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otrtbs · 3 months

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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.

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.

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snowangeldotmp3 · 1 year

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face it, tiger.

(or, a spider-robin story - a spin on the "upside down" ronancetober prompt)

“No, I mean who are you. Under the mask.” Robin perches on the ledge of the balcony of Nancy’s apartment, putting a good distance between them. “That’s for me to know, and for you to never find out.” Nancy’s frown deepens into a scowl. Sirens sound in the distance—perfect timing. “Well,” Robin stands. “That’s my cue. See ya around, princess.” It rolls off her tongue with ease now, and she figures that she might as well double down. She gives Nancy a two fingered salute, before swinging from the balcony and towards the sirens. “This isn’t over!” yells Nancy. Robin smiles to herself. This is going to be fun.

#ronance #stranger things #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #ronancetober #ronancetober 2023 #a little spin on the prompt :3 hehe #also it's not proofread and im not going back to proofread it. i wrote this in a fervor with me and my notebook #it was like i was possessed. im not looking back through that.#anyways. i am going to bed. hope u all enjoy reading!#if you recognize this moodboard shhhhhhhhhhhh #i totally did not reuse my old spidey robin one….(lie)#my writing #my moodboards

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pansyfemme · 28 days

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Guess argument ruined because you made a spelling error, therefore, nothing else about this is important. Who even assumes something like armchair diagnostic call outs are about actual real therapists that actually know diagnostic criteria??? Surely that anon can't be serious... right?...

its not the first time i’ve had my takes seen as invaid because i mispelled something and probably wont be the last tbh, but i personally think that the fact i struggle a bit with spelling and grammar doesn’t override what i’m saying and it’s kind of ironic to nitpick it when we’re speaking about not always knowing what someone struggles with just by looking at them/hearing them speak.

#since i was a kid i’ve had some blindspots. i dont notice when i mispell something often until the fifth or sixth time reading through it #and tumblr mobile doesnt have spell check and i dont feel like proofreading every post i make dozens of times so. ive learned to just let #some of them lie and i dont think that should be a concern to anyone tbh. i think people can handle it #i’m a fine writer and i proofread everything when i can! but this isnt formal work this is my internet space to speak my mind yknow

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animatedrapture · 1 year

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content - tw: suna rintarou x reader. biting. explicit sex, but more like cockwarming. bruises and kisses. mention of manhandling.

from violet: this is me realizing no one can do it like suna can.

it stings.

the way suna is sinking his teeth against the flesh on the crook of your neck—not that it would draw blood but enough for it to hurt.

to leave a mark, to make you whimper in pain, almost beg him to stop.

you don't, though. for the most part, it's because he pulls away relatively fast to lick against your skin, bruised with the ridges of his bite tactile on his tongue.

it's absolutely feral, the way he does so, biting harshly on your flesh then retracting it—only to nip at parts of you left unmarked.

despite the grip you have on him at every assault, fingernails digging at his thighs sure to leave a mark, there's no reason for either of you to believe you don't enjoy this; how rough he gets with your pliant body, because you're dripping and clenching around his length.

this. this gets you going, suna knows.

you would complain about the bruises, but a single peck of his lips against your neck, affectionate and wholesome—you're already breathless and begging him to stay, to kiss you some more.

for the rest of it, though, it's because you love this. love the way he manhandles you to his lap, pushes your flimsy underwear to the side and slips his cock inside your tight hole, warm around him and wanting more. more of his hands on you, more of his tight, rough grip to make you behave.

sitting on his lap, giving him bright wide eyes hoping he'd give you the more only he could satisfy.

he'd ghost the touch of his lips against your neck, breathing you in and there's a phantom pain of healed bruises that leaves you weak and sighing. simply drunk on his attention, on how you'll know suna would give you exactly what you want if you'd just ask—if not without his teasing first.

so you do it again. ordering him around, telling him, bite me, rin. make it hurt.

and it's always like that—on your neck, on your thighs—make it hurt, you'll say.

it's obvious that suna has the upperhand like this, except that all he does, he does for you.

but you must've made a crazed man out of him, he thinks. why else would he love seeing you full of bruises from the bites you ask for?

ones he so willingly gives.

#suna rintarou #haikyuu x reader #suna x reader #suna smut #haikyuu smut #i was feeling Unhinged im not gonna lie #i want him to HURT me #only suna can do that the way i want him to #full delulu #yk #no proofread my brain is going insane with just . this idea. and him. Sunarin. hurting me.

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verflcht · 3 months

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𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋

Do you dare to check in? 🛎️ The infamous Overlook Hotel, nestled in the isolated Colorado Rockies, has a dark and mysterious history. Known for its eerie atmosphere and paranormal activity, the hotel has attracted visitors looking for a thrilling experience. This weekend, a group of individuals, each with their own reasons, has checked in. As night falls, strange occurrences begin to happen, turning a weekend getaway into a nightmare. ⸻ imagine yourself in the situation and create your character as they are trapped in a horror movie come true. bonus: get your creative juices flowing and write a oneshot. what happened before the picture? where is your character headed now? are they searching for their friends/the people that arrived with them or are they investigating something different entirely? what else is lurking amongst the shadows?

“This will be fun, he said”, murmelte er, ein viereckiges Glas in seiner Hand, dessen Boden so schwer war, dass es höchstwahrscheinlich noch als Waffe dienen könnte. Weswegen dieser Einfall von Relevanz für ihn war, erklärte er sich mit der plötzlichen und unerwarteten Abwesenheit jener Gesellschaft, für die er eigentlich angereist war. Isaiahs Euphorie nach waghalsigen Entdeckungen, die in Zeev den unstillbaren Drang hervorbrachte, eine davon zu sein, war letztlich ein Grund gewesen, weswegen er die Sicherheit seines eigenen Heims verlassen hatte.

Die Aussicht auf ungeteilte Aufmerksamkeit und das hautnahe Erlebnis eines sagenumwobenen verfluchten Hotels, hatten ihn auf einen entfernten Kontinent gelockt, der nicht ganz seiner englischen Höflichkeit entsprach — dafür aber seine Geschmacksknospen beanspruchten, wann immer er den zwanzig Jahre alten Whiskey öffnete und berauscht vom Geruch nachschenkte. Es überspielte das durchdringende Aroma vom billigen Bier, das unweit des Hotels an der nächsten Tankstelle unverschämterweise verkauft — und vermutlich auch im Keller gebraut — wurde. Zeev war wirklich nur kurz zur verlassenen Bar gegangen, hatte sich eine Flasche gegriffen und war augenblicklich zurückgekehrt, doch anstelle von erfreuten Gesichtern, wurde seine Rückkehr von betretener und gähnender Leere begrüßt.

