to be a little bit different—despite the differences having more to do with his class status than anything he had truly picked at that time—the walls came up. People could get somewhat close to him, but ultimately Eddie decided just how much he would give to people, and arms length was always safest. They wouldn’t be able to hurt him at arms length.

And yet. Steve Harrington had somehow wormed himself past the walls, beyond the arms length barrier, and settled himself neatly within Eddie’s rib cage. Not only that, Steve brought along the rest of his little group, a family that knocked down Eddie’s walls and forged a space just for him. It went beyond the trauma bond. It had grown into something that almost felt like Steve cared about him. Actually, that wasn’t fair. Steve absolutely did care about Eddie. He’d shown it time and time again. Shown up and held tight and given his time and space and love, being the kind of best friend Eddie only dreamed of having.

And here he was, greedy. Desperately craving more. More of the connection, more of the love —platonic though it is—more of which he has already been given. Arguably he’s received far more than he ever thought he deserved (despite what his new friends might say). But Eddie can’t help it.

He wants. He craves.

He fucking aches for it.

It grips him in a chokehold, this desperation with which he begs to receive more. To have more. To be more. It wasn’t enough to have Steve’s friendship, Eddie wanted his whole heart. His whole soul, even. Every tiny speck of stardust that came together to create him, Eddie wanted it in his possession. Wanted it all to himself, to hoard like a dragon’s greatest treasure. To lock this man away and keep him safe and shower him with love and devotion every day for the rest of his life. He longed for it to the point of feeling more animal than man, a slave to his own desires. Helpless against his own hunger for a connection that would run bone deep between them, etched into his skull, woven into his blood. Eddie burned to fucking consume Steve Harrington and be consumed by him. To have their souls merge together in a supernova and, and, and…

And nothing. Because it would never happen. Not for Eddie, not the way that he wants it to. He reminds himself constantly that he should just be grateful to have the friendship, to cherish it for the special thing that it is. That guys like Steve Harrington didn’t want guys like Eddie Munson, at least not in that way. Not in the way Eddie wanted, because Eddie never got what he wanted.

Well, not never. But rarely. When he goes down this spiral, he struggles to remember times he has actually gotten what he wanted. In love, in romance? Never. Kisses—too fast, too hard, too scared—shared with boys who met him behind the bleachers and didn’t know what they wanted. Or rather, did know but wished they didn’t. Those that ended in the boys running away, or worse, threatening to hit him—to kill him—if Eddie dared to speak about what happened. Not that anyone would believe a jock would ever turn to Eddie The Freak Munson, even as an experiment. That’s all he ever was when he was younger, an experiment. It was all he thought he deserved, at least until he got a bit older and was able to venture out of Hawkins. Then came other stuff. Quick, filthy hookups in club bathrooms and dark alleyways in Indy. A stranger’s tongue in his mouth and their hands in each other’s pants and maybe their mouths on each other and the flash of a smile before leaving and he’d never see them again. It was fine. He got what he set out for in those moments, but nothing more. He never felt like he was owed more, never felt worthy of more, so why would anyone give him that? At least they didn’t end in threats of violence. At least he felt desired, somewhat. But, if given the chance, he’d trade all those experiences for one night of feeling like he was the prize, like he was the one worth fighting for, like someone wanted his heart.

And the craziest part was… sometimes he did feel that way. Sometimes Steve made him feel that way. Like Eddie was the most special person on the planet. Like no one else could draw his attention away. Like they were the only two people in the world. Like Steve could actually…

No. It wasn’t like that. Eddie had to remind himself endlessly. It wasn’t like that. This love wasn’t reserved just for Eddie, who watched Steve share it with all of them. When he picked up Dustin to take him wherever he wanted to go, despite the squabbling they shared. The way he and Robin seemed to read each other's minds, attached at the hip whenever possible. How he helped Max after she got out of the hospital, ready to drop everything at a second’s notice if she needed him. Spending afternoons training basketball with Lucas, giving him all of his tips and shining with pride at his skills.

Still… there was something. Something in the way Steve’s eyes lit up whenever Eddie arrived. Something in the way he was almost always too close, fingers brushing as beers were passed, arms and legs pressed against each other during movie nights, arms held tight when nightmares returned, and one glorious evening of warm cuddling and dreamless sleep after sharing a joint. Eddie lived in those moments, let them play on an endless loop in his mind, reading deep into each tiny interaction. Thinking about every smile sent his way and was it any different from the smiles anyone else got? God, he wanted to believe Steve had a special one just for him. One that was a little bit softer and sweeter and shyer.

The idea is nice, but it’s washed away by the cold reality of the fact that it would never happen. Even if, by some miracle, Steve was anything other than straight, why would he want Eddie? He could have anyone he wanted. And Eddie wouldn’t get what he wanted because that’s just how life was for him. Though he may beg and plead with invisible entities for it, though he might crave and ache to the point of feeling feral with it, though he might promise—swear on his life—to himself and anyone up there listening that he’d treat Steve so well if given the chance, Eddie knew it just wasn’t on the cards. The sooner he accepted that the better.

His resolve in place—forget about it, or at least bury it until it could be forgotten—Eddie makes his way up the driveway to the Harrington house. He wouldn’t think about it for the entirety of movie night. He absolutely would not.

“Hey, man!” Steve answers the door with a perfect smile and joy in his eyes. Eddie’s resolve wobbles. “Just in time.”

Eddie takes a moment to steel himself, firmly reminding himself of his goal, as he follows Steve into the house. And it lasts for all of two minutes before he’s pulled down onto the sofa, thigh pressed against Steve’s. Was there truly any reason for Eddie to be tortured this way? He tries to remember that Robin is on the other side of Steve, and that there’s limited room on the sofa but fucking hell… Their shoulders brush, the soft grazes through layers of fabric sending Eddie’s mind spinning, until Steve places his arm around behind Eddie on the sofa-back, not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat of his skin. And god, this is so much worse. The desire to lean in and cuddle him, just nestle right in and have Steve’s arm around him, drives him crazy. The idea that they could… that this could be normal for them, domestic even. It went beyond the physical, Eddie wanted to take care of him. To show him the love Steve had so willingly given to him, and give it back ten-fold, hundred-fold. To create a life with him. To be proud of him and show him off and love him endlessly. To go to the ends of the earth to grant Steve his every wish, if he could just have one chance, he was begging—

Get it together! Eddie’s internal voice hisses at him, and he tries to shove all his thoughts back down into a vault, feeling a bit like trying to get water back into a broken hydrant. He does his best, managing to get it back down to a simmer, rather than a rapid boil.

