#anyway going to go back to writing. bye bye!

[frant1cfawn]

I can never escape the AU ideas or focus on one thing so.

More ideas I need to see.

There has to be AT LEAST one musical nerd bet fan so this is for whoever that is.

Phantom of the opera.

Riri as the Phantom. Mary as Christine.

PHANTOM OF THE OPERA.

SOMEONE PLEASE IT BASICALLY WRITES ITSELF.

LIKE YOU WANT MEARIRI? ITS THERE. YUMARY?? ALSO THERE (Yumeko would be Raul or however you spell it). ANGST??? LOADS OF IT.

For the rest of the cast idk for sure maybe Christine’s friend can be Ryan. The older lady who like knows about the phantom? Kira maybe? Just not old? Just someone I beg of you.

Another idea I seen some stuff if but I wanna share it again.

Ghost face AU. Kira does the calls. Riri does the killing. I just need those two to get the revenge they deserve. But also like angst if you involve the ships? Chefs kiss. Idk about Yumeko but I feel Mary is a final girl and like imagine her fighting Ghostface (Riri) and taunting and stuff cause it seems they can’t get a hit on her but it’s just cause Riri doesn’t want to hurt Mary. And then Mary actually gets a stab in and goes to pull the mask off and poor Riri is shaking her head ‘no’ and then Mary gets the mask off on it’s just like ‘I just stabbed my gf and she also has killed a good chunk of my friends..but I will be damned if I let her die’. LIKE AGHHHHH. Yumekira would be freaky with it idk. Like it’s the reveal and Kira is like right up against Yumeko’s back, maybe holding a gun or knife, and whispers in her ear “what’s your favorite scary movie, Kawamoto?” (Call back to original call which apparently was Yumeko but survived? ((Fun fact I never actually made it through Scream I was tired so just pretend this works for my sanity)) And Yumeko being Yumeko maybe goes “the one I’m in right now Kira-san”. GUYSSS PLEASEEE

Last one for now.

How to train your dragon.

But not like just following the httyd plot I mean like Bet plot but tweaked and in the httyd universe. I need the council chilling with these sick ass dragons. Imagine the aura farming Kira would do. And like maybe gambles involve the dragons or are just dragon fights??? Idk I just like the idea. I gotta actually do research on what dragon everyone would have but rn my gut is giving Riri a deathgripper. I also thought about the whole car bomb thing? Nah, DRAGON ATTACK. Young Yumeko waving bye to her parents as they ride into a night sky only to see a fireball shot from a dragon to dark to be seen and watching their dragon fall from the sky on fire. This also does mean that with Blake and her father Riri kinda…killed them hands on. Rip Blake but Riri would be so fine while doing that.

Can you tell I have a favorite.

Anyway if you have any questions or wanna write something go ahead I would love to see it!!

[circlesroundthemoon]

wrt the last post, here's some (pretty old) art of my characters from before i really found my style. you can definitely see some bits of it here and there, and its nice to look back and see how far i've come.

[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[lucabyte]

Yeah, that about sums it up.

[inhales-agressively]

I JUST FINISHED READING MASTER AND COMMANDER BY PATRICK O'BRIAN AND LORD DOES HE KNOW HOW TO WRITE A BOOK

[merlinfromberlin]

Bumblebee & Ratchet Fic Recs

It's my birthday, so let me treat myself (and you) to some of my favourite fanfics exploring the dynamic between Ratchet & Bumblebee in TFP. Because I am a sucker for Ratchet and Bee and Ratchet having a soft spot for Bee.

Bumblebee & Ratchet Fics

Do You Like Bees? by @thinkingheron (Stardustjinn on AO3)

TFP. Ratchet needs a break from his Synth-En project, so Bumblebee takes it upon himself to make it happen. The Team is amused, Ratchet is not, and Bumblebee pays with a scratched paint and a dent. Oneshot. Warning we have an angry Ratchet.

I honestly love this story so much. It's incredibly creative and funny! :3 I love how cheeky and mischievous Bee is. I love how helpless everybody else is to stop his shenagigans. I love that, yeah, he's playing a prank and it's infuriating to Ratchet in the moment, but in the end it's not actually malicious. No one is hurt, it can be reverted easily and Ratchet recharges for a bit.

