#I’m sorry (that was a lie)

[youthofpandas]

What’s up with how the dunmeshi fandom just lies about this kind of stuff all the time. It is easily confirmable information that it was a monthly series, something incredibly common in the industry.

A not weekly magazine schedule is literally common !! Especially in the seinen shoujo and josei demographics, sometimes monthly, sometimes biweekly, sometimes every two months, sometimes seasonal! Please stop lying about how Dunmeshi was some special unique creation that defies all standards of manga just to hype it up because it is so clear that every single one of these comparisons is centered around Weekly Shonen Jump (and understand that SJ has many magazines under its brand that are monthly or semimonthly). Not everything is WSJ and it needs to stop being the only point of reference in conversations like this 🤧

[aesthetic-uni]

Miles “Who’s Morales” vs Gwen “Gwwwwanda” vs Pavtir “You seem like a nice young woman I do not know” FIGHT

[locusfandomtime]

The maths fandom is wild. “Real” and “imaginary” numbers? I think you mean canon and non-canon. You guys seriously go “this is my number oc his name is i and he is the square root of -1” when in numbers canon lore it’s actually impossible to square root a negative but sure whatever. “Complex numbers”? I think you mean a character x oc ship. “f(x) = 3x - 5”? That is self-insert fanfiction.

[n3ptuned]

you know i was going to wait until the morning to post this but its technically the 8th already here so idc. happy 20th tcfsr anniversary to those who celebrate <3

i’m shit at taking pictures don’t worry about it

[hungharrington]

spread

hey guys long time no see ! this was purely inspired bcos i think its HOT when guys hold their gfs legs open when they fuck. naturally im thinking of steve <3 enjoy! MDNI this entire blog is 18+ fem!reader

Fire burns beneath your skin.

Pure flames of desire that seem to start in your gut, licking and settling alight every nerve in your body. The fire within you hums and you burn up deliciously in it, trying so hard to stay still and feel everything.

Your breath hits the pillow, its soft feel pressed up against your cheek. Steve's chest drags against your bare back. You can feel the muscles of his chest shift, the drag of his chest hair as his bicep bulges over and over from a repeated motion.

The motion being his hand, buried between your thighs.

"Want you to..." Steve's voice breathes in your ear, that rasp in it that clues you in to how turned on he is. How keyed up he is. His forearm nudges at your thigh, pressing it outwards. "Want you to keep 'em spread for me, baby."

You swallow a gasp as his thumb passes over your clit teasingly. You nod against the pillow and your thighs part further without even thinking about it.

"That's it," Steve coos. This close, you can feel the curl of his smile against your neck. He's practically purring when he says, "That's my girl."

You're spreading yourself for him, your drooling cunt on display for him to play with, and the thought only fuels the dribbling, burning hot feeling in your gut. A whimpery noise pulls from your throat.

Steve kisses the skin of your neck generously, slow languid kisses that make your nipples peak against the sheets. A scrape of teeth. Heat burns between the shared skin.

Long, thick fingers draw circles at your entrance and you can't help how your back arches to push down onto them, a stuttering gasp escaping you. He's been teasing you for too damn long tonight.

"S-Steve."

His name has never sounded so filthy.

"Mm? What is it, baby?"

He's still circling your entrance tantalizingly, his thumb dancing over your clit so perfectly, so teasingly. Asshole. Teasing, stupidly hot, too-good-with-his-fingers asshole.

"Please," Is all you can manage, voice weak.

It's all you need for Steve give in, sinking his finger into your cunt and pulling simultaneous groans from both of you. You can feel the rumble of it against your spine. Your head tips back instinctively, your cunt fluttering in bliss.

Steve doesn't give you a moment to relax into it, another finger joining as he pumps them in. Lewd noises leak out as his fingers setting a punishing pace. They curl expertly, hitting the spot that makes your hole clench around him with every thrust of his fingers.

You clutch the sheets, your leg quivering and threatening to fall. A moan you can't contain pools in your chest and you bury your face in the pillow to muffle it.

