#writing this on my phone sorry for the formatting

[r2d2lover]

The Truth Slips

Paring: Fred Weasley X Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Shameless smut without plot. Loss of virginity. Prevalence of a drinking game.

Summary: request: “i wanted to request a fred oneshot where reader is shy/bashful and a virgin and fred's his usually cocky self but sorta fuckboy-eee and yanoo they do the dirty… my guilty pleasure”

My guilty pleasure as well. Fuckboy Fred is my creme de la creme. uncanon fun silly Fred one shot.

Part 2

You nervously watch the bottle in the middle spin around. And around. And around. Until it jolted with a stop on you.

Your glance hesitates as it trails up to meet the bottle’s spinner, who’s green eyes light up with glee.

“This is gonna be so good,” Fred Weasley exclaimed with a wicked smile. He leaned back on his elbows, waiting for your next move. Gulping nervously, you reach towards him wondering how a post-Quidditch party turned into a scene from your nightmares.

Everyone who decided to partake in the game whoops and hollers as you finally reach in the middle of the circle and claim your shot glass of the clear liquid. George had suggested that the house play “Veritaserum Roulette” with a stolen bottle of the potion. While preparing N.E.W.T-level potions was a grueling task, the fun came in seeing who was able to snag a bottle from the professor’s watchful eye to share amongst the house. You decided not to inspect your shot glass and threw the liquid back down your throat, then set the shot glass upside down on the ground like you saw in the Muggle movies. You immediately felt your face get hot but you knew it wouldn’t be because you ingested any serum, rather it was the pressure of having all the 7th year Gryffindor staring you down with intense concentration.

“S-someone has to ask a question,” You stuttered, picking the shot glass back up to fidget with it. Initially when the game was introduced, it was simply truth or dare. You could’ve easily backed out if that. Now, you couldn’t stop anything that was to come out of your mouth if you chose the glass with Veritaserum. You hoped that the two questions chosen for you would spare you any embarrassment.

“Do you fancy anyone at this moment?” Angelina leaned forward, taking her hands off of Fred. She was laying herself across Fred all night, non-discreetly showing off the fact that she was his latest… “conquest” as you overheard one of his friends call the girls that swooned over the redhead. Fred shot to popularity after bringing the Gryffindor Quidditch to back to back championships and it only inflated his ego more so than it already was. Despite his poor reputation, you couldn’t deny that the girls dreaming about Fred were warranted in their pursuit. Fred and George didn’t become the star Beaters without a rigorous workout regiment that hardened their muscles and broadened their shoulders. Their rugged appearances paired with their reliable and goofy personalities made them unstoppable.

Fred also happened to be your first friend at Hogwarts, finding you crying after a particularly embarrassing flying class during your first year. He sat with you and assured you that it wasn’t a show of your skills but the result of faulty school broomsticks. From that day, Fred guided you on flying while you tutored him in Potions.

All this time later, you didn’t need flying lessons anymore, but Fred still needed Potions help. You would never admit it, but your favorite part of the week was sitting in the library with Fred absolutely engrossed in homework. You would steal glances as he nipped the end of his quill in deep thought or when he would push his falling hair out of his face. Fred’s worst trait was his lack of spatial awareness and he’d always lean in too close while you explained the more difficult concepts to him. He was always chewing a sharp minty gum and smelled of a piney cologne that reminded you of Christmas. It distracted you often and made you turn beet red when he noticed the change in your diction. This would only make Fred lean in closer, inquiring about your odd behavior. All this time, you fought off any feelings you could have developed because you were realistic. You weren’t the Quidditch player, social butterfly types that Fred dated. Angelina was a prime example. Speaking of her, your desperate attempt to avoid answering her question was null and void when you felt as if you were being puppeted to speak.

“I do,” You squeaked out. Your hands flung to your mouth, but the attempt was feeble. Everyone quickly muttered amongst themselves to figure out the next question to ask you. At this moment, you felt like a criminal on trial. The easy next question was “who?” but the chatter alluded to a deeper question. It surely appalled everyone that you had a crush. You largely avoided the dating scene despite the relentless attempts from Oliver Wood. You thought Oliver was sweet and went on a singular date with him last year, but he was only focused on Quidditch. Much like Fred.

“Who is it? Is it Oliver? If it isn’t, who?” A younger Gryffindor blurred out in excitement and you felt the same puppet feeling in your gut and as you began to answer, Fred reached over and clamped his hand on your mouth. Your face was burning so hot at this moment you were sure you were sweating.

“Hey! We can only ask one more questions. We gotta make them good. Don’t answer those,” Fred instructed, removing his hand from your face. He brushed a piece of hair that fell out of place back behind your ear, making your stomach flip. This was such a ridiculous feeling. “Did you ever bed Oliver?”

“No? N..no!” You raised your eyebrows at Fred, appalled he would ask such a question. Once you opened your mouth, more words flowed out like a broken faucet. “I’ve never bedded anyone. Oliver was always on the Quidditch Pitch and it isn’t exactly the sexiest place in the castle.”

Your statement made the room laugh, which only increased your self consciousness. You shrugged and admitted you weren’t embarrassed at the fact for never having done anything with Oliver or any man. You were already covering your face with both hands, definitely sweating at this point. The group decided to refill on butterbeer, leaving you to seal your mouth shut with a cup of water. Fred stayed next to you, his green eyes filling with a mischievous glint.

“Has the Veritaserum worn off?” Fred asked, tilting his head up to look at you. He kept unwavering eye contact that made your mind go blank.

“Not yet,” You answered, still under the influence of the potion. Hopefully Fred wouldn’t press any further or that it would wear off before then.

“Ah… So, while I have you here, you really never slept with Oliver?” Fred leaned in closer, a smirk forming across your face. You shook your head and reaffirmed what he already knew. “Why not? And don’t give me the Quidditch answer.”

“I was waiting for the right person,” You said lamely, unable to fight the potion’s effect. Fred lifted an eyebrow.

“You’ve never fantasized?” Fred blocked you from grabbing a cup of water that would render you voiceless.

“Not about Oliver. Wh-why are you asking?” You fought your thoughts hard to answer Fred’s question as vaguely as possible.

“Hey, I thought I was asking the questions here. I just wanted to know what makes the timid girl that tutors me in Potions tick,” Fred moved so close to you that you could clearly smell his cologne. Luckily, his statement wasn’t laced with a question and the potion took no effect, allowing you to shake your head shyly.