Steve shifts slightly, suddenly a bit closer. It all comes rushing back. The warmth where their thighs are touching becomes burning hot and all the aching, craving, yearning, wanting that Eddie tried to shove down and out of his mind is suddenly front and centre and focused on the way Steve laughs and those glorious moles dotting down his neck. He feels insane with longing, desperate to press his lips to those moles, as if that could ever convey the depth of his feelings for the man beside him. Overcome with the need to drag his fingers through that beautiful hair and maybe even pull on it a little, just to see what kind of noise Steve makes, Eddie hears the tiny voice in his mind telling him off for staring. He just can’t seem to drag his eyes away. Steve throws his head back with a laugh, exposing his throat, and Eddie might as well perish right then and there, distraught with how much he wants to bite it. To just sink his teeth into the skin and feel Steve’s pulse beneath with his tongue. To leave bites and bruises all over his body, everywhere Eddie thinks is beautiful…

Before he can summon enough shame to look away, Steve catches his eye, and just grins, eyes lit up with that same brightness he always seems to have when looking at him.

Eddie’s a fucking goner.

[nanapples]

memorized head to feet / caleb x reader

tags: fluff, non-sexual use of a blindfold, unrelated to no-return night, completely consensual kisses this time :) word count: 1.5k summary: you decide to use one of the ribbons from caleb's gifts as a blindfold just for funsies

"what's this all about?" caleb stares at you, eyes blown wide. he gulps nervously as you straddle him, hovering over his lap with a red ribbon held in the palm of your hand.

"not interested in some fun?" you tease him with a non-answer.

the sweetest shade of pink dusts across his cheeks, his eyebrows raised high onto his forehead, disappearing beneath half-styled bangs. he swallows. "pip…"

caleb doesn't know where to put his hands. he looks so pretty like this, flustered and confused, eyes darting over every inch of your face. his tongue swipes against his bottom lip before his front teeth gently bites down on it.

there's a shift somewhere, somehow.

"i wanna put this over your eyes," you quietly say, lifting the ribbon up into view. "it'll be like those blindfold challenges we used to watch when we were kids."

"those videos were a little weird…" he trails off and sighs.

"but y'know what?" he nods, determined to see this through just for you. "fine."

satisfaction blooms on your face in the form of a big smile.

"good boy."

he inhales sharply at that, but you choose to ignore it for now.

"don't move." you say as you lift yourself up. he can only see half of your face from where he's sitting and he has to will himself to avert his gaze, afraid of what might happen if he kept staring at your soft, kissable lips…

his train of thought is interrupted by a flood of red swallowing him whole, and the world soon disappears behind the cool silk of ribbon.

"how is it?" you ask, your voice amplified by his lack of sight. "is it too tight? or uncomfortable at all?" your fingers mindlessly play with the two ends of the ribbon while you wait for his response.

he shakes his head gently. "nope. i'm all good."

"hmm." is the last thing he hears from you.

you don't say anything and he finds that… weird. he can't exactly see you right now, so he isn't sure what's going through your mind. he's starting to realize just how much he dislikes not seeing you.

are you smiling without him knowing? he would hate to miss that. your silly grins are one of his favorite things about you.

"what…" he pauses momentarily, eyelashes fluttering against the silk ribbon strewn over his eyes. "what are you thinkin' about over there, pipsqueak?"

"nothing special," you respond, firmly planting yourself down on his lap.

his hands twitch by his sides.

your body is soft on his thighs. warmer, in a way. he can't tell if his other senses are heightened thanks to the one he currently lacks. all he knows is that you're still here with him and that he has your full attention. it feels as right as it should be, though he does wish he could see you.

"you look good like this," he hears you whisper, your breath fanning against his cheeks. he didn't realize how close you were until now. it makes every muscle on his body tense up.

much to his dismay, you notice that almost instantly.

you whisper against the side of his face, "relax."

your quiet two syllable word works in reverse. he can't relax one bit. you're too close, too warm. it's hard to think like this.

a shaky exhale passes through his wobbly lips as he tries not to lose his mind.

he really can't imagine which pathetic version of himself is currently on display for you. it's embarrassing just thinking about it— but he knows this is what you want. you always want to see him in ways you shouldn't. who is he to deny you what you so obviously desire?

suddenly, he feels you pick up his hands from where they rest flat on the couch. you settle his palms on your waist not even a second later and he hesitates before properly holding on.

"baby?" he keeps his grip light.

"touch me," you say, a faint but firm command he knows he must yield to.

he's still unsure, somewhat afraid of where and how this will end.

despite that, his hungry hands have a mind of its own, the pair of them tracing up your sides, pausing at the edge of your ribcage. he can feel how your upper body expands and contracts with every breath you take. just beneath his fingertips is the warmth of your life.

he gulps and continues to map out your body.

"i remember you once burned yourself with your hair straightener," he reminisces, a hand trailing downwards. one of his thumbs circles softly against a spot above your bellybutton and he looks down even though he can’t see anything. “you cried like a little baby afterwards."

"mhm." you don't seem to be all here. it's like you're lost in his touch just as much as he is. not that he minds, of course.

he smiles, one hand finding its way to the crook of your neck. "here," he mumbles, his index finger tapping a certain spot on your skin. "you have a birthmark here."

his finger then slides up from under your jaw. "and just right here…" he rubs a knuckle on your chin while he speaks. "you used to have this one acne scar. it was kinda shaped like a heart and it was so so cute," he mumbles.

you open your mouth to respond, but the gesture causes his finger to slip and bump against the bottom of your lip. he inhales quietly, "your lips…"

he knows the shape of your lips like the back of his hand. he's no artist, but he could definitely sketch a near perfect replica of it.