Als wäre es nicht mehr als ein jugendlicher Streich, lehnte er sich an den splitternden Türrahmen und bereute es, als sich die Fasern in sein Hemd bohrten. Mit gerümpfter Nase stieß er sich ab und fuhr mit der Hand über den Stoff.

“If this is your understanding of fun, I'll have you know that I'm bored”, rief er in den Raum hinein und nippte vom Glas. Aufmerksam schwenkte er seinen goldenen Blick durch den Raum, sondierte ihn nach einem Zeichen dieser verwirrenden Wende der Ereignisse. Trotz seines humorvollen Kommentars, erwartete er keine Antwort. Unlängst war ihm bewusst geworden, dass seine Realität nicht mit jener übereinstimmte, in der er sich gegenwärtig befand. Ein Spuk war nur eine fehlerhafte Kopie, ein Sinnbild dessen, dem es entsprach. Selbst in der Magie war es unmöglich, Dinge zu erschaffen, die einander identisch waren. Dafür war sie zu unwillkürlich, in ihrer Kontrollierbarkeit limitiert. Zeev bemerkte, dass eine Bierdose fehlte, die Hayley beim turbulenten Diskurs mit Isaiah zu Boden gefallen und gegen den Fernsehtisch der Lounge gerollt war. Der Mond schien zu hell ins Zimmer, Zeit war nur eine flüchtige Idee, ein ungreifbares Konzept. Oftmals waren es Uhren, die in Träumen keinen Regeln folgten. Und auch diese schien befreit von Zeiger und Ziffernblatt. Je länger Zeev um sich sah, desto mehr fühlte er sich wie ein Gast des Uncanny Valleys.

Der blonde Hexer seufzte schwerfällig, obwohl die Aufregung der Neugierde seinen Puls erfasste. Zwar war die Gruppe — manche von ihnen nahmen eher unfreiwillig Teil — aus genau dem Grund in das Hotel eingefallen, eben weil es angeblich verwunschen war, nichtsdestotrotz bedeutet es nun für Zeev, dass er Bemühungen auf sich nehmen müsste, um sich dem Zauber zu widersetzen.

Er war schlichtweg zu faul für einen Spuk.

Eine Wahl hatte er jedoch nicht und so schlenderte er in den Raum hinein, wandte der nächsten scheußlichen Tapete den Rücken zu und setzte sich gelassen auf den Sessel. Erneut nippte er an dem Whiskey, der ihm in diesem Abbild eines brüchigen Spiegels geblieben war und war drauf und dran auszusitzen, was auch immer das Hotel ihm zu bieten hatte.

Bis es im Flur polterte. Auf die niedrige Wahrscheinlichkeit hin, dass es sich um seine Begleiter handelte, wanderte er in einer fließenden Bewegung dem Geräusch entgegen und schwenkte das Glas nahezu geistesabwesend. “Enid?”, rief er unnötig dem Treppenaufgang entgegen, der in die altmodischen, aber doch recht geräumigen Hotelzimmer geführt hatte. Die Brünette hatte sich früher von der Gruppe verabschiedet und war zu Bett gegangen, vielleicht hatte auch sie die Veränderung bemerkt. Immerhin war sie genau wie er von magischer Natur. Doch anstelle ihres verschlafenen Gesichts, sah er nur einen dunklen Schemen, nicht mehr als ein Schatten. Erst als sich ihre Blicke trafen — wenn man einem Schatten einen Blick zuordnen konnte — verschwand dieser mit gewählten Schritten.

“Fine”, atmete Zeev aus. “I hope you got something good in store for me. Don’t hit me with those poor ass metaphors about how my self-consciousness will be my downfall and how my good looks are just a facade to hide my true feelings and trauma.” Er stapfte die Treppe hinauf, den gesamten Aufgang brummte er Beschwerden. “I won’t allow this kind of lazy writing, give me some Flanagan, will you?”

Der obere Flur war breit, sodass damals genutzte Servierwagen neben Gästen unbeschwert nebeneinander Platz fanden, der Teppichboden hatte an Intensität verloren, ergraut vom Einfall des Sonnenlichts und des Schmutzes der Schuhe. Nicht, dass Zeev ihn in irgendeiner Form geschmackvoller gefunden hätte, als er noch vor Farbe getrotzt hatte. Im gleichen Zug bemerkte der exzentrische Hexer, dass alles an Intensität verloren hatte. Das sonst kräftig rote Mahagoni des Treppengeländers war fahl und kraftlos, brüchig und porös. Die Tapeten wirkten von Insekten zerfressen, die sonst auffälligen Muster und Farben waren nur ein verblasster Schein dessen, was damals als modern gegolten haben musste. Zeev blickte an sich hinunter. Nur er war wie immer. Auffällig, strahlend, wärmend — ein wandelnder Sonnenschein, selbst im kläglichen Schein des Mondes, der sich jeden Abend die Strahlen der Sonne borgte, um in ihrem Glanz zu baden.

Gelangweilt, aber mit wachsendem Interesse, schwebte er regelrecht über den Teppich, der jegliche Schritte erstickte, und passierte dabei mehrfach Zimmertüren. Vier zu seiner linken, vier zu seiner rechten. Alle, bis auf eine, waren verschlossen. Das leise Kratzen einer Nadel drang an sein Gehör, nur die Musik blieb aus. Stattdessen ein gleichmäßiges Rauschen, erfüllt von der Erwartung, den Raum mit Klängen zu füllen, die Gelassenheit, Entspannung oder Aufregung und Freude antrieben.

Die Erwartung wurde allerdings nicht erfüllt, als er den Raum betrat. Die Musik blieb aus.