Your hand shoots down to hold Steve's forearm — half to make sure he won't stop, half to keep yourself from falling apart too soon.

"God, look at you," Steve murmurs, his voice hot with praise.

All your whimpery noises, pressed into the pillow, going straight to his cock. It thickens in his boxers, straining against the fabric and Steve shivers in anticipation.

You can feel his trail of kisses up your neck but you know he’s watching the way your hips rock down onto his fingers. A fiery desire licks up your spine at the hardness you feel behind you. You feel yourself grow slicker at the feel of it, your mouth almost watering.

Steve's hips rolls up against yours roughly, no doubt eager to gain the same pleasure you were getting. His quiet grunts mix with your whiny breathes, pleasure burning and bubbling hotter and hotter.

Then a filthy moan scrapes out his throat when you clench down around his fingers — which disappear between your legs in a moment.

You barely get a moment to pout, a soft whine sounding, before you hear the fabric of his boxers being pushed down. It's frantic sounding, like he can't wait another second, like he needs to be buried inside you. You need it just as bad. You whine again.

"Sh, sh, sh, sh," Steve soothes, all too aware of your every noise. His needy baby. "I know, I got you."

His hand finds the bend in your knee and he holds it for you, keeping you spread for him. His nose nuzzles along your neck, kissing and suckling as he finally, finally, sinks his cock into you in one slow stroke.

You keen. A pitiful cry escapes your lips, the coil in your tummy twisting tighter at the gravelly moan that Steve makes. His hot breath of your neck, his closeness, the stretch of him inside you — you quiver and whimper, your cunt gushing on his cock.

"Oh f-fuck, honey," There's that whiny hitch in Steve's words now, the way there always is when nears pussy drunk.

You can feel the urge to close your shaky legs with how you cunt throbs in pleasure but Steve's hand is still tucked under your knee, keeping them apart, as he starts to rock into you.

The lewd noises from before return, the wet sound of your slick as Steve ruts into you. His hips move fast, his pace building.

A ragged moan drools from your lips and you push your head back instinctively, searching for more Steve. He's there already, his kisses resuming up your neck feverishly, his thrusts not faltering.

"Ste— Stevie," You gasp needily, letting one of your hands slip over your waist to hold him however you can. Your fingers find his bicep and you clutch it, breathy noises punched out with every roll of his hips. Steve groans loudly.

"God, you feel so fuckin' good around me," He pants, thick cock driving into you steadily enough to make you melt. He drops his hold on your leg for a moment, his hand darting up to your face. He pushes back the hair in your face, his lips kissing the exposed skin as he does.

"My pretty fuckin' girl," He hums, voice wavering in his own pleasure.

Your thighs start to ease close without thinking and Steve snakes his hand down, slapping lightly at your clit with his large hand. It makes you squeal, your legs jumping apart and your hole clenching down on his cock deliciously. Steve moans again, a thread of a whine in it.

"Told you," He huffs breathlessly, lips dragging up the sensitive skin of your neck. He nips at your ear. You whimper. "To keep 'em spread for me. You can- you can do that f'me, can't you?"

It's a trick question because there's no way you can answer anything right now. Steve's thrusts slow for a moment, as if he's giving you a moment's reprieve, only for you to realise it's for a more sinister reason all together.

He shifts forward and lets his hand find its place under your knee again, holding your legs apart, and this time when he fucks back in, your whole body twitches.

You make a pitiful noise, something between a moan and a gasp. And then you make it again and again, as Steve drives his cock into your cunt, hitting the spot every single time.

"Oh, there she is." Steve coos. "Is that it, yeah? That spot feel good, honey?"

It would nearly be embarrassing, the little uh, uh, uh's you keep making, if it didn't feel so fucking good. You thought you were on fire before but now you're molten. Your skin blazes. Pleasure twists the coil in your gut tighter. You clench down on Steve's cock and gush at the whimpery noise he makes.