"what's this?" he swipes his thumb against your moist lower lip, getting a feel of the waxy salve you applied earlier. "lip balm?"

you hum. "can you guess what flavor it is?"

"how am i supposed to do that..?" he breathlessly asks.

your reply comes in a giggle too close to his mouth. "figure it out."

he stills, knowing full well that he shouldn't. you don't know what you're saying, he's sure of that. you aren't thinking about what this might mean. you're just playing around, you aren't serious, you don't want this—

"caleb."

that single call of his name is all it takes for his worries to vanish without a trace. without even realizing it himself, he leans in, his pair of lips soon settling on your own. just this once, he foolishly tells himself, only to pull you in by the waist, kissing you again and again.

every time he manages to separate his lips from yours, he swoops back in almost involuntarily. your lips are an inescapable gravitational pull, and he is its willing victim.

"well?" you hold a hand to his chest, preventing his next wave of kisses. "what flavor do you think it is?"

"huh? wha— oh." caleb's tongue slides over his own lips, taking in the taste of you and something fruity. it's a vague flavor he can't quite name.

"watermelon?" he guesses.

"wrong," you laugh, head swaying side to side. your body shakes on his lap and he steadies you by your hips just in case you somehow fall over. "it's green apple."

"green apple? are you sure you're not playin' me for a fool?" he has that dumb lopsided smile on his face while he speaks. from his tone alone, you're certain he has that one playful glint in his eyes. the one so uniquely caleb.

"give me another taste. i need to confirm it for myself," he says, his voice dipping into a low tone you have only ever heard a few times before. that's when you realize you might have pushed him a little too far.

"wait, caleb..!" you squirm on his lap, leaning backwards to make a quick escape.

tightening his grip on your hips, he refuses to let you go."nuh-uh," he breathes out, clothes rustling as he easily maneuvers you around. in one swift motion, he has you pinned to the couch.

hovering over you, the ribbon quickly comes undone and falls from his face, revealing two pools of lavender that seem more dangerous than playful. the ribbon falling appeared too convenient to you, its timing so impeccable you immediately suspect he used his evol to undo the knot.

"caleb, you cheater."

he smiles over you, his face shadowed from the backlight. "hush," he laughs as he bends his neck, lowering himself towards your face.

"now let me get a better taste, pip."

rolling your eyes, you give in and snake your arms around his neck. you hear him sigh through his nose the second you're mouth to mouth. a sweet, warm haze drapes over you and caleb, and your vision soon dims. even in the darkness, the image of caleb persists.

after a few minutes, caleb rests his body on yours, though not entirely. "baby..."

"hmm?"

"you lied t'me," he mumbles through a smile. "your lip balm isn't green apple flavored."

you don't even bother holding back your laughter.

"you were right earlier," you admit. with his flushed face between your hands, you force him to look at you and your big smile. "it's actually watermelon."

[otrtbs]

BARTYLUS BASEBALL THING

(inspired by this which haunts my thoughts 24/7)

Word Count: 5.2k

Part: 1/?

Summary: every summer begets the baseball tournament of the year. barty drags regulus to the opening game, kickstarting a series of unintended events.

Barty’s whole body hums, the way it always does when he’s around Regulus. Like the old TV his father has that crackles to life in static whirs, or the green boxes in the neighborhood that Barty would sit on until the sun went down. Constant electricity.

“I mean, they’ve been doing this for years now and I have been explicitly forbidden from going,” Regulus returns. Still, he doesn’t seem affected one way or the other. “Mother wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh, mother wouldn’t like it?” Barty snorts, mockingly. “So what? It’ll give us something to do. And it’ll give us an opportunity to see each other since your parents plan on keeping you locked up in the house all summer,” he counters, and Regulus knocks a sharp shoulder into his arm. “It’s good to stick together. Mother doesn’t have to know.”

They’re walking side by side on the pavement. Slow, shuffling feet. Hands in their pockets. It’s the last day of class for the school year. Without school, there’s no way for Barty to see Regulus. Barty went all of last summer without seeing Regulus and it was boring and brutal.

Regulus takes a hand out of his pocket and pushes the hair out of his face. The sun is bright, and it causes him to squint. “Sirius still playing?”

Barty nods. “Yeah. He’s still on the James Potter all-star team. I heard Potter even talked Frank Longbottom out of retirement for one last summer.”

“He’s only two years older than us,” Regulus scoffs.

“Still, he didn’t play last summer.”

Regulus nods slowly.

They walk down the pavement silently, dragging footsteps, trying to delay the inevitable.

“It is good to stick together.” Regulus looks at Barty and traces the bruise on his cheek with his finger lightly. Barty is proud of the way he doesn’t flinch, even if the bruise is still tender and aching. He’s not so proud of the way he leans into the touch, even if it hurts.

This entire time, Barty was worried about leaving Regulus alone for a summer with no one but his parents for company. Now he thinks Regulus was equally worried for him, for the same reasons.

“But, I don’t like baseball,” Regulus muses, pulling his finger away.

“No, but you like me,” Barty grins wickedly. “Besides, we’ll just make fun of the whole thing, and I’ll steal my dad’s liquor and we’ll make it fun.”

Regulus pretends to think about it, but it doesn’t matter. Barty knows him. He knows Regulus is going to give in.

The summer baseball tournament is a local legend among the neighborhood kids, and the kids from surrounding neighborhoods too. The first baseball game began five years ago after they knocked down an old rickety building and reduced it to rubble. It didn’t take long for the land to reclaim the area and grow into tall stalks of grassy growth. That’s when, at age 12, Frank Longbottom got the bright idea to turn it into a makeshift baseball field.

The first year, Frank could barely get enough people together to make two teams, and it was so hot in the daylight that they never finished a full game before the kids scattered back into their air-conditioned homes. By year two, Frank had taken the entire school year to recruit people from surrounding neighborhoods and moved the games to the evening to beat the blazing heat.