Das Hotelzimmer wirkte verzerrt, als wäre der Spuk überrascht worden und hatte nicht genügend Zeit aufbringen können, um Gedanken in die Einrichtung fließen zu lassen. Das Bett war schief, der Teppich brüchig wie alter Marmor, die Regale überlappten einander und die Fenster bogen sich nach außen. Spätestens jetzt wäre er sich der Unwirklichkeit klar geworden. Statt Furcht stellte er sich die Frage, wie es möglich war. Und welche Macht nötig war, um es zu reproduzieren.

Als wären seine Gedanken nicht verschlossen vor neugierigen Geistern, löste sich ein Laken von einem Standspiegel und gab die Oberfläche frei, dessen goldener Rahmen aus Blütenknospen zu bestehen schien. Er kannte sie besser als jede andere: Chrysanthemen. Die zulaufende Spitze wurde von einer filigranen Sonne akzentuiert. So schön der Rahmen war, so brüchig war das Glas.

Je näher er trat — nicht ohne einen abschätzenden Blick über die Schulter zu werfen — desto klarer wurde das Bild. Tiefe Farben, schillerndes Licht. Der Raum wirkte so lebendig, wie der Teppich unter seinen Füßen womöglich niemals war. Das Sonnenlicht wirkte einladend, sodass sich jede Faser in seinem Körper danach sehnte. Er war so abgelenkt von dem deutlichen, unverzerrten Raum, dass er nicht bemerkte, dass er nicht alleine war. Als er die Hand hob, um seiner Sehnsucht nach dem Licht körperlich nachzugeben, begegnete sein Spiegelbild ihm mit einer tiefschwarzen Hand.

Keuchend stolperte Zeev zurück und stürzte in den staubigen Ohrensessel. Sein Spiegelbild tat es ihm gleich.

Allerdings konnte Zeev nicht akzeptieren, was er sah. Fahle blasse Haut und Haare so schwarz wie die Nacht. Sein Körper — obwohl es ihm widerstrebte, sich mit dem Abbild zu vergleichen — bewegte sich mit ihm, als er sich aufsetze. Seine Augen waren jeglichem Glanz beraubt. Es war, als würde er in das Nichts starren. Zeev schwieg, lehnte sich zurück und stellte mit Enttäuschung fest, dass sein Glas heruntergefallen war. Lange starrte er sein Spiegelbild an, unklar darüber, wie er fühlen sollte. Es war ein Spuk, nur welche Bedeutung hegte er für ihn? Was wollte er?

“The same as you”, antwortete sein Spiegelbild, losgelöst von den Fesseln des anderen, lehnte sich seine dunkelhaarige Erscheinung zur Seite, den Arm lässig über die Lehne gebeugt. Im ersten Moment reagierte Zeev nicht und starrte stattdessen weiterhin auf den ihm Fremden.

“And what's that?”

“All and more”, säuselte er sich selbst zu. Zeev wusste, dass Hexen eine einnehmende Ausstrahlung besaßen — und er machte täglich Gebrauch davon — selbst dem ausgesetzt zu sein, fühlte sich merkwürdig falsch an.

“Would you kindly be a bit more specific?”

Sein Spiegelbild lächelte lediglich.

“For someone who claims to be me you are oddly quiet.”

“Maybe we came to the conclusion that actions speak louder than words.”

Ein schwaches Lachen löste sich aus ihm. “Yeah, I doubt that. I tend to do both in equal measures.”

“Then this could be a memorable night for the both of us.”

Zeev räusperte sich. “I knew that I'd be one of those who'd sleep with myself, but ask me out first, would you?”

Sein Spiegelbild lächelte, eine gewisse Unmenschlichkeit glänzte in den pechschwarzen Augen. “Wouldn't you like to know what it's like to be me?”

“You're confusing”, schnalzte Zeev. “I thought you are me?”

“In a sense, we're much alike and closer than you could imagine.”

“I feel like there's a but in there.”

“There isn't, you'll get to know me quite well in a given time. However, I can give you a glimpse of what's to come for us.”

“Why should I want that?”

Sein Spiegelbild lehnte sich nach vorne, selbstbewusst fuhren die schwarzen Finger durch sein Haar. “Because there’s nothing you don’t want.”

“I highly doubt that, but keep going.”

“I’ve got an offer for you.”

Zeev überschlug die Beine, die Hände gefaltet, den Blick fest geradeaus. “Now you’ve got my undivided attention.”

“But you should know it always comes with a price.”

Diesmal war es Zeev, der seine strahlend weiße Zahnreihe offenbarte. “Didn’t expect anything else.”

“I’ll teach you my ways and you’ll set me free. What do you think?”

“Sounds marvelous.”

tagged by: @ausgetrieben & @vikasgarden

tagging: @nepnthc, @vasted, @hochmvt, @vcnenum , @never-be-tamed , @thesiciliansiren , @shevampyre & as always whoever wants to check in!

#*✹˰ ʾ & shenanigans . ʿ they said you was high classed ; that was just a lie.#*✹˰ ʾ writings . ʿ i’m a man of my words ; if i feel like it.#( didn't proofread; didn't care :)) )

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wetcatspellcaster · 4 months

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Rose with no filter for evil people is my favourite Rose, she's right, though maybe a nap would have been a great alternative to exploring all of Rivington +the circus?

I'm so anxious for Astarion to find out about Rose's agoraphobia, and also for how it's revealed. Act 3 has A LOT of big arcs, I wish Rose luck with the city and hope the group can help lift some of the big choices off her shoulders.

I mean... Things can only get better after a circus murder and the worst version of The Newlywed Game... Right?

I'm so sorry anon. Your message is so lovely and I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter, but honestly... 'things can only get better'... I'm laughing and I feel evil, and it's made me a little silly.

Anyway, please see the diagram below correlating Act 3 events and angst levels of An Honest Lie (a graph I made while I should've been working).

Act 3 does indeed have a lot of big arcs. It was fucking brutal in my playthrough bc Rosalie was cursed with a god who is a bad gamer. and I've also made some what I call, Artistic Choices. (but I will add in more naps, on your advisement, the troughs will be bigger if I add naps).

(This graph does not include other party members' character development, romance development, ally relationships or group support, so this is an incomplete study and potentially looks grimmer than it is. Luckily PCs level up in accordance with angst as well as XP. But in terms of plot... yeah. YEAH).