"I- ngh, shit—" He's panting now, beginning to become undone at the silky feel of you wrapped around him. "I asked -ah- you a question, baby."

You wail softly into the pillow, head curling in. Your head swims in delirious pleasure, the question he asked a minute ago long gone. You whine at his cruelty, your mind utterly distracted by the filthy squelchy noises he's fucking out of you.

"B-Baby can't think right now?" Steve teases, his thrusts turning shallow but faster. He hikes your leg up higher, pulled back towards his hairy thigh. "Getting fucked too good, huh?"

"Uh huh," Your voice comes out all whiny, the words drooling out your mouth. Your cheek brushes the pillow as you reply, eyes screwing up as the tightness in your stomach looms closer, hotter, nearly bursting. You grip his bicep tighter.

"Pleasepleaseplease, don't- don't stop, baby, I'm— I'm," The words rush out of you in a frantic babble. "Please, fuck- I'm, uh,"

A moan warbles out of Steve at your pleading, feeling his balls draw up as his own orgasm creeps up on him. He dutifully listens to his baby, still fucking himself into you with a lustful fervor.

"Gonna cum?" He grunts. You whine.

"I wanna see you cum," Steve rasps, his tummy flexing as he tries to hold back his mounting pleasure. "C'mon, baby, cum all over my cock, yeah? Show me how good it is."

His hand slips from your beneath your knee once more, sliding down to pat at your clit and it's all it takes. You unravel. The heat in your bloodstream gives way to pure euphoria, confetti pumping through your body as you gasp and moan. Your cunt clenches and flutters, throbbing in just the right way.

Steve's hips stutter, the sudden snugness of you pushing him over the edge. It's everything to hear the little inhale he does; the whimper he makes as his cock twitches inside you, dribbling hot ropes of cum.

He keeps moving, milking out every dreg of pleasure for the both of you. Your hand on his arm shifts, moving up, searching for his face and when you tangle your hands in his hair, it's to turn and kiss him. It's sloppy, your lips barely aligned. Still, it hums with love.

The kiss breaks. Slowly, the pleasure and his movements taper off, til Steve's easing himself out of you. A warm buzz sits over the room, satisfaction rolling off the both of you in waves. You feel faint, a sluggish happy feeling settling into your skin.

"Mm, you okay?" Steve's voice sounds from behind you.

You're still snuggled close together, Steve dropping his head into the crook of your neck to nuzzle into it. You huff a happy laugh, reaching a hand up to bury it into his hair like you know he loves.

"More than okay." You sigh happily. Steve's responding hum vibrates against your shoulder. "You just fucked my brains out, baby."

Steve makes a little noise, a half-hearted snort. He kisses the curve of your shoulder again. "Just doin' my job."

[fitpacs]

since both dapper and pomme admins’ statements referenced seeing tumblr content, in the small chance they see this - thank you for all you brought to the server, amazing roleplayers and lore builders, and loveable personalities.

you are still so very welcome in the community should you wish to be, we value and appreciate you so much <3

[candyheartedchy]

Here y’all go!

[ricky-mortis]

“And Hades and Persephone

They took each other’s hands

And brother, you know what they did?

They danced”

I am once again positively ill about Spytown /pos

Lovely au by @dxppercxdxver

Curt’s suit inspired by the talented @szollibisz

[cod-dump]

Nikpricegraves thoughts, special delivery!

Nik getting more grey in his hair, and neither Price or Graves wants to bring it up, because they don't know how Nik feels about it. They dom't want to make him feel self-conscious.

So they wait. And Nik finally brings it up, very casually (fronting like hell) musing aloud that he might color the grey so people don't think their evac pilot is too old.

And maaaaybe Price and Graves wanted their responses to be a liiiittle more restrained, a little more level-headed. But they weren't.

Price: You are not TOUCHING that silver--

Graves: Like HELL you're--absolutely not!

Price: Anyone lucky enough to have you picking him up has no right to complain about that!

Graves: And it's sexy as hell anyway!

Price: Exactly, you're fuckin gorgeous.