On another note: this fic is basically canon to me.

If Language Were Liquid by @equivocaleternity (equivocalEternity on AO3)

Bumblebee's voice box is malfunctioning again, and he joins Ratchet and Raf for a perfectly timed lesson on Cybertronian grammar.

This fic just hits all of my boxes: Ratchet, Bumblebee and an super interesting exploration of Cybertronian languages/linguistics/grammar. It's absolutely amazing! :3

Minus One by @gentle-hero-blog (carrot_top_monk on AO3)

A rewrite of the season 3 episode “Minus One”, in which the Autobots’ interrogation of Soundwave goes horribly wrong.

I almost wish that this was canon. It's such an interesting way to explore how Minus One could have gone differently. It's also a super interesting angle at a "Tyger Pax fic". I also honestly love the relationships between Ratchet, Optimus and Bumblebee in this fic so much.

And, maybe most impressively, it made me sympathetise with Smokescreen a little bit more than I did before. I still don't really vibe with him, but I feel like I understand him a little bit better now.

Spark of Courage also by @thinkingheron

TF:Prime, Aligned. Pre Earth. After a surprise Decepticon attack near the Well of AllSparks, Ratchet manages to save a sparkling from near death... or was it the other way around? Origin fic. Rated for mild violence.

Aaaahhh. I don't know how to even describe this fic but I honestly love it so, so much. Bee's immediate attachment to Ratchet is honestly so, so sweet. How Ratchet gets attached to Bee against his will. Bee's sparkling adventures are just absolutely amazing. He's got half the Autbot force exhausted with his shenanigans within the first three days without even trying to. And at the same time he's got all of them wrapped around his little finger. It's honestly one of the best portrayals of Bee I've ever read. I can only aspire to one day write such an adorable, fun and mischievous version of Bee. :3 Also: the background War politics/plot. And, Jazz is in it and he is absolutely glorious.

Honestly can't recommend this enough. <3

Dadchet Fics

Because, for some reason childhood trauma, grumpy old medic dad having a soft spot for his little yellow robot is my greatest weakness.

A glimpse in the Past by arctic_lotus on AO3

When they say you see your children before you die, it isn't always the good memories. ~ Ratchet seems to walk through the events leading to his deepest regret as a recon mission goes up in smoke.

Featuring lots of incredibly sweet vignettes of Bee's and Ratchet's relationship leading up to Tyger Pax. Sparkling Bee is absolutely adorable and Ratchet has a soft spot for him that is bigger than Cybertron itself. It's incredibly sweet. There is also some incredibly heart-warming Optiratch in there. ^^ It's a bit bittersweet but in the best of ways. :3

Autobots, Pass Out! by @yamiquietshadowflo (Quiet_Shadow on AO3)

Ratchet is far too busy and stressed to just drop everything he's doing and go to sleep, even Optimus gives him his best 'So-Disappointed-In-You Look'. Recharge? Who needs that when there is so much to fret about? (Un)Fortunately for the medic, Optimus isn't the type of mech who give up and he's not above for the most underhanded, sneaky tactic at his disposition: Sending in Bumblebee and Raf.

Adorable. Funny. Sweet. :3 I love that Ratchet knows exactly what Bee and Raf are doing, but is absolutely helpless to it anyways. Absolutely adore that it is implied that, now that this has happened once, Bee will keep making it happen. They deserve their cuddles. Optimus is absolutely hilarious, too. :D

Napping Spot by @keef-a-corn (Keef_A_Corn on AO3)

I have a soft spot for Bee and Ratchet. Sometimes you just gotta hold your little Bee. It's short and cute. I have nothing else to say.

Honestly, this is just utterly adorable. 10/10. Could read it every five minutes. I should probably read it every five minutes.

Promises and Failures by @theiceemperor (Windify on AO3)

He’d made up his mind the moment they found out that the scout’s T-Cog was missing. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to fix Bee.

Now this. Whenever I read this story, I just want to shake some sense into Ratchet because he ist just infuriatingly reckless. Because, yeah, he should definitely not have operated on himself and then not told anyone. At the same time, however, I absolutely get why he is doing it. That's his baby boy who's hurting, after all, and there's all that old medic guilt and self-consciousness and love for Bee that drives him to his decision. In the end I'd probably be too much of a sap to wrench him before hugging him. Even if he'd deserve it for endangering himself like that.