#asks #anons #wip: an honest lie #sometimes you don't want to proofread your thesis so instead you make a silly little diagram

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seth-burroughs · 1 year

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Hot take incoming but Makoto is one of the characters where everybody focuses on only one of his crimes, which is arguably actually the most justified out of all his actions, while ignoring pretty much. Everything else.

Like sorry but I don't think turning people into food was That Bad considering homunculi need human meat in order to live, they literally die if they don't eat it - it's either A. no humans get killed, and in turn all of Kanai Ward dies, or B. humans die and get turned into meatbuns, and Kanai Ward gets to exist. You could argue that the defective homunculi weren't really supposed to exist anyway but like, they do now so what. Makoto is also a homunculus, of course he probably sympathizes more with the other homunculi instead of the humans (that put them there in the first place) of course he's gonna choose KW over approx. a million humans.

If that was me in that situation I'll do the same thing fuck them bun filling lmao sorry I'm not saying it would be the best choice but it's one literally most people would choose anyway because like. What can you do, it sucks, moving on.

Substitutes for human flesh are possible to create (thank you ramen guy) but it'd require him to seek help from others which would require him to tell them the truth which fuck no. Like in that regard I believe he should be allowed to kill whoever he wants actually!

What actually makes me go 🤨 about him is everything else he's doing. Or not doing - aside from providing food and rain clouds, aka only a portion the bare necessities, he's doing absolutely nothing for Kanai Ward, especially Dohya District. He lives in the most expensive looking penthouse I ever laid my eyes upon, there is so much he could do with all of his billions, like, I don't know, at least unflood the Dohya District do you remember the Dohya District it appeared once in chapter 3 I believe.

Also your city has a poverty crisis the population's like 10% rich bitch working for ✨Amaterasu✨ 90% i live in a sewer i have like 8 shien. Please stop saying you love KW like every othet sentence and actually do something I'm begging you I'm poking you with a stick right now.

Say what you want about Yomi but he was so real for telling Makoto he's not doing shit, only ever instance in rc where the guy is like.... somewhat correct. I was about to say something else but I stopped myself because I have a healthy amount of Fear.

Apparently Makoto's love for all homunculi doesn't extend to Kurumi though, a teenage girl, after he just dumps her along with Yuma in the restricted area for no reason whatsoever, endangering her severely. He also risked her finding out she was eating human flesh for three years straight, the only reason she didn't go into the freezer was because Yuma was there to tell her there was nothing there. There was no reason for Makoto to drag her along to be the audience to his epic showdown with his DNA donor.

I'm not mad at him for that though, that was so fucking hilarious, the fuck?? What is wrong with him <3333

Since I know somebody is going to say that Yomi existing severely limits what Makoto can actually do, which is fair to some extent, but like... Was Yomi holding a gun to his head and telling him he's gonna execute the hostages if he tries to unflood Dohya? Was he? Yomi controls the peacekeepers, he doesn't control where Amaterasu money gets donated. Yomi (and by extension, the peacekeepers - Yomi is, as I see it, the personification of everything wrong with the Amaterasu Corporation cops peacekeepers anyway) can be blamed for a large portion of everything wrong with Kanai Ward, but not the entirety of it; and Makoto can't be, either. Blaming everything on Yomi is not only just wrong, but also the most boring answer possible.

Speaking of -- Makoto didn't even care about all the abuse of power Yomi was commiting the entire time. According to him, "If all Yomi did was throw his weight around, that would have been fine, but [forgot the exact phrasing, but he says him trying to leak homunculus information was where he had to step in]", so you can't even give him points for being a Yomi hater! Sad. Anyway here's how makoyomi worsties can still win

Do I dislike Makoto? No not really. I don't really care about him as much as other people tend to, but he's fun when you let him be his silly (ominous) self. The atrocities are a part of him and I decided they're funny. Actually wait I changed my mind I love him now.

#cool motive still billionaire! now if you'll excuse me (starts daydreaming makoyomi one sided hate sex)#I don't even think Makoto hates Yomi nor does he lie about loving every citizen of Kanai Ward-#Which means Yomi is included in that. It'd be hypocritical otherwise to claim that. Besides Makoto doesn't even act like he despises Yomi #He's just very mad with him. For a good reason.#Oh wait actually he DOES have an exception to the ''i love all of KW'' and it's Kurumi #How DARE she stand next to Yuma in that one scene. THROW HER INTO THE DAMPEST DARKEST PIT IN THE RESTRICTED AREA!!!!!!!!!!!!#mine #rain code #makoto kagutsuchi #I did not proofread this at all hope the words here actually mean something👍👍

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trobeds · 1 year

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hey if i wrote about the gay knights would u read it.............................

edit: i wrote about the gay knights

#this isnt one of my usual empty promises i actually have a 3k word fic in my docs rn being proofread #goldenheart #im actually so normal about them (lie)#🫀#anyways im planning to drop it sometime today so if ur interested pls give it a read !!#nimona

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necrotic-nephilim · 1 month

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Fandom: DCU (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake (DCU) Additional Tags: Omega Dick Week (DCU), Omega Dick Grayson, Alpha Bruce Wayne, Omega Tim Drake (DCU), Unhealthy Relationships, Manipulation, Porn With Plot, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Grooming, Bad Parent Bruce Wayne, Rough Sex, Breathplay, Consent Issues, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Protectiveness, Protective Dick Grayson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Painful Sex, Pre-Flashpoint (DCU), Bittersweet Ending, Spanking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Barebacking Summary:

Dick had accepted his relationship with Bruce was fucked up and probably unhealthy. He was okay with that. He even had enough self-preservation to refuse to be Bruce's mate for that reason. But when Bruce turns his attention to Tim, Dick's instincts for Tim show him exactly how little self-preservation he has, if it means protecting someone else from Bruce.

Omega Dick Week 2024 - Day 4: Protective Instincts

#omegadickweek2024 #necrotic writings #brudick #ao3 fanfic #batcest #dead dove do not eat #in the final hours. but i'm still on track lads.#scrivener tried to lock this fic in baby jail and wouldn't let me copy it #i bout cried won't lie #but i freed it. it's mine now #anyway over halfway done!#god i'm so tired this one got so LONG #told myself i wouldn't do another 10k. and i did.#this isn't really proofread so sorry if it's iffy #i have many thoughts about this fic it was so fun to write and worldbuild #but rn i'm going to turn into a calcified worm.#might watch the caped crusader or something. idk

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ghostoffuturespast · 7 months

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Me, writing: This is a lot words... Perhaps too much.