“So you said not Oliver, so who do you think about?” Fred figured out how to narrow his question and before you could stop, your mouth betrayed you.

“Us,” You said, feeling like you broke the dam. Fred’s eyes grew wide, but his body language didn’t change. You were waiting for him to recoil out of instinct or turn red. But he continued to look at you coolly, turning a cup of butterbeer in his hands. Your heart jumped to your stomach and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your flight instinct kicked in, but before you could flee from the conversation, Fred grabbed your arm and forced you back down.

“What do you think about us?” Fred’s eyes darkened with an excitement you’ve never seen before. Arousal. You could only take a big gulp before your dirty fantasies about the boy you tutored that you kept locked away spilled out of your mouth for the world to hear.

“I think about you sliding a hand up my skirt in the library. Telling me to be quiet. I want to kiss you until I can’t feel my lips. I want to see you without a shirt on. I think about you pulling my hair back to look at you while you f-“ Your mortification overtook your entire body and you collapsed before you could finish your sentence with a yelp. Fred took a hold of you before you could hit the wall, making sure to take a long look at you. His face still had the cocky smile that you’d grown to love. His strong arm that was wrapped supportively around your waist and got tighter as he tried to figure out his next question. Your squirming didn’t help and you had no choice but to be stuck in his investigation.

“Are you thinking about it right now?” Fred’s eyes flitted from your eyes to your lips and if your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest, you would’ve had half the mind to kiss him.

“Yes,” You practically slurred, unable to calm down from the situation unfolding before you. Fred ran a comforting hand up and down your back, soothing your nerves only slightly.

“Do you want to go up to my room to show me some of these fantasies?” Fred said blatantly. Of course you did and of course you let him know.

“Yes but,” You took a large inhale trying to ease your racing heart. “But what about Angelina?”

“I don’t want her. I want you,” Fred said definitively, sending a chill down your back. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to pressure you into anything just because you don’t have control of your thoughts right now.”

“I want you, Fred,” You said with a confidence that surprised even you. The words were genuine, the feeling of being puppeted by your mouth was gone. As you focused on Fred’s words and realized what he was proposing, you felt a simmering heat between your thighs and that you had been rubbing your thighs together to cause a reliving friction between them. But the clarity brought another realization. “You… you don’t even like me. I’m. I’m not going to be one of your conquests or whatever.”

“Gods, really are clueless are you?” Fred laughed at your out-of-character quip. He used his free hand to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. “Did you really think I was spending all this time in the library thinking about Potions? Why the hell would I take N.E.W.T-level Potions if I was bad at it? I just had to pretend enough for you to keep studying with me.”

Fred’s confession stunned you silent. Without second thought, you wrapped your arms around Fred’s neck and leaned forward to meet his lips with yours. He gave an amused noise, kissing you back gladly. The kiss was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You were fulfilling a need you didn’t know you had, pressing deeper and deeper into the redhead’s mouth. Fred skillfully nipped at your bottom lip, slipping his tongue into your mouth when you moaned at the unfamiliar feeling. You were a little intimidated by his knowledge and your lack thereof, but the hand he was rubbing on your waist made you forget about anything besides him. He started to move a hand towards your chest and smirked wildly when you whimpered because he pulled away.

“My room. Now,” Fred said breathlessly, practically dragging you up the stairs. He hastily cast a locking and silencing charm before pushing you on the bed. Fred hovered over you, obviously delighted by your misshapen appearance. He had you pinned to the bed with one leg between your thigh and his arms at either side of your head.

The burning in your stomach only grew and Fred continued to kiss you, tasting every bit of you. He snaked a hand up your shirt, palming you through the fabric of your bra. When you least suspected it, he pulled the fabric down, pinching your firmed nipple in between his forefinger and thumb. The sensation made you moan loudly into his kisses and buck your hips up on his thigh.

“That’s a good girl,” Fred purred, continuing to flex his fingers around your breast. “Stop me if you want at any moment.”

“Take off your clothes,” Your voice was so whiny with need that you hardly recognized it. Fred only chuckled and moved his hand away from your chest to start removing your clothes instead of his. You batted his hand away and ran your fingers down his broad chest. You slowly undid his buttons, shaking from nervousness and exhilaration. Every button revealed more of his tanned muscular body that made your mouth watered. Fred continued supporting himself over you, enjoying your desperation.

When you finally managed to shed his shirt, you could barely focus. Your eyes trailed down his chest to the trail of hair on his stomach that pointed directly to the tension in his pants.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” You admitted to Fred, tangling your hands in his hair nervously.

“It’s okay. I think it’s time for me to teach you something to thank you for the last few years,” Fred said cockily, amazing you at how he stayed the same while you were falling apart under his touch. He quickly removed your clothes, tossing them somewhere in the middle of the room.

You felt vulnerable laying there in only your underwear, but Fred dragged his Quidditch-calloused hands down your body as he planted reassuring kisses on your mouth. His mouth followed his hand down until his lips were biting at the sensitive skin of your neck and his hand was rubbing circles on the soft skin of your inner thigh. You moved your hips down to meet his hand pleadingly and he took pity on you.

Fred moved his hands up to feel your arousal, circling his finger just around the bundle of nerves that begged to be touched. He knew exactly what he was doing and held your hips down with his free hand when you let out a whining groan. After teasing you, Fred slipped your underwear to the side, dragging his middle finger up your slick.

“Just how long have you been fantasizing about me?” Fred joked, breathing in as you moaned. He was barely making any movements and he had you reacting like this. Fred dragged his finger back and forth a few times before slowly pressing his middle finger into you, making sure to look up at you in order to spot any discomfort. You squirmed a little at the feeling, but once Fred started curling his finger, your body relaxed around the pleasure.

“More,” Your head sunk into Fred’s bed as your body grew accustomed to the feeling. Fred audibly smirked as he slipped his ring finger in as well, kissing you deeply. You realized his pants were still on and his fingers were speeding up from impatience. You reached down tenderly, running your fingers gently over the tent in his pants. He let out an airy breath before breaking the kiss to look at you.

“Feel it,” Fred encouraged you. His working fingers paused as he directed your hand with his free hand to his pants. Fred placed his hands on top of yours, simulating a squeeze. You copied his movement, earning a low groan from him. “Fuck… I need you right now.”

You shed your undergarments as Fred fumbled with his belt, too overtaken with lust to focus on unclipping the buckle. He finally released the leather binding and dropped his pants quickly, letting his cock fall as well. You watched with big eyes and Fred took your hand again to wrap it around his base.