This would be the fifth consecutive year that the tournament would run. Some kids still used the lot to play baseball in the winter or the spring, but this? This was official. After five years, the summer games became a thing of wonder for all of the young people in town. Anyone aged 12-17 could be on a team, you had to have nine to a team to enter, and each team wishing to compete in the tournament would have to have an official group name, a poster, and a roster. You had to submit and finalize your team two months before the school year ended.

That’s when the fun began. Students would make fliers and posters advertising their teams. Slips of copy paper folded up into tiny squares and passed down the aisles of desks to avoid the sharp eyes of teachers and administrators. The official list is always posted on the first Saturday of May. One expertly crayola, stickered, and markered sheet listing the teams, players, and field positions was nailed to the hollow oak tree stump in the woods by the creek. All the children knew where it was, and all of the adults would never stumble across it. Once the list was posted, the betting could begin.

Mundungus Fletcher and his group of friends ran the baseball betting ring. They would sit out by the old tree stump every Saturday with their journals taking meticulous notes of everyone placing bets and what they brought in. Nothing was off limits, Mundungus Fletcher accepted everything from stickers to lighters. Packs of bubble gum, nail polish, the two or three cigarettes you could manage to steal from your father, anything. Of course, not everything was of equal value. A lighter was worth two full-size candy bars (and it couldn’t be one of the bad ones like Almond Joy or 3 Musketeers they had to Reece's or Twix) and two small stickers. A nail polish was worth a rubber band ball and a blow pop. Mundungus Fletcher and his team took their jobs seriously, monitoring the conversion rates and doling out prizes. Every Saturday the children of the neighborhood would scramble, bringing in whatever they thought would be best for the pot. A few stray dollar bills, their coins, candy, lip gloss, sunglasses, bouncy balls, yo-yos, marbles, stamps, pokemon cards, queued-up mp3 players, necklaces, baseball caps, and even beloved childhood stuffed animals weren’t safe when it was time for baseball bets.

Mundungus kept all of the bets in one of his mother’s large kitchen mixing bowls, then two of his mother’s large mixing bowls, then in empty shoe boxes as things began to overfill. He said he hid all the betting goods in a secret, secure location, but Barty was pretty sure he was just keeping it all under his bed. Regardless, Mundungus would bring out the spoils every Saturday so that all of the kids in the neighborhood could see their potential spoils, provided they picked the right team. It was a great incentive to get people to partake.

As for the baseball teams, there were eight this year, the most they’d ever had. They would be competing to be number one. The winning team of the summer baseball tournament became town celebrities for the year. They always got first dibs at the carnival that came to town (they could skip the ride lines and take two turns in a row on the Ferris wheel), they got to use the tire swing into the creek whenever they wanted (they never had to wait to use it or take turns), and, because some of the older kids had jobs already, if you were on the winning baseball team you would often get free movie tickets and popcorn, or free ice cream if one of the other kids was working. There was an unspoken rule, a reverence, that the winning team had with the other kids in town, they were Gods among mortals, they would want for nothing, ask for anything, and receive it. The winning team also gets crowned with Coca-Cola canned bottle crowns that Barty thinks look stupid, but everyone else seems way too into them.

This all happens without the supervision of any adults. It was the most sacred vow that everyone tried not to break. No adults allowed. Adults always had the propensity to ruin things. They would think too hard about things, create problems that didn’t exist, and they would shut the baseball tournament down. This year, like last year, the games don’t start until one in the morning, while almost every adult is asleep soundly in their beds, getting ready for work the next morning. Of course, more than a few adults know about this tournament, and most don’t care. Regulus’ mother, like Barty’s father, is allergic to fun, so they’re both banned from going. Some kids have meltdowns over being banned from the games. Two years ago, a game couldn’t be played because two players were grounded and the team had to forfeit.

The stakes and the pressure were always high.

The stakes were high for Barty this year too, even if he wasn’t playing. He looks at Regulus as they come to the end of the street, shuffling feet. Regulus' house looms behind him, and Barty can see Walburga watching from the window on the second floor, peering purse-lipped through the curtains.

Barty’s hands stay in his pockets. “I guess I’ll see you then.”

Regulus nods. His face doesn’t waver but his eyes sparkle with secrecy. “Yeah, later.”

—

Throwing rocks at people’s windows is the worst.

Barty isn’t enthused.

First, he had to collect a bunch of rocks to stuff his pockets with on the way over, second, it was dark and there weren’t any street lights on Regulus’ street so everything looked exactly the same, and third, he was rapidly running out of rocks.

He skims them lightly at first. Tap. Tap. Tap.

They bounce off the glass of Regulus’ window in soft thuds.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Jesus Christ, how long did it take for Regulus to sneak out and come down?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Barty’s annoyed now. Maybe he wasn’t throwing them hard enough?

He throws the next few with more force.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

He keeps throwing them until he’s out of rocks.

Now what?

He stands on the side of Regulus’ house, trying to squint up into the dark window. He’s not sure if Regulus would turn a light on in the house and risk it, but it looks like nothing is going on in there. Regulus had promised him that he wasn’t a deep sleeper.

Outside the crickets chirp in song and the blades of grass tickle Barty’s ankles as the night breeze causes them to sway.

Fuck it.

Barty picks up a much larger rock that’s at his feet, and forgetting himself for a moment, he throws it with all the strength of the last throw and then some. The glass breaks and shatters with a delicious noise, but Barty can't admire it, because he’s already turning on his heel and running.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Past the first house and then the second and then–

Oh.

Oh.

His feet all but screech to a halt on the pavement as he looks up at Regulus’ house. Regulus’ real house. This time he’s sure of it.

It’s not his fault everything looks the same in the dark.

Barty shrugs, trying to calm his racing heart and catch his breath as he leans down to pick up some smaller rocks from the ground.

As quietly as he can, he stalks over to the side of the house Regulus’ bedroom window is on, and starts the process over.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He uses a much lighter touch.

Thankfully, Regulus comes out after nine stones, no lights ever turned on inside the Black family residence.

“I’m surprised you don’t play,” Barty says as they walk side-by-side to the baseball field.

“Why’s that?” Regulus looks at him like he’s sprouted another head.