Me, editing:

#writing #editing #fan fiction #rambling into the void #i said 21k but that was a lie because it was actually 23.5k but now it's over 24k...#😅😅😅#fic: so it goes #when your editor is your worst enabler #i had to cut myself off #one full proofread lets go #like turning in college essays all over again...

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rosylix · 3 months

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i'm really sorry for the radio silence and delay on rosy sequel i really thought i could get it out sooner but y'know... a month later....

also i know some people asked to be tagged when it's out, but i don't think i'll be doing taglists or anything like that. it's just a lot to keep track of on my end and kinda overwhelming. i'm sorry if that's a letdown to anyone but hope y'all understand!

but i do read every comment even if i don't reply 🩷 each one means so much!

if you want to get notified of when i post new works i would recommend subscribing to me on ao3, i always post there the same time as here and you'll get an email whenever i post something! or you can just check my masterlist every now and then haha

#anyway it will be posted. i wanna say this weekend but im known to lie about these things #i literally dont like it but #i cant keep changing it or ill die #so lemme just proofread and stuff and i'll post soon! *real not clickbait*#i promise. lmao #.txt

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martianbugsbunny · 11 months

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Let's talk about Loki! Under the cut for the sake of those who have not yet seen Episode 2.

OKay so to start with, overall this episode of Loki was a pleasant surprise. Loki himself got to be serious and powerful and I enjoyed that. He's finally had a chance to shine in his own series. The way he played with magic, especially with the shadows at the beginning, was absolutely stunning, and I'm glad we're finally diving into his magical abilities more. He had just the right amount of menace in his interactions with Brad, and the way he was softer and rather understanding when Mobius flipped out was a wonderful counterbalance. So far I'm liking this version of Loki where he's threatening to his opponents but genuinely caring towards his people, and I think whoever was in charge of writing him in this episode did an excellent job reinjecting some nuance and some authority into his character.

Mobius was a little weird at certain points; he's been an analyst for like a bajillion years or something so I think in-character he should've been able to handle reading the guidebook, but honestly he had a decent showing too. Using him as the levity...it's not a horrible decision if it's not going to become a recurring theme, because I don't want him to get dumbed-down, which he's not so far; his deducing that there was set-up was quite clever and I didn't see it coming. It worked in this episode partially because he was also doing some smart stuff, but also because it was offset by the bits of temper and vulnerability he displayed, which were both very well done in my opinion. It actually added another dimension to his character that I really like, and I think addressing that he's more afraid of "what if the life I was supposed to have is good?" than if it was bad is an interesting take, especially considering he seems to be in the camp of "it may be the life I was supposed to have, but it's not my life," because it's good for the show to be exploring those different avenues for the TVA workers, and because it makes Mobius a more unique person himself. I'm also kind of enjoying his little ruthless streak, ngl.

I like the dynamic Mobius and Loki have together right now. Them eating pie together and talking about Mobius's feelings was a lovely scene, and probably one of the most authentic we're going to see out of the entire season if I had to guess. They're working together very nicely; Mobius sort of letting Loki go off his leash with the magic at the beginning was neat, and I just adore the way their less-heroic tendencies are playing off of each other (such as in the Brad-in-the-box scene). I think that makes sense for them, and I'm not looking for these guys to be heroes of pristine reputation, or even heroes at all, just guys who are trying to hold what little they have left together, so it's really hitting the spot for what I expect of their personalities melding together.

(Also, I'm now pronouncing Casey and Ouroboros a ship, although I doubt I'm the first one. The idea of OB being a celebrity to this one guy, and only this one guy, is pure gold.)

I will say, there's still a little much of the MCU-brand hokeyness in the show for my taste. There doesn't need to be something to laugh at every couple of minutes (not that I'm really laughing, because I'm tired of that style of writing by this point). The story can stand on its own without the forced comedy, and if it can't, then the comedy is only going to annoy people further. This is kind of serious stuff, and although I'm not against having some lighter moments or some comedic relief, I could live with Loki actually taking itself more seriously. But, like I said, this episode did feel more genuine to me, so it's not all jokes and quipping.

I'm still not a fan of Sylvie. Her existence annoys me because the female-Loki premise is obnoxious, and she feels so much like every other female character out there she doesn't really have the personal qualities to redeem the premise. Also, I find Loki's obsession with her strange, as she's mostly only been a total bitch to him and clearly wants nothing to do with him. (Which in itself is weird; her acting all butthurt at him in this episode like he was the one who pushed her through a time-door or something was like...what the heck? If somebody can explain that to me, please do, because I feel like I've either missed or forgotten something that would make it make sense.) I find her "normal life" as an 80s McDonald's employee strange, also, because that's...that's not the kind of normal she would envision. Her "normal" should be something regular on Asgard, because she's not a human dreaming of a normal life, she's an Asgardian dreaming of a normal life, although I do understand that according to the rules of the game there's probably not an Asgard where a Loki is welcome...yet Lokis are shapeshifters, so she could sneak in one anyway. That's probably a little nitpicky, I can recognize that.

So, yeah. There we go. This episode of Loki actually raised my expectations for the rest of the season, which is a nice surprise for me. I didn't think I would enjoy any part of this show so much, because the first season really didn't have a moment like this where I went huh. this is pretty good. I hope this episode being so good isn't an anomaly, because I was a huge fan of Loki in Thor, Avengers, Dark World, Infinity War, and I want to be a fan of him again in this show. If the writing stays this good (or gets even better, perchance?) I may end up considering myself a convert.

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morphemeta · 16 days

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gakuto oshiro. cis man. he/him. bisexual. ⇝ hey, isn’t that hirokazu 'kaz' amuro ? i think that the forty-five year old from okinawa, japan works as a city council member & owner of dracula's coffin club, but outside of that people describe them as shelves of leatherbound books, artworks hanging in gilded frames, expensive vintage wines in their rack and not a thing out of place; a dark room illuminated only by the flicker of candlelight; an old photo album, full of snaps from a disposable camera, hidden away in the back of a forgotten closet; crisp suits, expensive jewellery, an image so perfectly designed as to be uncanny; strong posture, total control of the room, a gaze sharp enough to dissuade any arguments . i hear they are manipulative & a control freak, but they are also known to be sentimental & artistic . consider giving them a visit at their home in the winterwood estates and get to know why they’re called the tormented.