Nik: ... Thank you?

Nik was a very confident man. He was sure of himself, comfortable in his own skin and almost never doubted himself. But seeing the thin stripes of silver in his hair… he wasn’t too confident on it. The reality of him being old was setting in and he wasn’t very happy about it.

Nik never gave the thought of him getting old much thought considering he didn’t think he would get this far, especially not with his constant flirting with death. He never thought about how he would feel about growing grey, and now that it was here, highlighting his temples? Nik felt his heart squeeze, uncertainty making his chest tight.

Worse part was that neither his husband or boyfriend had mentioned anything about the grey, which just added to his uncertainty about it. He’s caught them whispering about it, both immediately cutting themselves off upon noticing him. He’s caught them staring, again no comments about it. Nik knows they had noticed it, of course they did. They notice everything new or different about him, most of the time even before he’s noticed it.

He didn’t like their silence and was choosing to assume the worst. But he kept quiet, just like how they were choosing to stay quiet. The topic of greying hair wouldn’t come up until one night while they ate dinner. He couldn’t help but stare at their own hair, how he would’ve noticed if John had started to grey (surprising he hadn’t by this point). The silver would’ve been noticeable amongst his dark brown hair, within his beard. It would be undeniably attractive.

Phil greying would been less noticeable considering his golden hair. There would’ve needed to be quite a few grey hairs before it was obvious and even then it would blend nicely with the gold strands. It would add to the American’s charm. Both would carry silver has crowns yet… Nik couldn’t determine that about himself. Couldn’t see himself with it, even as it took residence within his hair.

“I think I need to start investing in hair dye.”

The speed in which Phil turned his head to look at him made Nik fear he would break his neck. John just froze mid bite, eyes looking up to stare at him. Nik kept his usual level of smug confidence about him even though he wasn’t feeling anything remotely similar. Phil swallows his food, taking a deep swig of his water before he glares at him.

“Over my dead body.”

Nik blinked in surprise, his facade cracking.

“Nik, my love, if you do that you’d break my heart,” John added, staring intensely at him.

Nik looked between his partners before he cleared his throat, “Right-“

“Nikky, I’m serious,” Phil said firmly, “That silver is so fucking hot and if you dye it I’ll probably cry.”

“I second that,” John said very seriously.

Nik couldn’t help but laugh at their seriousness. Phil stood and walked behind him fingers going into his hair which of course caused Nik to lean back and practically melt. John stood as well and walked over.

“Should’ve known something was up when you hadn’t said anything. Big, bad Nikolai, insecure over some grey hairs.”

Nik huffs, closing his eyes as Phil continued to play with his hair, “I am not insecure.”

“You just said you wanted to dye it.”

Nik huffs, he could hear Phil’s smirk. He mustered up an unamused frown, which was immediately chased away by a well placed kiss from John. Nik was choosing to be annoyed in order to hide how relieved he felt about their approval. The two would probably pry that confession out of him later when it wouldn’t add onto their smugness over his unusual lack of confidence.

“You might want to prepare for when we return from leave, the boys are definitely going to say something when they notice.”

Nik snorts, “If they have a problem with their transport getting grey then they can cry about it.”

“Cry and complain, with bad jokes on the side.”

By the time they returned from leave, Nik would regain his rock solid confidence. And some jokes of his own because what is an old man without his jokes?

[thingscanalwaysgetworse]

love that it's called nerdy PRUDES must die but everyone that died was unashamedly horny

Edit: Please read the tags

[weewoo911]

Hold the fucking phone

How did I never notice that Eddie’s visitor sticker in the hospital when Chris is being born says Daddy

That’s adorable

[luvrxbunny]

guys i’m fucking dying

GUYS IM FUCKING DYINGGGGGG 🎀

[you-wanna-know]

✅💚🎄🍀🤑🔫🌲🐍☘️🐸🌿🌴🥑

[pnsmacbeth]

if there are zero Amber from Invincible defenders i am dead. i love Amber from Invincible and if that means i can’t look in the Reddit threads so be it. Amber they don’t know you like i do.