Barty shrugs, looking up at the waxing moon. “Your whole family does. Sirius and Andromeda are on a team. And Narcissa’s a pitcher. Bellatrix is on Tom’s team. Also a pitcher. You mean to tell me you haven’t thought about it?”

“Narcissa plays?” Regulus furrows his brows. “I didn’t know that.”

There was a lot about summer baseball that Regulus didn’t know. Barty takes it upon himself to explain on the walk over.

“There are really only three teams to beat in this tournament. Tom’s team, they’re the Death Eaters, that’s their team name. Nobody likes them and everyone is afraid of them because they play dirty. Last year, Bellatrix beamed Remus in the nose so hard that she broke it. Tom ordered it. Then you’ve got the Serpents, they’re my favorites. That’s the one Narcissa plays on. They haven’t won a tournament ever, but this is their year. Trust me. And then there’s,” Barty rolls his eyes for dramatic effect. “The Lions or whatever the fuck.”

“Horrible team name,” Regulus’ mouth twists up into a smile.

“Truly,” Barty nods. “James Potter is the captain, right-hand man is your brother, and they of course have recruited the legendary Frank Longbottom to come back and steal the baseball title from Tom’s Death Eaters. It was a huge upset when Tom’s team won two years ago, so much so that Frank quit the following year, and Tom won again, and now,” Barty shrugs. “I guess he’s back.”

“So the Lions are like the founding team?” Regulus asks, and Barty nods. He’s surprised Regulus doesn’t know this from his brother.

“Yeah, the original team. Doesn’t mean they’re gonna win though, even with Frank. Tom might actually kill somebody before he lets that happen.”

“But the Lions, they’re the favorites?”

Barty fake gags. “Depends on who you ask. Not my favorites.”

“Mine neither,” Regulus says decisively.

Barty wonders if he’s thinking about all of the lion posters and memorabilia that Sirius used to keep in his bedroom. Regulus would always complain about the bright red and gold team colors and the obnoxious designs, but he doesn’t complain about anything anymore now that Sirius’ room is empty.

Barty looked out for him then. When Sirius packed up everything and ran away to James’ house. It was odd, Regulus seemed to be the only one who knew what it was then. Walburga and Orion seemed to be in denial. Sirius would come home, it was an extended sleepover– which they were never allowed to have, Sirius would realize how good he had it and he’d come back. Only Regulus seemed to understand that they’d never live under the same roof again.

Barty was there. He was there while Regulus ranted and raved and paced and shook his fists at the sky. He was there when Regulus crumpled up like a sheet of paper and collapsed in on himself, shoulders shaking in silent cries. He was there when Sirius spent every second trying to convince Regulus to come to James’ house with him, begged Regulus to talk to him, tried to pass him letters in the street that Regulus would let fall to the pavement. And he was there when Regulus picked himself up and pretended as if the entire affair was beneath him.

They were there for each other. Alway had been. Barty would never leave like Sirius did. He wouldn’t dream of it. He’d stick around as long as Regulus would let him, as pathetic as that sounded. He’d like to think that Regulus would stick around too. Regulus with his dark eyes and all-too-serious look of someone always deep in thought. Sharp, gray eyes that narrowed in displeasure at everything. It took a lot of effort to get Regulus to smile, even more effort to make him laugh. Barty had never done something so rewarding. The surge he felt in his chest whenever Regulus would grin or laugh at something Barty had said was addicting. It made him lightheaded and delirious.

“Look what I brought,” Barty grins, pulling out the flask from his back pocket. The silver can glints in the moonlight.

Regulus’ hand reaches to grab at the flask as they walk in time. Barty likes the way their feet sound on the pavement when they’re in step. He hates that he’s been having thoughts like these more and more frequently. He can’t fucking help himself.

Regulus takes a swig and does his best not to shudder as the warm liquor lights a fire down his throat. Barty finds it slightly endearing as he raises his eyebrows at Regulus, waiting for him to cough and sputter. It never comes.

Barty watches as Regulus licks his lips and hands the flask back to Barty, cheeks pink. Barty is overcome with the desire to kiss him, to taste the honeyed bourbon still on his lips and feel the lightning bolts race through his veins, but he contains himself. Another annoying and incessant thought.

In an attempt to recover, he swings hard at Regulus’ shoulder, harder than he should, as he tuts, “Don’t drink it all, save some for the game.”

Regulus turns to him once more, face indignant as he rubs his arm where Barty has just punched. “Fuck you, I barely even drank any.”

“It looked like a big swallow to me.”

Now it was Regulus’ turn to punch Barty, but there was no heat behind it. “Fucking hell, I told you to stop swinging on me like that. I’ll break your nose next time, I swear to God.”

Barty grins. “Is that a promise?”

“Freak,” Regulus shakes his head, but he’s back to being amused.

“You love it.”

They make it to the field early, but there are already people streaming in with bright battery-operated lights for the game, talking excitedly to themselves. A team is warming up the field, practicing their swings and stretching, Barty listens to the clatter of the bleachers that someone had brought to the lot two years ago. He’s not sure how they did it.

He watches Regulus watch the scene in wonder.

“They have concession stands?” He asks, looking at the girl and boy selling things on the pavement in front of the lot. They both sit at a little plastic table with plastic chairs, their sign advertises what they're selling, crackerjack, peanuts, sodas, trail mix, lemonade.

“Uh, I guess,” Barty shrugs. “That’s new. Seems a bit much.”

Still, he buys two bags of boiled peanuts and two cokes for them anyway.

Mundungus Fletcher and his friends are there, calling out to everyone to join in the bets. Tonight is the last night to enter.

Regulus stops by and drops off a few things, about ten dollars, 4 packs of gum, sunglasses with flames up the side that used to belong to Sirius, and 5 spinning tops.

“Regulus Black,” Mundungus fills out his name in the notebook in inky black pen, carefully recording the list of everything he’s brought. “Let me guess, you’re betting it all on the Lions?”

His voice is loud and booming, with the confidence of a sports announcer but the underlying hint of deception like a used car salesman.

“No,” Regulus scowls at him.

“Oh, I just assumed because of your brother that–”

“I want to bet it all on the Serpents. I hear their pitcher is really good.”