IMPORTANT LINKS: will be added when they're ready!

TW: emotional neglect in childhood, disappearance/death of a loved one??

just to make my intentions with this character very clear before we get any further, this guy SUCKS. he's meant to be somewhat antagonistic and just all-round not that great a guy. sure, he probably has his redeeming features & he was a decent person at some point but :) time changes ppl, i guess! i feel like he's probably pretty amicable and decent on the surface but he's also very two-faced so it's like...Be Careful <3 also, i have no particular want to plot any active ships for this character. this isn't because of a lack of interest on his part, it's just because i don't necessarily want to write, or think it's appropriate to rp, what would definitely be a very toxic relationship! also he's definitely still in love with a person who's been missing for twenty years so there's also that. anyway, that's my little note done. read away! also! unlike most of my other muses (except ash), this is a new character i'm writing just for anchorage so please keep in mind a lot of stuff is generally subject to change. i'm going to try and work out the kinks as i go but this intro might not stay 100% totally accurate.

BASICS.

His full name is Hirokazu Amuro (安室洋一) but he started going by Kaz for short once he moved to the States in his late teens. It just kind of stuck. I imagine his nickname growing up would have been 'Hiro'.

Kaz was born in Okinawa City, Okinawa Prefecture, Japan and is of direct Okinawan descent. Kaz may describe himself as Japanese for simplicity's sake but he considers himself Okinawan first & Japanese second. (Okinawans/Ryukyuans are an unrecognised ethnic minority in Japan & are ethnically/culturally distinct from the mainland Japanese majority BUT that's all I'll say on the matter bc this is a topic on which I am not qualified to speak & that presumably requires far more nuance than should be squeezed into an rp intro hehe)

He speaks Japanese (standard & Okinawan dialects) and English fluently, and he knows a little Uchinaaguchi. I imagine he knows some other languages too, I just haven't settled on that. I think he's very interested in cultures and language.

As a council member, he dedicates a lot of his attention to the Arts sector, having taken it upon himself to oversee the relevant funding and the like. He's very invested in the arts and considers it a matter of great personal interest. Kaz is also a known patron/doner of the Hanging Arts Gallery and paid out of his own pocket to financially support certain productions of the Single Carrot Theatre, especially due to his history with the venue. This has given him a reputation for being philanthropic but it largely comes from a place of self-interest and satisfying his own wants and needs.

Similarly, he's donated money to publications such as the Anchorage Daily Diem under the guise of support but the reality is that he has built up a good rapport with news outlets so as to give him more control over how he's portrayed in the media. Money speaks. And money can make sure that you don't speak.

This is a recurring issue, for the record. He very much needs to be in control of things. He's not especially power-hungry, and is quite content to sit back and let things play out without him lifting a finger, but he likes to be the one putting pawns in their places to ensure things go his way. Obviously, his success here will vary but, again, this is just how he likes things to be.

All this to say, he's kind of a known eccentric, hence his ownership of the Coffin Club. What can I say? He likes spooky shit. On top of that, the way he presents himself in public is so particular and perfect and poised that it's a little uncanny. I think he probably comes off a little unsettling.

I imagine he might clash with his fellow council members at times because he prefers to speak directly and he's kind of condescending, especially if he disagrees with you on something. He holds grudges too and is the type to start playing Devil's Advocate just to rile someone up because he happens to dislike them. He also doesn't have much issue just insulting people SO UH....

He likes screwing with people. I really picture him as the type of guy to pour a glass of red wine over someone's head in order to humiliate and belittle them.

Insufferable rich man.

CHILDHOOD

Hirokazu was born, on 13th October 1978, as the second of two children, the only son, of a wealthy family. His father was in business, as his father had been before him, and his mother was a homemaker who had also come from a wealthy background. It was tolerant but largely loveless marriage, the couple having come together at the behest of their respective families (who had been primarily concerned with what the union might do for their collective reputations). It is hard to say that the Amuro children grew up surrounded by much warmth but they were comfortable.

The expectations placed on the two Amuro children were high, particularly for Hirokazu who had been deigned the obvious sucessor to his father's work. They were raised in a strict home where studying well to impress the parents was the be-all-and-end-all. They had strict curfews and were forbidden from the sort of hobbies their parents considered frivolous and a waste of time. If the children weren't working to improve themselves for future job prospects, they were wasting time.

Fortunately for Hirokazu, he was a clever and studious child and never struggled much in this regard. He was also a voracious reader and, to his good luck, this was considered an acceptable hobby. He was known to spend hours at the library down the road from his family home. It was just about the only source of entertainment to which he had easy access.

In his early teen years, he grew irritated with this constrictive lifestyle, of only doing and reading and even thinking this that had been approved of by his family. The first step in breaking free was a very, very small one indeed: he deliberately hunted out the pulpiest, schlockiest book he could find in the entire library, a beaten-up and dog-eared old copy of some horror anthology, and found himself hooked. The entire genre was such a far cry from the world in which he lived, full of freaks and weirdos and people who obeyed none of the rules. This led to him reading more and more horror, and then to him sneaking away to the local arthouse cinema where they'd show strange and splattery flicks imported all the way from places like Italy. Here, he learned that he didn't really want to follow in his father's footsteps. Business bored him but art fascinated him.

In his first year of high school, at the age of sixteen, Hirokazu took it upon himself to form and appoint himself leader of the school's new Horror Literature Club. The membership was small but the attendance was strong. (It should be of note that the small attendance was also what justified his position as leader, despite being a first year.) This was also Hirokazu's very first taste of leadership. He'd never been an outgoing child and was usually left alone by other children but he found that, suddenly, people listened when they believed he was important. This stint lasted until halfway through his second year of high school, at which point his father found out what he'd been doing and forced him to withdraw from the club altogether.