“Just like that,” Fred praised as you moved your hand up and down. The friction was uncomfortable for you, so you pulled your hand back to lick a stripe up your palm and return it to his cock. The action made Fred roll his eyes back into his head and let his head drop as you continued to pump your hand up and down. “You’re so good, baby.”

Fred’s praise only made you want him more and the wanting in between your thighs got to be unbearable. As Fred was closing his eyes in bliss, you sneakily reached a hand down towards your folds to mimic his earlier actions in an attempt to ease the pressure. Fred felt you moving and quickly opened his eyes, catching you in the act. He tsked and removed your hand, pinning it by your head.

“Impatient are we, love?” Fred chuckled, sending vibrations through your stomach.

“Please,” You begged. “I want to feel you.”

Fred was impatient as you were and shifted his weight back to line himself up with your entrance. You were filled with such an excitement and nervousness that you subdued by reaching up for a kiss. Fred dragged the head of his cock against your slick folds, almost as if he was waiting for permissions.

“Fred. Fuck me,” You drawled, dizzy from anticipation. Fred let out a string of curses, then entered with a slow thrust. You let out a cry at the satisfying pain of feeling your walls stretch around Fred. He checked in again with you to make sure you were comfortable and you gave him a kiss on the cheek for assurance.

“You feel so amazing,” You slurred, eyes shutting from the pleasure. Fred slowly rolled his hips against yours, intertwining his hands with yours. He still had your hand pinned against your head and he was starting to lean forward, delivering soft grunts to your ear.

“You’re so… tight,” Fred mused aloud. You bucked your hips up to meet the friction the penetration was creating and Fred took that as a sign to go faster. He picked up his rhythm that made you sing a chorus of moans that melted into his name. Fred let curses fall out of his mouth and he picked up the speed of his thrusts, fully fucking you into the bed. Your cries only encouraged him.

Fred planted his lips on yours, creating a messy and heavy kiss that dripped with want. You tangled your hands in his hair, tugging whenever he would move to a certain spot that made your vision blur. A knotted feeling built up in your stomach like you never felt before.

“Fred… I- I’m-'' Fred understood what you were trying to get at and dropped a hand to your clit, rubbing soft circles that only tightened your stomach. With a cry, you broke from his interlocked hand and wrapped your arms around him as you nipped at his shoulder from the immense wave that washed over you. Fred laughed with such confidence it brought you back to life as he slowed down his thrusts.

“I’m almost there. Do you want me to keep going?” Fred panted, brushing a hair out of your face and kissing you on the forehead.

“Yes, please,” You relaxed back, feeling absolutely crazed. Fred dropped his head again and you reached up to trail kisses down his neck. “You fuck me so well, Fred.”

Your praise sent Fred over the edge and he unsheathed himself with a groan, spilling himself on your stomach. Fred collapsed beside you with a heave, then moved quickly to help clean you off. He climbed back into bed with you, pulling you close with a kiss.

“Telling the truth pays off, huh?”

“That, or Potions class.”

[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.

[marlsswrites]

Queen and angels

Ice skating AU, part 2!!

August 2nd - words: 615

First part

James grabbed his car keys, rattling then slightly as he unlocked the car with a short beep and he climbed into the drivers seat. Connecting his phone to the Bluetooth, he stuck some Queen music on and hummed to himself as he started the car up.

Ring ring.

With a hefty sigh, he checked who had phoned him and rather rudely interrupted his music, he was at the good bit as well!

"James?" His mother spoke through the speaker as he answered.

"Oh- hey mum."

"Sorry for the change of plans chico, can you meet me at the ice rink instead?" She spoke, her Spanish accent still very prominent judging on the amount of years the family have spent in England.

He cleared his throat, smiling even though his mum couldn't see him. "Yeah, no te preocupes, hasta pronto mamá." He switched to Spanish quickly, knowing it satisfied his mother as she wished him goodbye and hung up the phone - it took her a second to find the button but she did it eventually.

-

Within entering the ice rink, he felt the coldness of the air bite and stab at his bare tan arms, was he supposed to wear a coat? It's summer!

The place was big, it took james a while to find where his mother stood, but with the help of the faint playing music in the background and her counting along and shouting words and runs that James dreads to even learn the meaning of. He's quite sure if he stepped foot on ice he'd end up snapping his neck.

"Hey m-" His voice died instantly in the back of his throat as he looked out at the pale blue ice, more particularly, who was gliding across it with such grace James was doubting if the person was even real.

He was a distance away from James,  it even from where he stood at the barrier James could make out gorgeous, falling, silky black curls falling behind his head as he moved like an angel. He could see the prominence of the strangers cheekbones, visible from any distance.

The persons eyes were closed as their legs moved in sync with the music and their arms twisted around their body in patterns of perfection.

Music in the background still played, but it seemed to dim out gradually as the only thing in James' mind was the person in front of him that he was sure was as beautiful as his moves on the ice up close.

The loud guitar beat in the song slowed as the person did too, their hair falling back in front of their still not visible face. They spun slightly, almost showing off the skin tight, black bodysuit that clung to his body like a second set of skin. Rounding his curved, slim waist and stopping at his neck and revealing pale, slightly freckled skin.

"James?" He forced his eyes away from the rink, though he didn't particularly want to, and was faced with his mums chuckling face. "Want to wait outside? You must be freezing." She tutted and patted his arm. "I'll talk to Regulus quickly, when I've finished my session with him, I'll meet you outside."

"Uh-" He coughed, trying to get himself out of his love struck glance as he looked back to the rink, but the person - Regulus presumably - was gone. "Yeah, see you in a second." He huffed out as he left.

Yet his mind was still filled with day dreams and unholy thoughts of the man on the ice, his hips, his skin, his hair, his cheekbones, his grace and perfection that was sure to haunt James' thoughts for a long, long time.