Barty smiles as Mundungus nods. “And you Crouch? Any last-minute bets?”

Barty shakes his head. “I’ve already got over $50 in the game. I have to draw the line somewhere.”

Regulus signs on the dotted line confirming his entry and they make their way to the bleachers. Even though it’s dark out, it’s still uncomfortably warm outside. Some kids have brought battery-operated handheld fans with styrofoam propellers to keep them cool. Others have ice packs.

Barty figures that he can just sit behind someone with a fan and benefit from the airflow. The bleachers begin to fill up as the game draws closer. Kids bring signs elaborately decorated with all of their best art supplies. Glitter glue, puff paint, rhinestones, and neon markers. Some have even painted their faces.

Barty and Regulus spot Remus Lupin at the same time. He’s walking towards a group of kids scrambling to set up a radio and microphone at the announcer's table.

“One. Two. One. Two,” Remus says into the microphone and it resounds throughout the lot, as a hush falls in the bleachers.

“He’s not playing?” Regulus leans in to ask Barty, his shoulder brushing against him.

Barty shakes his head. “Not since the Bellatrix incident, no. He’s no good anymore. Flinches when the ball comes towards him, forgets to swing the bat.”

“Remus Lupin?” Regulus’ eyebrows shoot up like he doesn’t believe it. But he doesn’t have to believe it, he can see Remus take his place at the announcer's table.

Remus runs the scoreboard, calls the players up, and explains the plays for the kids who don’t really know what’s going on. Mary MacDonald helps him with the music and the score when she’s not playing, otherwise, Rita Skeeter helps out, much to the annoyance of everyone.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Regulus snorts. “What’s next, they bring out someone to sing the national anthem?”

“Don’t give them any ideas.”

The mood shifts in the stadium as they get ready to begin. Remus clears his throat in the microphone and it emits an ear-splitting feedback. Still, some kids were trickling in, sitting in the grass now that the bleachers were full.

On the other side of the field, sat the other teams that weren’t playing that night, just behind the makeshift dugouts.

“They like to sit and scope out the competition. They keep to themselves,” Barty explains when Regulus asks. “Can’t mingle with the common folk.”

Regulus scoffs, but Barty doesn’t miss the way his eyes search for Sirius across the field. When Regulus finds him, Sirius sits up straighter, already looking back. He goes to raise a hand to wave at him but Regulus turns his head away sharply, making a show of it.

Barty watches as Sirius moves to stand up like he’s going to run over to them and talk to Regulus, but a blonde girl, Marlene McKinnon, grabs his arm and pulls him down as the first players run out onto the field.

Remus introduces the two teams, the Death Eaters versus the Badgers. All around them, kids shake their yellow signs exuberantly, while some sport all black signs with skulls on them.

The Badgers are going to get destroyed. Anyone with half a brain would know it the minute they heard the match-up. While you had to be 12-17 to play, most of the kids on the Badgers’ team were closer to 12, whereas the Death Eaters were all 17. Barty was actually certain that a few of the kids were 18 or 19 and only getting by because they’d been held back a year or two in school.

He starts listening in to what Remus is saying as he passes Regulus his bag of boiled peanuts.

“With starting pitcher Bellatrix Black, and your team captain, Tom Riddle.”

The stands go wild, everyone stomping their feet on the metal bleachers causing a thunderous metal rumble and Regulus’ eyes widen at the commotion.

“Let’s play ball,” Remus called, rather monotone and complacent about the ordeal.

Regulus snorts. “This is beneath him.”

Barty nods in agreement.

Since there were eight teams in the tournament, there would be seven rounds total. Each round was a best-of-three battle to move on, for a maximum of 21 games, 21 nights, of baseball madness. They were guaranteed at least 14. Two full weeks of baseball. The event of the summer.

They watch as Bellatrix takes the pitcher's mound, licking up little clouds of dirt with her feet. He knocks his knee against Regulus’ at his cousin taking in both the crowd’s cheers and boos. Barty pours some of the bourbon into his Coke can and does the same for Regulus.

Bellatrix’s wild hair was long and curly, falling down her back. It was only kept out of her face by a black baseball cap, and she smiles sharply at the stands.

A soft tune plays as a short kid with spiky brown hair walks up to home plate, giving his bat a few test swings in preparation.

“I heard she puts some kind of resin or wax on her baseball cap to make the ball sticky,” Barty whispers like it’s some kind of secret.

“I believe it,” Regulus says, also leaning in. Barty tries to ignore the lightning bolts. The static frequency once again turned up a notch. “She used to cheat in every game we played growing up.”

They share a look as Bellatrix puts her fingers to the brim of her baseball hat and nods, baseball glove at the ready. The atmosphere has gone quiet like everyone is holding their breaths. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

The kid at home plate assumes position and Bellatrix winds up. The ball moves so fast that Barty doesn’t have time to register it, and neither does the kid at home plate, as the ball hits the catcher’s mitt with a hard thud.

“Strike one,” Remus’ voice echoes, and the spell is broken.

The crowd roars to life once more.

Barty and Regulus get lost in the atmosphere, the crack of the bat, the whizz of the ball, the cheers of people telling their friends to steal third. They crunch through their boiled peanuts and slowly work their way through their cokes, which get stronger as time passes, due to Barty constantly topping them up with flask bourbon.

At the top of the third, a Badger player manages a triple on Bellatrix, running in two of her teammates, so Bellatrix beams her at the top of the fourth, and lets her walk. It doesn’t matter though, the score is already 6-2. At the bottom of the sixth, Tom scores the first home run of the night, and more than a few of the silly girls from high school chirp and cheer loudly, making heart eyes in his direction.

“I mean,” Regulus leans in to whisper. “I kinda get it.”

Barty screws up his face in disgust. “Fuck no.”

He makes more than a few sarcastic remarks and snarky comments, all of which make Regulus laugh or smile. Barty is humming with delight, but he desperately tries to curtail it. Regulus is also getting into the game. It’s a gradual interest, but Barty finds that he’s watching Regulus more than the game. He watches as Regulus’ eyes furrow when someone gets an out, watches the slight smile grace his face as Bellatrix throws a particularly nasty screwball, watches Regulus’ vague curiosity at Tom’s simpering smirk. At some point, their knees touch, and they stay that way for the remainder of the night. Regulus, who shies away from any sort of contact, hasn't moved his knee away.