[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.

[bleue-flora]

It never ceases to amaze me about how many different dehumanizing labels Dream is cast in. The tyrant, the green boy, the bad guy, the wrong’un, the villain, a psycho, psychopath (which tbh are already rather kinda extreme for his supposed crimes especially at the beginning when they started). But then they go further, calling him a snake thing, pure evil, a monster [clip], a freaking ghoul [clip], even to the point of calling him Lucifer in the finale - The Biblical incarnate of evil [clip].

And what’s really interesting is the inconsistency in which Dream reacts - because on one hand he should stand up for himself, but on the other maybe he should just lean into it and maybe they’ll leave him alone. Maybe the fear and label can be his defense instead of their offense. And that gives him control over it, turns him from the victim to the victor.

In the disc confrontation, Tommy calls him pure evil and asks “how do you sleep at night”, to which he responds “just fine” [clip] {oddly, directly contradicting his comment to Techno about no sleeping btw lol…}. Later, he talks about building the prison with a “little bit of evil” but then counters Tommy’s accusation of calling him evil again with “evil is in the eye of the beholder” and “you’re evil to me” [clip].

In the finale, towards the end, Tommy talks about how he saw Dream as nothing but The villain but that isn’t true, and surprisingly Dream disagrees by saying “I am. I tortured you” [clip] {also contradicting what he says to Sam in Daedalus…}. Which is interesting. In the finale, he also makes statements like ‘we can’t because we’re soo evil’ and “we have done plenty of evil evil things” [clip] (which Punz actually counters with “not for no reason.”) But in instances when they call him a psycho and psychopath he has a different reaction saying “huh, I mean, I wouldn’t say that,” [clip] “I’m not a psycho. Everything I do is deliberate” [clip] and, in the finale, “you guys are psychos. You broke in and tried—and killed me in my own house—the prison.” [clip]

One of the keys here I think is the distinction of having reasons - he’s not evil for kicks, he has a reason and motive and logic behind it. Something, in the finale, he questions whether Tommy has, first because he broke in and killed him unfounded and then towards the end of the stream asking about why he constantly steals and griefs and stuff, “why are you trying to ruin everything all the time.” [clip] - What was your reason? Because that mattered to Dream, someone can do evil things but they have their reasons, it’s when they don’t that they are more so truly evil.

He may have done evil things, he may even be the villain, but in his mind he’s not a psycho or pure evil, or a monster because he has reasons, there is a reason he did the things he did, there is a reason he ended up here. Not that those make his deeds justified and less evil (like Sam and Quackity more so believe) but that just makes him a person, who sure does evil, but also feels, and has reasons, desires, and motivations…etc. Just like everyone else. He doesn’t even see Quackity, who confessed to being sadistic and spent months torturing him, as pure evil or even a psychopath instead saying sarcastically in Daedalus, “like Quackity ‘cause he’s full of feelings… He’s totally not a sociopath…” because that distinction between sociopath and psychopath in Dream’s mind is important. Quackity is a bad person but he isn’t the embodiment of evil, he’s just a person who did evil things.

During the first war, Wilbur calls him a little lizard snake thing, to which Dream responds “I’m powerful” [clip]. Which is strange and kinda sad to me that despite being called an actual animal(s), one more importantly often representing evil like Lucifer the snake, he doesn’t counteract it. Maybe because he’s tired of Wilbur calling him similar dehumanizing terms or tired of arguing with Wilbur in general, since everyone believes him anyways. Regardless, he instead rephrases Wilbur’s words - maybe I am a lizard or a snake but you better not step on me because I am venomous and powerful. Which aligns pretty well with his monologue [transcript] where he talks about “Do snakes just bite?” or is there a reason. Because maybe he can’t change Wilbur and Tommy’s metaphor and maybe he can’t change the label of evil despite his attempts because everyone believes them instead, but maybe he can try and use their own words to defend himself. Maybe then they’ll see him as an actual person. {or not…}