Next part

[chasedeys]

I need your thoughts bc i’m trying to write a story & obviously we ‘know’ how joemarr’s relationship is but do you think joe and ja’marr (separately or together lol) are closer to tee or justin?? AND how do you think their relationship is with both guys. because for me sometimes it’s like joe is tee’s big brother but idk… help. please.

hello!!! (so very sorry this took. so very long. but it's here! and i rambled way too much but at the same time nothing of substance on this sort of 😭)

in a completely non pushy very excited way what fic are you writing hehe any mention of a joemarr fic in progress and i perk up like a lemur. no pressure though keep it all to yourself I'm just nosy lol

and i feel like you are completely free to decide who's closer to who based on your own fic's direction?? like me personally it depends 😭 cannot be definitive for the life of me. i myself have totally sometimes Cartoonify friendships just for the Sake of the Bit you know? but like not too much or it just gets disrespectful and annoying and i try to stay true to their character or whatever really i don't actually know these people lol

the Vibes that i sense and also some i've made up completely in my head are kind of like this:

over the years, i feel like joemarr have grown wayyyy closer to tee and have grown apart from justin. and that's to be given really considering they're now teammates with tee and justin is in a whole other team making whole other moves than them! and that's okay! they aren't made to be forever linked together, they're their own people, making their own marks in the league! but they're always going to have that 2018-19-20 lsu insanity with them and i am always going to mention that in my fics! and nobody's going to forget that college run i fear 2019 lsu is kind of legendary lmao these three are always going to be asked about each other and their pasts linked to each other no matter what and that's honestly really beautiful if you think abt it.

ja'marr and tee -> god these two. i think ja'marr is just. so obsessed with tee. just. incredibly fond of tee. unwilling to let him go. incapable of being chill about him (like he is about anybody who has somehow hit certain standards that only he knows). and i went on a spiel here where i suggest you read bc it's weirdly more well written than what i wrote here 😭. basically, i think he looks up so much to tee because tee is someone who he gets to let his guard down and be just a team player with. does that make sense. it really honestly boils back down to comparing it to justin and that sounds bad but i don't know how to explain it better?? that sounds kind of wrong tbh arhgrhgrh. it's like with tee he doesn't have to keep clawing for his spot or compete as much or whatever. like tee is clearly such an amazing wr, clearly a wr1 caliber player like ja'marr, yet he doesn't fight with ja'marr over his looks or plays or spot like justin does with him, which has to be like a breath of fresh air for ja'marr and he's said it himself all 'tee is the most unselfish player'. like that means something to him. ja'marr cares so much for tee's opinions, tee constantly singing ja'marr praises and ja'marr being so sooo silent whenever tee goes on a rant abt him like he doesn't know what to say he just hugs tee with one arm and says appreciate you so quietly (HE DOES THIS A LOT WHEN HE GETS COMPLIMENTED BTW. DO YOU NOTICE THIS. and there's so many fucking clips of them just wrapped around each other after a tuddy just!!! so cute.), and ja'marr known outrageous mother hen ja'marr chase making (speculationnnn) tee change agents and taking him to his massage therapist (in his fucking houseeee i went on a rant here god this is still so crazy to me) and nagging at tee in his mic'ed up moments so many times that feel good play good thing like. he tries to big brother tee so much when tee's the one big brothering him you know 😭 it's so funny god their dynamic is so fucking funny to me. (ja'marr tries so hard to be mature and captain-like whatever and he is good at it you know but 😭 with tee and joe and like all the bengals vets like mike h and sam and even with yoshi whos the same age as him yk it's so very clear he's the baby lmao.) he's trying so hard to take care of tee, keep him safe and well and healthy and with him, doesn't want him to leave. OH AND they went to this showroom thing where they shopped for stuff and ja'marr went with tee (!!!!!!!) and asked tee's opinion for a belt or something and tee was all dude just choose whatever you want it's soooo cute god they're so cute to me (there was also that fucking loverboy beanie im obsessed with that ja'marr didn't even glance at im so pissed. im so fucking pissed what do i have to do to get him to wear a cat beanie this shit is serious to me) like ja'marr wants to know what tee thinks!! he values his opinions!!!! even for fucking clothes!!!! god. and he knows he plays better with tee with him on that field okay, he says that with tee he doesn't get double teamed as much, and he while he's proven that he plays just as well without tee, that piece of comfort having another wr1 with him (his best friend!!!) has got to be something he wants to keep for eternity (ahahaha, verbatim ofc).

joe and tee -> joe dotes over tee lmao you can't deny that man is besotted (ja'marr is too actually 😭 they both are it's completely understandable but at the same time you just have to close your eyes and wince bc that's embarrassing. please chill the fuck out you do not need to laugh that loud over a single sentence from tee. but again: completely understandable because tee is tee. like that batman hard knocks ep. tee said one fucking sentence and joemarr just. rolled over showed their belly panting it's embarrassingggg) he's soooooooo starry eyed over him, so shamelessly coddling (?) that game hug nuzzle the first time, the broncos game where it looked like he bit his neck, this pre season's training camp (?) laughing sooo freely with tee, every sentence out of him these past few weeks on tee staying in cincy 'tee is a NEED', etc etc like i know you said he's acting like tee's big brother which i agree with completely 100% but it's also like he can be such a little brother with tee!! it's like he can let go and not be a responsible person with tee idk does that make sense. joe totally acting like tees older brother but the thing is tee is doing it right back he's just chiller about it like he doesn't have to think too hard on it unlike joe who thinks he has to be this guy 24/7. it's like joe is unused to having such a down-to-earth sane (still hilariously unhinged but sane you know) guy who makes good choices when he's been stuck with guys like ja'marr and justin who are kind of. well. so he can let up and have tee take care of him for a change! well this isn't like this 100% of the time obviously but you get where i'm going with this right (god I'm so sorry this is a mess) also tee's like. really fucking funny and sweet and joyous to be around is there really any surprise that joemarr are smitten with him lmao. i think joe tweeted something abt playing with tee for a long time when they got drafted together?? kill me. no really kill me.

who do you think brought up that tee should just change agents to ja'marr's lmaooo do you think tee brought up his agent being so fucking argumentative that ja'marr tells him to tell him to fuck off and just switch to his. and then they all go dead silent about this including ja'marr because it was one of those things that he said without thinking. like literal light bulbs going off above their heads at the same time before they start scheming shit calling lawyers and ja'marr's agents at like 2 a.m trying to figure shit out 'playing chess'. or did ja'marr and tee discover this first like 'oh??? we can?? do it probably??' and call joe frantically like can we do it and joe hangs up on them without saying anything and the got so fucking offended only for joe to turn up in their place (either one idk) one minute later probably breaking the speed of light and boom. ja'marr has his claws on tee and he's not letting go ever.