Barty fucking loves baseball.

The game ends at a brutal 11-2 at the top of the ninth inning. Though, to the Badger’s credit, they do not look defeated or deterred. They seem more than pleased with their two runs, all jostling and shaking the girl who made it possible with wide smiles and congratulations.

The bourbon has satiated Barty and left his head perfectly hazy. He offers a lazy smile to Regulus. “Walk you home?”

It’s late, and he’s feeling tired, he’s sure Regulus feels the same.

Regulus nods, finishing off the last of the coke, and subsequently the last of the bourbon.

“Can’t let you sleep through morning violin lessons, or French tutoring, or whatever the fuck your weird-ass family has you do.”

“Piano.” Regulus rolls his eyes as he corrects Barty. His cheeks are tinged slightly pink and his eyes are a little glassy.

Barty bites his lip to keep from smiling. What a lightweight.

They’re almost out of the field, about to slip down the quiet streets, when Regulus is pulled back by a hand on his shoulder.

Barty spins around to see Sirius with a group of his teammates.

“You came?” Is the first thing out of Sirius’ mouth.

“Not for you, for Barty,” Regulus shoots off just as quickly.

Sirius’ teammates stare at the ground nervously. He makes note of them. The blonde girl from before, Marlene, and he’d know James Potter anywhere. He’s never seen James without Sirius. And the redhead, Lily.

“Well, we play in four nights if you want to watch,” James offers a slight smile. “I’m James, by the way.”

Regulus regards him coldly. “I know who you are.”

“I just wanted to, uh, say hi.” Sirius’ voice is stilted, odd. Almost pained. Barty makes it his duty to glare daggers at him.

“Well, don’t do it again,” Regulus says smoothly, and Barty can tell he doesn’t mean it.

So can Sirius, as he smiles.

“You know we could always use an extra player on our team.”

“In your fucking dreams, Sirius.”

“Come on, we want to get uniforms made,” Sirius offers again, as if this fact would entice Regulus.

He doesn’t know Regulus like Barty knows him. Regulus would hate wearing matching baseball uniforms. He would detest it. He’d rather die.

Marlene rolls her eyes. “James just wants to prance about in those tight little pants.”

“Yeah,” James shoots back quickly. “And all the girls want to see me prance about in those tight little pants, and who am I to deny the people what they desperately want?”

Lily scoffs as Regulus turns to leave, dragging Barty with him.

“Wait,” Sirius calls. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”

“Maybe. It’s none of your business,” Regulus snaps as they walk out of earshot.

They’re striding down the pavement, no shuffling feet and no delay of time, as Regulus huffs.

“Wait,” Barty can’t help himself from asking. “We are going back tomorrow, right?”

Apart from the Sirius interlude, he had a good time with Regulus. And he figures if Sirius hadn’t ambushed them, then he and Regulus would be taking their sweet time walking home. Time that Barty craved more than anything.

“Yeah,” Regulus nods shortly. “I shouldn’t have talked to him. I should’ve just ignored him.”

“Well, he did make it kind of difficult to do that,” Barty reasons as Regulus fumes.

“Fuck, and then stupid fucking James Potter trying to be so–”

“Annoying,” Barty says at the time Regulus says charming.

He tries to ignore the funny thing his heart does in his chest as they both fall into stunned silence.

“Well,” Barty breathes out. “Not what I was going to say.”

“No, I just mean– you heard him,” Regulus says quickly, taking on a crude imitation of James’ voice. “I’m James. I wear tight pants and steal people’s brothers from them for fun.”

Barty snorts. “Yeah, what a dick.”

Regulus nods and repeats after him. “A dick.”

But it doesn’t sound like Regulus really means it. No one can be both charming and a dick. It doesn’t work like that.

Barty walks Regulus all the way to his house, doing his best to skirt the home with the broken window.

Regulus smiles at him softly. “It was fun.”

He admits it like a secret, like it reluctantly has to be true.

Barty nods in agreement, fighting off the urge to punch Regulus again. “Same time tomorrow, baseball boy?”

Regulus nods, his hand brushing against Barty’s slightly before he turns to head inside through the propped-open window on the bottom floor.

Barty stands on the street corner, just him and chirping crickets as he waits for Regulus to flick his bedroom lights on and off to show he’s made it. Once he does, Barty heads towards his house, trying to ignore the parts of his hand that Regulus has touched crackling to life.

[starleska]

Your taste in characters in FASCINATING, and I mean that in only the best possible way. I massively fw the doctor who pantheon as a concept and could babble about the interpersonal dynamics between all of them for ages. Have you read the novelisation for The Giggle? It's entirely from the Toymaker's perspective and adds so much to each scene. Same guy that's writing it, James Goss, is writing it for the upcoming Lux novelisation too.

anon that is such a massive compliment, thank you so much!! 😂💖💖 AHHHH i want to hear all of your babbling about the Pantheon, they are one of my favourite things in Doctor Who!! goodness knows having Lux drop in for the party was the best surprise we could've received for this season (though a few of us did catch the Harvest Bringer | Harbinger connection early 😉)! YESSSSS not only have i read the novelisation of The Giggle, i've narrated it!!! i used to mod for a pretty large Toymaker-centric Discord server, and at the height of our fixation we did a group-read of the whole book, doing a few chapters every week 🙈💖 it was so so fun!! safe to say my copy is very well-thumbed 😳 omfg you have no idea how excited i got when i read it was going to be James Goss doing the novelisation!!!! he is a master of his craft: so inventive and funny, and he really gets the essence of the characters down so well. i can't wait to see what his approach is, and what extra tidbits we'll learn about Mr. Ring-A-Ding/Lux along the way 👀

[itsabouttimex2]

Do you have any headcanons for after an escape attempt with each monkey demon ( Mk , Monkey king and macaque) What would be their reaction at first? What would they do when they find you? How stricter would they get? What would they start doing differently after the attempt?