I also just love Bee and Ratchet's interaction at the end of the story. That just oozes their love for another. :3

Now go and read at least one of these fics, they are all absolutely amazing.

[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.

[snzydarling]

and ofc gotta throw some of your middle aged lovelies at you how about f/ukuzawa with a stuck snz~ how would he handle that? where is it happening? guess that's up to you 👀

ok once again thank u so much for all of these asks im gnawing at my enclosure... i had to start with my middle aged guy because hes just my guy..... i tried to keep very little fuku/fuku in this so that way its palatable to litr anybody besides me but i dont think i did a good job ok thank u for the ask again........ i hope u enjoy (^-^)

“Ah, Yuki, you okay?” 

This isn't exactly unusual. Allergies hit Fukuzawa like clockwork in February, leaving him disheveled and sensitive. Genichirou's borne witness to almost 30 years' worth of hayfever seasons - but even he's a little surprised when he barges into the office. 

Yukichi looks hazy - sort of like he is when drunk, but he'd never drink at work. His eyes are unfocused and watery, and his shoulders are trembling. For a heart-dropping second, Genichirou thinks he's crying. 

But after a beat, he sighs. Starts scrubbing at his face with a fury, and bleary, redrimmed eyes meet his clear ones. He looks grumpy - actually grumpy, not just the infamous resting-angry face look he carries. The crease in his brow gives him away. 

“Genichirou.” He acknowledges, finally, voice husky and breathy in a weird way. He blinks a few times, probably to clear itchy-looking tears away, and one hand moves back to his already abused nose. Genichirou can't help but whistle. 

“Did you take your meds? You look pretty awful.” Fukuzawa huffs at him. Genichirou considers himself pretty lucky he didn't get a pen thrown at him. Better not test it. 

He plops down onto the couch. It's late enough that Yukichi’s got the lights on, dull enough to not aggravate a sinus headache. They're pretty useless, given that his laptop is closed. He's just staring at the wall, scrubbing and scrubbing at his nose with his face scrunched. It's Genichirou's turn to throw something his way. 

A spare paperclip from the stand next to him. It platters to the floor, batted away, but Fukuzawa doesn't even acknowledge it beyond that. He just keeps fussing at his face. Maybe he didn't take anything, even though Genichirou knows he keeps an extra stash of meds hidden away everywhere. He mentioned needing a Benydral once, and Yuki pulled a blister pack from his sleeve in the dead of winter

“Yuki, what's your problem?” he asks,  eyes searching for another paperclip, or maybe something heavier so he'll have to at least look at it. Yuki snuffles, then sighs, then stands up, shaking his head a few times like an old, burly dog. His ears are red. They peek out from his hair like cherries. 

“I can't,” He trails off, gesturing kind of vaguely at his face. Fukuchi prods, in the literal sense, jumping from his seat to bump their shoulders together and poke at the tensed muscles on his back. “Keep goin’.” 

Fukuzawa shuffles his way to the couches. “I can't sneeze.” He admits after way too long. Thank god, because all the awkward suspense was making Genichirou feel weird. They told each other everything - some unsaid thing that made Yukichi look like he was crying and his ears burning would've eaten him alive. He tries hard not to laugh for a second, sputtering out half giggles, but the offended look Yuki gives him from under his bangs, half mad and half embarrassed, sends him over the edge. 

He's fully expecting the kick to the leg, but it still hurts like hell.  He'll tell anybody - Yukichi's stronger than he looks, and he's got years of bruises to prove it. Those wooden sandals are damn pointy, too. 

When he finally settles down enough to sit back down, Fukuzawa's too busy to keep abusing him. He's got that bleary look again. Fukuchi wouldn't know anything about trying to sneeze. It doesn't take him any effort at all. But he does know a lot about Fukuzawa's allergies, and how he turns every sneeze into a little implosion, and how sometimes that turns into this. And Fukuchi knows all about which buttons to press, too - what to mention to rile him up enough to spar, and the one spot on his face that's sensitive. 