joe and justin -> while yes i said that joemarr grew apart from justin i feel like joe is like the type of person to just. be shameless in reconnecting with people he's grown apart from. while ja'marr is. very petty. lmao. i think joe is just very shameless when he reaches out to people. he, like ja'marr, is insanely loyal and values friendship to a concerning degree. he keeps contact with practically any person he grows attached to and texts them regularly and by that i mean that even if he gets ghosted or there's a ridiculously long period of dead silence between them he still texts first like 'hey bro long time no talk u in town do you wanna watch the new spongebob movie tomorrow' and bulldozes through the awkwardness like he doesn't even see it. which works with justin!! who i think kind of sucks at keeping in touch with people (like ja'marr, see below sooo sorry this is so shittily structured) and he hangs out with a lot of people during the offseason no? (its sooooo fascinating to me how he's sooo introverted and technically a hermit but he's also suchhhhh an outgoing little busybody you know and constantly reaches out to people first? like to gronk????? who does that.) including justin who has the same agent! having the same agent works wonders in keeping the connection no doubt too lmao. the paris fashion week thing etc. i think i've said it before but joe falls in love with every teammate he's ever gotten close to and that very much includes justin jefferson who helped him achieve his Insane Ambition of getting the natty so he's not letting him go even the slightest bit really. also qb-wr connection is practically something otherworldly really so really something to keep in mind when writing quarterbacks with former teammates they've thrown to lol. especially joe, who's kind of crazy 😭. i mean look at all his wristbands and sweatshirts and moving to lsu and hanging on to the playoffs by the skin of his teeth and all that jazz. he does Not let go easily. truly an interesting man to write.

ja'marr and justin -> those type of near aged siblings who fight over the weirdest shit and get stupidly competitive over everything and disgustingly annoyingly overly smug over a win that they get into stupid fights one minute only to slam open the other's bedroom door the next hour saying excitedly 'bitch i got free coupons for ice cream' and the other immediately goes 'DAMN RIGHT let me drive' completely forgetting that they were fighting and then the cycle repeats all over again. you can see just how disgustingly close they were together during lsu and that's not really something that just goes away even through time you know? but i do believe they've both grown individually as people and maybe they wouldn't get along as well now as they do then because again, they've been pitted against each other over and over and over and fucking over oh my god but the love they have for each other is clear as they really when you take in account all they've been through together. and i've said up above how their entire thing has been drenched with Competition and that's different with ja'marr's thing with tee and that's not to say that he doesn't enjoy the competition with justin he clearly loves it lmao he wouldn't be such a good player in the league if he hates it lol. more said down below because again, very shittily structured :)

justin and tee -> they should date idk (i think i had a fic idea for them somewhere in my writing tag ehehe)

on the lsu trio specifically lol didn't know how to insert it up above so:

i think justin and ja’marr are both the type to be shit at replying to texts 😔 like sure they'd text you and stuff but. they ignore so many texts whether intentionally or not. they've both said they don't talk with each other etc etc haHAhaaHHAa pain. if i may Speculate: they both probably tried texting on the regular but suck sooooooo bad at it it just peters off (is that the right fucking word oh my god why is the english language so fucking difficult that is literally a NAME) pathetically like ja'marr texted tuesday 8 p.m and justin replies on saturday 11.59 pm to which ja'marr replies to that at wednesday 1.25 a.m do you get me. and they can't standddd this type of shit 😭 kind of low attention span kind of deal and also losing interest on the text convo and having so much shit going on irl that they just don't really text anymore??

joe is like the opposite of this he replies to texts late max 2 days tops but he’s just shit at text talk. absolutely 0 flair to his words. desperately needs to learn tone indicators but people he texts have grown completely used to this and either accepts they will never understand him or, like ja’marr and justin and tee, somehow understands him 98% and bulldozes through his awkward texting and also shits on him liberally. but even if people reply to him late he'd just continue with the convo completely dead serious abt it uncaring how long you text and never the one to end convos and that's weirdly how he keeps such close contact with people he hasn't seen in years??

that's not to say that justin and ja'marr don't vibe with each other anymore lol it's kind of difficult to let go of what two years of practically living in each other's pockets being the Best at what they do. it's just they've also grown so much apart and bloom into way different people than who they knew each other to be. the random ass rarri truck comment is still so confusing to me though like. are you two okay. what was that. did your agents tell you to do something. could you two please interact irl again so i can obsessively analyze whatever the fuck you got going on actually. maybe make out on camera too idk.

also they have such the shittiest friendship humor that only people in their circle would get you know 😭 constantly shitting on each other (ja'marr does it in front of cameras while justin knows pr talk and actually exercises it well. hence the amount of people shitting on ja'marr for saying shit they themselves have said and joke about their friends. pisses me off.) and outrageously competitive people who are undeniably the best at what they do getting compared to each other constantly and their history of ja'marr technically having beaten justin during college and coming into the league with justin breaking several type of records while ja'marr breaks a whole different set of records etc etc just 😭 do you get me. i am so Sensitive about these two pls nobody touch me about them im sorry..........

joe and justin having the same agents and then tee and ja'marr having the same agents is kind of crazy tbh. tee and justin should date just for this quartet to go straight into Messy.

disclaimer this is all pure Speculation and just me making shit up tbh using my Noticer Glasses that gets cloudy from my own delusions so take this with a grain of salt!

ALSO during college i think it's like. justin was really close to joe bc they're the same year (?) right seniors or whatever closer in age and they're clearly best friends. but justin and ja'marr were like twin flames, same position, and they're kind of insane abt each other during college lmao that one clip post natty win of justin leaning back to ja'marr is like burned into my head. and ja'marr was sooo unsure abt joe at first and joe was kind of way too intense without saying a single thing to ja'marr but just staring at him while justin was like the bridge between these two!! that's like a whole other thing about joemarr and justin that's sooo fun to write about truly i love Speculating lsu days crushes and justin being a little shit about them. (lsu ask i swear i'll finish answering you one day auguauguhsuhg)

[gontagokuhara]

“Ah, Nanami-san, I really can’t make you do this…!”

This is at least the third time since Nagito arrived at Chiaki's front door that she’s heard a breathy, nervous squeak of complaint come from the same head she’s currently trying to work a hairbrush through.

Nagito’s hair is…pretty tangled. But Chiaki’s definitely dealt with a rats-nest or two after a late night of gaming; she’s got this. “I don’t really understand what you mean. And hey, I keep telling you…call me Chiaki.”

“Chiaki-san,” Nagito corrects forcefully, the voiced edge with which her name is said undermined a decent amount by how nervous said voice still is, “I think I’ve made a mistake in coming here. I’m so embarrassed I feel a little like throwing up!”