MK, as usual, has very different responses depending on the season he’s in.

Season 1 MK probably doesn’t even consider the possibility that Y/N could “escape”. This is when the relationship between the two of you is at it’s healthiest, before this poor boy goes through hell and back.

You aren’t locked up, he doesn’t have you hidden away, there’s nowhere that you’re explicitly forbidden to go- there’s nothing to escape from. His assumption isn’t “Y/N is running away from me!” or “I can’t let them escape!” but instead, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Y/N… so I’ll drop everything to go visit them right now!”

Sometimes he abandons all prior goals to run off and see you. Sometimes he rushes through a fight and ends it a little more… fiercely than his opponents would have liked.

Once the trauma starts rolling in and Y/N becomes his coping mechanism as much as they are his friend, MK starts to personally define exactly what counts as “escape”.

You aren’t allowed to leave his side without telling where you’ll be going and when you’ll be back. If you’re a competent enough fighter to take on a Bull Clone or two, he won’t push this ‘rule’ as hard. And if you can’t do that?

Then MK makes a serious push for you to train with him. He’ll beg and pester Wukong to teach you at least some of the 72 Transformations as a form of defending yourself or getting out of nasty scrapes without his help. Eventually, his mentor concedes (after some serious bribery on MK’s part) and allows you to take part in the sessions.

But until you can reasonably take care of yourself against two or three opponents at once, MK is by your side every minute he gets the chance. Running off or giving him the slip means little once he’s mastered his Gold Vision, which he does very quickly. Or he can extend his pole to the skies to get a much better view of the surrounding area to see exactly where you ran off to.

Give him the slip too many times, and MK will tie your wrist to his with his headband, ensuring that you don’t get “lost” as he drags you along after him.

“C’mon, Y/N! I already got permission from Pigsy for you to stay the night!”

“That’s sweet of you both, really… but last time I stayed the night, it turned into a week.”

“I know! That was the best, wasn’t it?! Maybe this time, we can stretch it out to a month!”

Sun Wukong will let it slide once. Just once, he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, choosing to believe that you wouldn’t go running off with a very good reason. After that, his restrictions mount and your freedoms decline one by one. Each consecutive escape brings you one step close to being locked inside Shuilian Cave, where he decides that you are safest.

But that’s for a later day, once you’ve run his trust dry.

For now, he believes in you.

So he’ll let you leave, giving you a single day to tend to whatever business that you needed to attend to so urgently that you left.

All alone. In the middle of the night. With a single packed bag.

Wukong will let this one first escape slide, because lord only knows that he’s pulled so many horseshit antics that his kid/friend/student/whatever Y/N is running off once isn’t that big of a deal. And really…

He wants to believe in you here. He wants to think that this is something you’re doing for a very good reason, instead of just being a desperate attempt to get away from him.

When the single day he allots you is over and done, you can start counting out your precious, meager minutes of freedom one by one.

In less than an hour, his flying cloud blazes through the sky and blisters the earth like a comet, leaving a crater of destruction and cinders where it lands.

And aboard the vaporous mount is none other the Great Sage himself, arms folded and grin forced.

“Hey there, bud. You been out here having fun, huh?”

No vigor or vim to line his words. No electric cheer to fuel his fluid movements. No warmth in his tone.

It’s almost hard to call him Sun Wukong.

But it is him here, and he’s here for you. He offers you a hand, stiff and tense. The way the acts makes it clear there’s no choice but to take it, not when the air grows thick and the tension is stormy.

“C’mon, bud. Time to head home.”

Pre-Season 4 Macaque is the only one on this list that’s immoral enough to outright kidnap someone, in my opinion. MK might guilt you into staying with him, and while Sun Wukong would technically commit kidnapping, it’s by virtue of not letting you leave instead of forcibly taking you away. It’d be more along the lines of false imprisonment.

But Macaque?

If all his careful maneuvers and schemes prove inefficient in keeping you close, he’ll switch to brute force in the blink of an eye.

Macaque; at the start, gently manipulates you. His shackles are first gossamer, innocuous and kind. He builds you up and tears you down in increments, never swaying too far to either side. You never feel confident enough to leave, never feel hurt enough to lash out.

He doesn’t chase after you. He makes you feel unstable and dependent, then molds you into seeing him as a shelter that you aren’t strong enough to leave.

It’s a brutal process for Y/N, especially if they’re his student, because he intentionally picks a lonely and insecure person for the sake of rivaling MK.

And if you do somehow break free from the psychological and emotional strings he uses to puppeteer you about, Macaque simply switches to physically stringing you up with his shadows and forcing you to act out your deepest insecurities as he narrates them to an audience of shadow clones.

“Poor little Y/N… forever on their own, watching from the shadows while all the rest of the world laughs and loves with one another.”

The shadows around your body maneuver and mold you, forcing you to wave your hands and walk, dragging your lips into frowns and smiles. Every little shame and self-doubt you possess is bared to the light, bared to his shadows, and you can’t help but be strung along as a passive watcher in your very own story.

You break into tears halfway through, devolving into hysteric sobbing by the end.

And Macaque; no longer a shelter but instead a jail, offers you comfort to reel you back into his grasp. He’ll take you into his arms as you weep, promising to make you stronger, strong enough to forget the past and all that he’s forcing you to leave behind.

Now that you’re rendered to your most reduced state, he can start to work his magic.

“Trust me, kiddo… everything I’m doing, I’m doing for your own good. You get me?”

[sysig]

Talk yourself into it (Patreon)

[actualbird]

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[elizakai]

do you guys ever have multiple projects or tasks you need to finish and have been putting off but the demotivation/depressive wave hits like a truck whenever you think about it? so you either can’t work on anything else out of stress, or you work on everything else out of a need to justify your own inability to do the original task?

ANYONE??? SOBBBBBB

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

Genuine question

Is there a tag on ao3 for ‘being forced to fake date your (usually) hero alter-ego to keep your secret”?

Bc this one of my new favorite tropes I have seen in some time but it’s like combing through a hay bale for a needle without a proper tag for the mini-genre.

If there isn’t one can we plz get on that?