The new opening in his schedule would be filled with more studying. After all, he needed to get into a good uni if he wanted to maintain any respect in this family and his father wasn't just going to pay his children's way. If they couldn't earn their education on their own merits, they were no children of his. And, so, Hirokazu studied and studied until he secured himself a spot at a top university in Tokyo, studying Business (a decision made for him by his family). Because his sister had also gotten into a good women's university in the city a couple years prior, the family left the tropical climate of Okinawa behind and moved to Tokyo.

EARLY ADULT YEARS

Two years into his time at Uni, at the age of nineteen, he was offered the chance to take part in an exchange program that would send him to New York for a year. Eager, if not desperate, to get away from his parents, Hirokazu jumped at the opportunity. His father considered it a good chance for Hirokazu to branch out and network and so he approved it. Along with a good friend from Tokyo, Hirokazu made the move and immediately set to work on forging his own path, living his own for the very first time.

His actual education was of minor concern and Hirokazu immediately threw himself into the nightlife. He found himself at home in more alternative groups and more artistic spaces, even beginning to dabble in poetry himself. He surrounded himself bands and poets and artists, adopted the name Kaz and stayed out all night shoving fuck know what kind of substances into his body. He'd become a free sprit; the idea of rebellion had long since crossed his mind, so far had he come from those repressive beginnings.

And, then, he met them. They were just another member of Kaz's wider circle but, from the moment he laid eyes on them, he was infatuated. They would often break free from the rest of their circle in the wee hours of the morning to steal away private moments. At age twenty, Kaz had fallen in love for the first time and he fallen quite hard.

It was 1999 now and the two had been officially dating for quite some time. Kaz had made the decision to remain in New York and finish out his education there, having graduated that very year. He ignored his father's demands that he move back home and take up a position working alongside him. His partner mentioned wanting to up north somewhere for New Year's Eve, in the hopes of seeing the Northern Lights as the new millenium rolled in and, so, Kaz surprised them with a two week trip up to Anchorage.

During this trip, the two grew very fond of the strange town and decided to take root there, having found themselves feeling otherwise lost in life after graduating. Thanks to Kaz's wealthy background, they were able to buy a home in Delilah's Gated Den without any trouble. Kaz took up a job handling the finances for the Single Carrot theatre, believing it to be the ideal way to pursue his love of the arts while still making good use of his business degree.

In 2004, when Kaz was twenty-five, their partner disappeared. Another statistic in Anchorage's endless list of missing people. The news hit Kaz like a ton of bricks, his reality seeming to chip and crack around him. He was forced to watch, helpless, as those in charge seemed to do nothing, not a finger lifted for any casuality in the town. Unable to let go of his missing loved one and determined to prove that they were still out there, Kaz left his position at the theatre behind after five years of work and moved into local government. He would work his way up the ranks and find the answers he was after.

ADULT YEARS

After years of hard work, such hard work that it had bordered on obsession, Kaz had become a member of the Anchorage City Council. He was on top and he had access to everything he needed. That was when he learned about the Miroir, and that was when he had learned about their miroir. The cracks that had formed all those years ago splintered beyond repair. Shattering. The vague hopes onto which he had clung for so long twisted and contorted into something like rage and resentment. The journey he had taken to get to this point had already changed him for the worse, the years spent following only one trail blinding him to anything that did not serve his own interests, but this would only push him over the edge.

Separately from this, somewhere along the line he took it upon himself to start a small business of his own: Dracula's Coffin Club. Of course, his love of horror was never forgotten and this little shop is a testament to that. He's often too busy to do any work in the shop itself but it's sort of a little passion project for him. He still likes to write poetry in his own time too but that's a very private business. (SORRY THIS IS SUCH A SHIFT IN TONE LMAOO I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE ELSE TO PUT IT </3)

As for his family, they fell out with him during his Single Carrot years but, having caught wind of his successes in local government, they eventually changed their tune. Kaz was understandably not impressed with this but has tried to stay in their good books out of a desire to remain on his father's will. (His belief is that he deserves to be compensated for having this man as a father.) His sister has since taken his place as their father's successor, having proven herself a perfectly capable businesswoman, and has a family of her own whereas his mother has had some success in launching her own jewellery business. Kaz does not take any interest in their affairs.

#« 𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚣𝚞 » / 「 intro. 」#anchorintro #oh yeah for sure i'm keeping it brief this time (it's 2k words long)#ALSO I DO NOT LOVE THIS GRAPHIC I WILL NOT LIE but i threw it together in like 10 mins bc i just wanted smth in here #maybe i'll redo it later...maybe i'll just grow to accept it #who knows #anyway hopefully this isn't a mess and doesn't suck or whatever #i wrote the whole backstory part in one sitting & i need to sleep at some point so i didn't proofread HOPEFULLY IT MAKES SENSE

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imjustavenuxwithaboomerang · 2 months

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el tejano - habbey oneshot

(this is inspired the song el tejano by lauv and sofia reyes (which i recommend). you don't really need to know the song/lyrics to read it, but it would probably give context for certain details.)

The grating sound of a creaky window being opened filled the dorm room, replacing the sound of Deuce aggressively typing up an essay that was due later that week. He didn’t look up, as he knew it was his closest companion, sneaking through the window. Was there even a curfew on weekends? No, but what Heath didn’t know wouldn’t hurt.

Heath climbed into the room and threw himself down on his roommate’s bed, sighing dramatically. Deuce kept his eyes on his laptop and paid him no mind. Heath sat up and sighed even louder, which sounded more like a strangled scream.

Deuce chuckled to himself and rolled his desk chair towards the bed. He reached out to stop the chair from hitting the footboard and smiled at his best friend.

“Well, someone sure wants my attention,” Deuce said smugly.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Ask me how my day was!” Heath kicked off his shoes and brought his legs up to sit cross-legged.

“And you can’t just tell me, because…?”

“Because…suspense,” Deuce rolled his eyes, “and because no one else asked how my day was going the entire time I was out,” Heath said with a slight pout.

“Fine,” Deuce turned around to sit backward in his chair and crossed his arms over the back, “How was your day, Heath?”

Heath flailed his hands in excitement, “Great question!” Deuce held back a laugh, “I went to the park, made friends with some zombie dogs, and saw a flyer for this new nightclub place for teens. I went because, duh, and it was decorated to have this beachy vibe and I love the beach.”

Deuce nodded along, “Mhm…”

“And I stayed there for the rest of the night. but, there’s more!” Heath clapped his hands together.