(or: transfeminine nagito comes out to chiaki, and despite some stumbling blocks, the two girls manage a magical girl makeover sequence anyway)

[read me here!]

for lemon / @anonlemon as my piece in the @shsl-islandmode-events gift exchange!

[blindmagdalena]

Sigh...Homelander taking his dumbass girlfriend to get rabies shots because she got her hand destroyed petting a stray cat.

“Hate to say I told you so.”

“You love to say I told you so.”

Homelander’s lips twitch. “Touché. But less so when it involves grievous bodily harm.”

He’s waiting with you in the doctor’s office, leaning against the sink, his arms crossed.

“I’d hardly call this grievous,” you say, flexing your bandaged hand. “I think he liked me.”

“Oh, couldn’t agree more. He loved you. Especially the taste of you.”

“What can I say? I have a thing for men who bite.”

Homelander’s brows lift. “Oh?”

You smile slyly. “I’m just saying. You could be putting those vampire fangs of yours to work.”

“Noted. At least you wouldn’t need a rabies shot afterwards,” he says, absently running his tongue along his teeth.

“You sure you don’t have rabies?”

“Ha. Ha,” he gives back, tone dry. He glances away, cocking his head slightly. He hears something. “Nurse is coming. Sleeve up, Dr. Dolittle.”

While your plan to convince Homelander to adopt a cat with you may have failed spectacularly, the evening isn’t a total loss.

Especially not when he’s grazing those very sharp canines along your throat later that same night.

[handgiven]

"Hey, so um... I saw your ad in the paper and I, uh... Ugh. Never mind. I'm sorry, i-it was probably just a joke, right? Just f-forget about this, alright?" -- @awkwardcourage

the voice gets through to him, through shaky, though dissipating as soon as it starts. a name, a face, he almost feels like he knows them before ever coming close. who wouldn't know the martyr, promenaded around by the corporation seeking to turn even miracles into profit? and beyond the martyr, hughie campbell, human and scared, holding onto this newspaper for his life even if just for a moment before this overwhelming doubt drowns out the fleeting hope and his voice falls quiet.

it all happens in the background of one of those religious gatherings, where hughie was set to perform. the moment alone he stole for himself is prolonged by a gentle rain turning to an overwhelming rhythm tapping along on the tent's roof. the people outside scatter, postponing the program until the weather feels kinder. the newspaper crumples up in the mud seeping in from the outside. the door to the tent whispers when a figure steps through it, mundane and drenched.

he seems not to notice hughie at first, or at the very least does a very good job pretending he doesn't. he shakes the water out of his curly hair, though it does little to truly help. still does the outline of it shine ever so slightly in the wandering sun that forgot to tuck itself away in the oncoming shower of rain. the thin jumper he has on did little more to protect him from the elements either, and seeing just how inescapable this state of being is, he laughs. softly, to himself. only then does he turn around and his eyes find the only other person present. even now, no kind of recognition in his face is allowed to burden the other. the gaze is light, friendly, though slightly apologetic.

"it's raining out," he states the obvious, "i hope i am not intruding, here. i was just looking for a place... do you... do you mind the company?" his voice turns hesitant, in the face of the other's expression; the despair felt moments ago when hughie had uttered his something-of-a-prayer still lingers there. he looks small, the angel realises. smaller than the pedestal he is put on would paint him out to be.

[alexnuit]

A Short Walk

I bounce my shovel against the ground. My garden is dead, and the soil is impenetrable. Dad tells me it’s time. We’re deep in the throes of winter. He’s getting old and we both know it. It hangs over us in every conversation, touching and going. He tires quickly, grabbing at his lower back after long days. I see his pain and try to pick up some of the slack. Chop more wood. Forage more of the dwindling berries and mushrooms he taught me to identify. There’s some pride in his face when I bring those back and I feel good until there’s barely enough for one meal and I’m faced with reality again. He tells me it’s time.

I miss the calm of summer. The lake was home to fish that kept us and the ducks fat and happy. When the deer came by, we would observe while they picked at the grass. Dad’s gun collected dust on the shelf and he stopped asking for back massages for a while. His skin tanned and glowed. His smiles came easier. His sentences were longer. Now the lake is frozen nearly a foot and the ducks have gone south. The cold sinks and pulls his pale face down with it, every smile made with huge effort. Words are grunted out, nods and head shakes replacing most of his speech. The only evidence left of his joy are the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes.

Living off squirrel meat and bone broth in the weeks past has taken a lot out of both of us and he’s given up on not being pushy with me. It’s for my own good, he says while my eyes turn glossy. I try to get him to look at me, but he’s not interested, responding by dropping a collection of winter gear at my feet. The snowshoes he made for my tenth birthday. My camel hair coat. My fur-lined gloves. I huff. I’ve done this charade before. It worked, before. I get dressed, sighing with every new layer that goes over my underclothes. I stand when I’m finished, pinching my brows together while I look up at him. He takes his rifle off the shelf, palms facing the ceiling while he gestures it out to me.

“Here.”

“I don’t want it.” I’m being difficult. He looks so tired of me.

“Well,” he grabs my wrist, hard, and I yelp, but he only squeezes my hand harder against the barrel, “it’s yours.”

He walks out with his eyes and head fixed in front of him. I follow, squinting at the stark white reflecting into my eyes. The wind slams the plank door behind us, the boom echoing like a gunshot against the logs that make up our walls. My head snaps back at the sound. He’s already ten steps ahead of me by the time I start to walk again. My legs are short, one of his strides counting for nearly three of mine. The snow is soft under my boots and snowshoes. With every step I fear I’ll sink beneath the powder and he’ll be too far away to save me.

---

Once we get past the clearing, it’s dense forest and a skinny path obscured by twigs and thick root structures. We haven’t spoken in ten minutes. I can feel the tip of my nose and ears going numb, protecting me from the shocks of wind that bleed through the woods. I look at my father, at his back. His broad shoulders through a thick coat. His graying hair sticking out of his cap. The way he struggles on one leg as he walks. It was an accident. Spring. He surprised me with a bowl of blueberries, each one a deep indigo, beautifully round and plump. My favorite. I found them sitting on our table, ready for me as soon as I woke up. I ran outside and his back was turned to me when I jumped up to hug him around the neck, holding on as hard as I could. He wasn’t prepared for my weight, and I think I had forgotten that I was too big for things like that now. We both fell into the grass. I don’t remember the strength of his yell. I do remember the crack.