His entire face is twitching when Genichirou leans in close. He's waiting in desperate anticipation for something to send him over the edge, chest stuttering with uneven, desperate breaths, eyes weighed down by heavy and irritated tears. Call Fukuchi a savior. He nudges Fukuzawa’s hand away from where it's resting under his nose and presses his ring finger right where soft cartilage meets bone, just above the tip of his nose. 

There isn't very much gratitude at first. In fact, his hand is shoved away. But Yukichi takes in a ragged breath of air and is thrown forward so fast that his face disappears in a blur of motion. 

“ ‘rRSZCHH -  eH'RSCHh!” He appears for a moment, hands lingering in the air, before he crumbles back down. 

“iA'ESZHHUh-! hH’rRSZHHh-oo! ehH'RZSHHi-!” They're so big that Fukuchi has to grab his shoulder to keep him on the couch. He shudders into each sneeze, probably tearing his throat. They're nothing like what Fukuchi's used to hearing. 

“ eI'SZCHHi-iew-! ‘rSZHHhiew-!” Fukuchi fumbles for tissues once he sounds like he's cleared out enough to breathe. “God, Yuki. Bless you.” He pressed tissues into his hand because if the way he's sniffling now is anything to go by, his face is a mess. 

When he lifts his face back a few moments later, nothing besides the angry red splotches gives anything away on his face. Looking down, however, his lap is splattered with spots of mess. Yuki sniffles again, then again, and a third time, then throws a half-hearted hand up and finally blows his nose. 

It takes a few throat-clearings for his voice to be anything audible after that. Yukichi slumped against the couch after blowing his nose, like sneezing like that tired him out. 

“Thank you.” Now his voice is thick with dredged-up congestion, and even Fukuzawa seems to acknowledge that he just can't win. Genichirou'd make him some tea, but he isn't any good at it. He just gives a sympathetic thump on the shoulder instead. “You feelin’ better now?” 

Fukuzawa nods. Genichirou pats his shoulder a few more times, just for good measure. “You owe me a drink now, Yuki!” 

Yukichi must be alright now, because that kick to the shins was in record time. Genichirou probably won't ever recover from all this abuse. There's something about deceiving looks and lifetime friends. 

[myreia]

— vi. the last

They stay. They go. Ebbs and flows, as certain as the tide that will take his ship to sea. Their responsibilities take them in different directions. This is the way it has always been, and in truth, they prefer it. Independent to a fault, wanderers in answer to different calls. But the time apart makes the time together all the more sweeter. Goodbye for now does not mean goodbye forever.   Till next we meet.

[monaetheworldsdestroyer]

ahh i love doing research for a thing i'll mention in one(1) sentence in my fanfic to then never think about it again

at least now i know what time zone finland is in 乁⁠(⁠ ⁠•⁠_⁠•⁠ ⁠)⁠ㄏ

and i constantly have to google synonyms for words to not repeat them 3 times in one sentence that's fucking annoying (⁠ー⁠_⁠ー⁠゛⁠)(⁠ー⁠_⁠ー⁠゛⁠)

[luci-z-wont-shut-up]

Just had the worst Terrible Horrible No-Good Idea

Okay so let's say that jarthur fulfills their end of Kayne's deal and by some big fucking miracle he actually upholds his promise, with no catches, caveats, or extra "surprises". They don't get any sort of punishment from him, he gives them their reward of being sent back to their world, a body for John, AND Arthur gets Faroe back (maybe not technically *his* faroe but I don't think it would matter to him all that much, idk u get the point). All carrot, no stick.

Kayne has been satisfied, with this timeline at least.

He leaves them alone.

. . . the same cannot be said for Horig.

[bunnyboy-juice]

oughghgh desperately craving the "reset all needs" pills that dont exist

[baisemains]

when people write a reader insert fic but then they describe the reader 💔 and don’t get me started on it always being pale skin

[xxplastic-cubexx]

just got the funniest idea for a stream

[miragecounseling]

i want to make more oc x canon ships for gw2 but everyone i think of i want to pair with canach

i cannot have a 50 person canach polycule!!!!!!!!!!!

[airenyah]

where's that one tumblr post that asks what the thing is that you're "well actually" about bc that post has crossed my dash multiple times and every time i was like "i'm sure there is something for me too, i just have no idea what it could be" bc like. i know now. i know what it is. it's joong and dunk. joong's and dunk's acting skills specifically, actually