“How can there be more if you stayed there all night?”

“I met a girl! I, Heath Burns, met a girl!”

“Huh, good for you, man,” Deuce pushed himself off the bed and attempted to keep writing his paper.

“Wait, wait, I gotta tell you all about it,” Heath climbed off the bed and headed towards his side of the room, just barely saving himself from tripping over his sneakers.

“Fine, but I gotta finish this,” Deuce gestured to his open document, “I promise I’m listening, go ahead.”

Heath plopped down into his own desk chair, “So you know Nirvana right? That human band?” Deuce hummed and nodded. “Apparently, there are Spanish covers of their songs, which is a sentence I never thought I’d say, but they were, like, the majority of the playlist.”

Deuce furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Heath, “Nirvana of all bands has multiple covers in Spanish?”

“Yuh, and me and the girl just danced to them and talked all night. What did we talk about?” Heath didn’t wait for Deuce to answer, “Great question”.

Deuce chuckled to himself as he finished a paragraph.

“I learned a lot about her, like, she’s from the Himalayas, and she actually knows some of the same people we do. She knows Cleo and Lagoona and even Clawdeen, isn’t that so interesting?” Deuce nodded absentmindedly. “She even asked me if I watched that human show, um…” Heath searched his brain for the title, “Friends! That’s it!”

“Oh, that show about the six friends in the coffee shop or whatever?” Deuce leaned back in his chair looking over his last couple of paragraphs.

“Yeah! I told her that Phoebe was probably my favorite character so far.”

“The blonde one?” Deuce asked.

“Mhm, and she actually agreed with me and we laughed and laughed.”

“How did you of all people, no offense, get a girl to talk to you and dance with you? For such a long period of time?” Deuce started a new paragraph and slightly laughed at the idea of Heath fumbling over his words trying to ask a girl to dance.

“Well actually, you jerk, she came up to me. I had just ordered some salsa for my chips, I had chips, I didn’t think it was important to mention, and she walked up to me. She asked if she could sit with me and try some of my food.”

“And you let her, because only you would share your food with an absolute stranger,” Deuce said, saying the last part under his breath.

“I heard that, and yes, I did. She sat down and asked me if the salsa was mild. I stupidly said that it was hotter than mild because I thought it would impress her but turns out she has problems with hot food. Deuce, I almost scared her away!”

Deuce couldn’t keep his laughs quiet anymore and let a loud guffaw leave his mouth, “See, this is why I didn’t believe that you were able to keep her interested enough to dance with you.”

“Rude, but I quickly took it back and said it was a joke. She stayed, thank gods, and then one of the Nirvana covers came on, she pulled me to the dance floor, I, of course, had to keep my fire under control, and the rest is the greatest love story to ever take place.”

“Sounds like an amazing night, Heath. What was her name?” Deuce finished up his final paragraph and hit save. Should he have proofread it? Sure, but he might as well give the end of Heath’s story his full attention.

“Yeah...about that, once the club got closer to closing time, she left pretty quickly, and I never…actually caught her name…”

Deuce stopped moving. He did not hear that right, he couldn't have, “You don't,” Deuce closed his eyes in preparation for disappointment, “know her name?”

“No, I do not,” Deuce could practically hear the sheepish look Heath had on his face as he spoke.

Deuce did a sharp inhale and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I mean this in the nicest way possible, dude, you're hopeless.”

“Yeah, I know. But what matters is that she seemed to be having fun and I know I had fun,” Heath got out of his chair and started to change into his pajamas. “That’s a win in my book.”

“A win is a win,” Deuce reluctantly said.

Heath finished getting dressed and sprawled out on his bed, “I wonder if she’s thinking about me right now.”

“Maybe, Heath, maybe.”

On the other side of the school was a blue-skinned girl and her friends gathered in a circle. Giggles left the friends’ mouths as the girl spoke.

“He assured me that the salsa wasn’t actually that hot and so I tried it, it was really good, and we just hit it off right away,” it was hard for Abbey to keep her excitement in check as she recounted the story of the boy she had met that night.

“And then what happened?” Lagoona chirped.

“Then the music changed and I dragged him to the dance floor,” Abbey took a second to chuckle to herself, “He was such a bad dancer,” another chuckle fell from her lips.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Ghoulia reached a hand to Abbey’s knee in comfort.

“No, no, it was endearing. I loved how bad he was at dancing because he knew he was bad but he was so confident about it. It made me laugh.”

Ghoulia hummed and took her hand away.

“Ya know, orange skin, red hair, I think I know the guy you’re talking about,” Cleo, who had been trying to act like she didn’t think Abbey’s story was absolutely adorable, finally chimed in to the conversation, “What was his name again?”

“Oh, I never actually asked for it. I didn’t tell him mine either. Guess that wasn’t my smartest move,” Abbey said, giggling to herself.

“You utter fool,” Cleo reprimanded her but couldn’t stay mad at her very happy friend.

“Yeah, I know. But I had so much fun, guys, and I think he did too. I swear I saw his hair become fire for a second when we were dancing.”

Cleo definitely knew who the guy was by now but she held her words. Why ruin the moment by letting everyone know that Abbey was dancing with Cleo’s ex’s best friend? Besides, it was bound to be funny when the two would inevitably run into each other when classes started in a couple days.

#i translated sofia reye's part and was like semi-upset that it didn't really line up with what i had already written #but i persevered #just like most of my monster high posts this is based on the live action version of the characters #but i think that g1 habbey fans could probably still enjoy this #totally meant to have this up a lot earlier but the person that i wanted an opinion from never got back to me #and i wasn't confident in my proofreading and just overall reviewing skills (got my sister to read it 30 minutes ago)#also by “based off” i mean it's very loosely inspired since at the end of the day the characters are teenagers #and i didn't want to age them up #really wanted write more but didn't know what exactly to write so i decided to do a song inspired fic kinda thing #which did help with the writer's block so YAY #also lie i said this was originally clawdeuce but i made deuce way too heath-coded and heath too deuce-coded so i just switched them #luckily i changed it pretty early on in the writing process #HOPE Y'ALL LIKE IT #monster high #monster high the movie #monster high 2 #habbey #heath burns #abbey bominable #heath x abbey #abbey x heath #monster high live action #monster high fanfic #monster high fic #oneshot

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