There isn’t much time left in our trek to the lake. The frost is pinching my toes, penetrating through two layers of sock and thick winter boots. I have lost the feeling in my hands. A particularly large root trips me and my palms hit the ground, hard. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even look back at me. Only slows down his steps while I struggle to get up and grab my rifle. I want to make him care. But I can’t pretend I’m about to cry anymore because the pain is too real. I don’t think my tears could do it justice. I focus on the gun, heavy and cold in my hands, like a block of ice seeping through my gloves. I sigh with every other step, breathing hard with my mouth open as the wind stings my eyes. 

I keep thinking about what I’m about to do. The guilt is too much.

“I don’t know why you need me here,” I say. My voice breaks on the first word, getting used to talking again. “You’re better at this stuff anyways.” My legs are burning with every drag against the snow. It’s a weird feeling. I’m sweating and I wish I could take off my jacket, but the cold pushes against my face and I hug it tighter.

He sighs. He loves sighing. “It’s not about better,” he huffs out between steps. I think he’ll say more but he doesn’t.

“Then what?” I hear the whine in my voice.

“It’s about survival.”

I consider his words. We are surviving. It’s never easy in winter, but we get through it. We just need to wait for spring.

I speak. “But we’re fine.”

He doesn’t respond. Only trudges forward.

When we come upon the lake I am spent. My stomach is stabbing me in the left side. I taste blood in my mouth. I look out at the flat space, snow piles decorating the perimeter. I would think it was gorgeous if it weren’t for what was about to happen. We position ourselves behind a large rock, stuck on the edge of the forest.

“Here.” My father hands me a small box of ammunition, his voice hushed. Why are his hands shaking so much?

“I thought it was loaded already,” I say back, whispering.

He looks at me, offended. “No.”

We sit like that for a while, knees pushed into the earth. Watching. Waiting. I’m reminded of more peaceful days. I’m reminded of the ducks. I look over at him, his weathered face. He seems peaceful. Like he’s thinking of them too.

It isn’t long before I feel a tap on my shoulder. He only points. An enormous buck, crossing over from the other side of the forest. He taps me again and makes a ‘five’ with his hand. He’s beautiful. But his movements seem staggered. Tired. The gun’s already loaded. Dad props it up against the rock, slowly. Gentle. Before coaxing me to come grab it from him. My tears are back. Turns out I can cry some more. He doesn’t budge, only pulls me over, firm. My shoulder hits the back of the gun, and the tears aren’t welling anymore, they overflow. I can barely see him. Dad grabs my hand; his thumb rubs across the back of it while he presses my fingers over the trigger.

“Breathe,” he whispers.

My eyes refocus, lining up. Getting my shot. I look and he has so much life left in him, with beauty like nothing else. I see power in his stance, a commanding presence sticking out from the stark white land. But behind that power is fatigue. A need for sleep. My first instinct is to let him suffer longer. My second tells me I’m selfish. I squeeze my hand. First, I hear the bang, echoing against the trees. Then, the birds flee screaming. Finally, the drop, and buckets of blood covering the snow.

[killiancormac]

security for jasper!!

You are a worm through time. The thunder song distorts you.

Even after five months of being locked in the Oldest House, Jasper still isn't quite used to the hiss.

He's still not used to the difference between Central Executive, which has become a bustling hub of activity, and the quieter, still to be reclaimed areas of the Oldest House, where the only sounds to be heard is the chorus of the Hiss incantation, spoken among the agents still floating against the ceiling like lost balloons.

Happiness comes. White pearls, but yellow and red in the eye.

He knew it'd only be a matter of time before they started moving people back towards their offices, and he knows that having the Bureau newspaper up and running again would help the reclamation efforts a lot, keep the survivors informed of what goes on between departments as the director and the rangers slowly take back more and more of the House.

Through a mirror, inverted is made right.

But a part of him, perhaps a selfish part, almost dreads going back to the news room.

It's not like he dreads working again -- quite the opposite, in fact, because he's been going nuts without something to do -- but it's more like he dreads going back to the news room itself. Dreads what he'll find in there. He hasn't stepped foot in that office since the initial Hiss breach.

Leave your insides by the door.

He wonders if Helen and Hawkins are still in there. He wonders if his typewriter is still on his desk, frozen in time, page halfway through his last article. If his mug is still in pieces on the ground.

At least he wouldn't be alone -- Simmons had made it out, too. Thank God. If he had to work in there by himself, he might have gone crazy.

Still, though. There's this feeling of fear he can't shake when he thinks about stepping foot in there.

Push the fingers through the surface into the wet.

"As long as you have your HRA, you're perfectly safe." A ranger had told him, "you'll have an escort to and from the news room whenever you need to leave."

You’ve always been the new you.

He wishes it made him feel better.

You want this to be true.

________

Jasper has quadruple checked his HRA by the time he leaves Central Executive. There's no problems with the device that he can see or feel, the straps are secure, and he can both hear and feel the frequency it exudes.

He's safe. He'll be fine.

There's been fewer and fewer hostile Hiss sightings in his part of Executive over the last few weeks. Maybe they've lost interest. Maybe they've realised there's more important areas of the House to focus on. He doesn't care, really, as long as they stay as far away from him as possible.

More and more areas are becoming HRA-proofed, anyway. Central executive, the cafeteria, the mail room -- all now boast impressive, man sized HRA's on the walls. The newsroom doesn't have one, not yet, but it's a small enough room that they might not bother. That's fine, he tells himself. Both he and Simmons have HRA's. They'll be fine.

The HRA feels snug against his chest, the straps holding the box against him, yet an irrational part of him worries it's not close enough. He can feel the frequency reverberating in his chest, in his teeth. He's grown used to it, by now. It soothes him, if nothing else. Grounds him.

The hallways are quiet as he and Simmons walk behind their ranger escort. He can hear the Hiss incantation. He ignores it. Focuses instead on the sound of footsteps.

There's something else he can hear, and he strains his ears to listen. He can't quite place what it is -- chimes? A ringing? It sounds close -- is it coming from the HRA? That's odd. He never noticed it before.

Maybe he's just never listened.

It's actually somewhat... soothing. Something about it is calming his nerves, bringing his heart rate down.

He takes a deep breath. The HRA moves comfortably with his body as he walks. He breathes out, slowly.

He's okay.

[ecosystem-administrator]

Surrogate

Timeline: mid 2.0, spoilers for post-Titan MSQ

With the leadership of the Scions sidelined, Mayhem has to step up for a bit.

It really wasn't fair. Mayhem had signed up to help the Scions, not represent them. The Empire's deadly attack had thrown so much into shambles, and if there was one thing they knew, it was that they couldn't let Alphinaud (bless him for being here but he was so very sixteen) be Minfilia's proxy in dealing with the world.

So they'd stepped up, as they settled into Mor Dhona and gotten the Ironworks crew placed in their new home. People were starting to treat them like an actual important figure, and it wasn't as appealing as they'd hoped. Saving people to see them smile had been one thing, having a reputation had been nice until it went sour, but they absolutely did not want to be treated like they were in charge.

"You'd better still be alive when we come to get you, Minfilia," they muttered tiredly. "I have to give you this stupid job back."

[rose-tinted-vision]

This is written for the @cdrama-action event, requested by @hualianisms

Fandom: Mysterious Lotus Casebook

Relationships: Fang Duobing/Li Lianhua, Li Lianhua & Di Feisheng, Fang Duobing & Di Feisheng

Summary:

“Curses are placebo, don’t you think? As long as you don’t believe in luck, you won’t have bad luck. People’s so-called curses won’t work on you either.”

“What sort of curse is it, anyway? We can try to break it, just in case.”

In which Li Lianhua gets hit with a curse- a love spell, really- to fall in love with the first person he sees

[themyscirah]

But look at us Luke, we're the ones left alone, holding some rich monster's pain. All of existence, built on his violence. All of space-time, humming to life with a single inviolate rule. Give the hero something to punch.

[shikariix]

Out of curiosity, what was the first song that you added to each of your OC's playlists?

I'm going to assume this is only for all the ocs from the ask game because I do not have the time to give you all of them ddhfjfg that's more than 30 at this point😭

Emily Mind Made Up by Wulf

Fun story! I've actually contemplated taking this one out of her playlist, because I added this before I knew about all her layers, but looking at the lyrics I decided to keep it after all. If anything she's grown into this song so beautifully. "It took some time to realize / this life is mine, no compromise" -> she compromised some of her happiness for a 'stable' life with a fulltime job even though there were things that excited her more. And while I think she would still pursue teaching now, she does it not because her family wants her to, but because she wants to.

Rahat Sober Up by AJR (feat. Rivers Cuomo)

I knew from the start Rahat was going to have a terrible drug problem, and when his story starts he has no choice but to stay clean. In a way I feel like clean and sober are not the same thing for him though. But yeah the whole sober thing was my reason to add this to his playlist dhjgfgf but I also feel like that vibe of missing old times suits him well. He misses the time before his powers kicked in and he could just be a kid.

Anna Clarity by Zedd & Foxes

This song is so much about devotion and diving headfirst into something and I think that fits Anna a lot! When she crushes she crushes HARD. She's such a hopeless romantic and the idea of love that is also tragic makes her want to turn her skin inside out (positive). Both Anna and this song meant so much to me at the time I created her and I just cannot see them separately honestly!

Sara Apologize by OneRepublic

This one is for Sara's complicated relationship with her parents! Originally I didn't want to make their relationship as strained as it turned out to be lmao. But yeah I've always had this idea that they have hurt her a lot, she's always lacked a feeling of love and warmth, and it's actually thanks to her girlfriend Cecille that she truly learns to accept that her relationship with her parents sucks and that she deserves better. She tried to give them a second chance, but instead of apoligizing and opening their hearts, they said they would 'tolerate' her lesbianism, and she decided that was not enough and cut them off. (Which she thought would be for good, but I had a plotline planned out where her parents would get back in touch with her because her mother's physical situation is getting worse, and she'd actually make amends with her in her last months. It was very bittersweet.)

Katy Caffeine from the RWBY Soundtrack

Well. dfjgfjfg I was right it's one of the first! It's the first even, together with three other songs: Na Na Na (My Chemical Romance), Pride (American Authors) and Are You Gonna Be My Girl (Jet). Katy just has this specific rebellious punk-rock vibe that I slammed into her playlist immediately 😌✌️

Gabriella My Blood by Twenty One Pilots

One of the traits I had in mind for Gabriella is that she's very loyal to her family - at least the ones who stick with her. I believe her and one of her brothers lose touch when she comes out as a lesbian, but before that he's her best friend and they do everything together. They go to flight school together, having a friendly rivalry to see who's the better pilot. I added this song mostly for that relationship.

Tiffany The Judge by Twenty One Pilots

There's six that I added on the same day but it is wild to me that this is one of the first?? fdjgfjh often I listen to this song in her playlist and think 'does this really fit??' but I love it too much to take it out. I'm pretty sure I added it thinking, Tiffany is the Judge, since she's a judgy bitch, but I think it works better when you look at how insecure she really is and that she's constantly seeking validation from others. Especially with the storyline where she loses her arm and loses that faux confidence, she becomes much closer to her insecurities. I had not planned that at all when I first created her, so it's interesting to see how that came and circled back to this song!

[pr0serpinas]

lest ye die

“Do you see what you’ve ruined?”

A study in three drabbles as Sebastian plunges ever deeper and unrepentant into the Dark Arts.

Read on ao3 or here.

CW: nonconsensual use of legilimency, hurt/no comfort

i. pain

Why did he think it would be such a trifling thing?

The spell crackles, setting his bones on fire. He is helpless on the filthy floor, either screaming at the top of his lungs or in far too much agony to draw breath, he’s not sure. He feels muscle peeling away from bone. His skin parts as easily as paper. The pain is a circle with no end. And yet. His eyes, unfocused as they are, find the graven image, watch the tormentors bleed away. The door takes shape.

The spell lifts, leaving a faint hint of ozone behind. Sebastian rolls shakily to all fours so that he doesn’t choke when he vomits. He learns that he can, in fact, sob and vomit at the same time.

Ominis is by his side, murmuring sibilant incantations that close the wounds and soothe the nerves. He is still in blistering pain, but at least now he won’t die. He is afraid to look at Ominis but forces himself to. Ominis’s face is a mask.

Years later, he claws himself to standing.

His back slams into the wall. Ominis holds him there with his wand over Sebastian’s thudding heart, seizes his jaw brutally with his free hand. “I’m glad I did it to you.” Ominis’s voice shreds him with dispassion.

“You’re—you’re glad that you tortured me?”

Ominis’s lips twist in a sneer. “Torture? Please. That was a taste. You can still stand. You didn’t lose control of your bowels or rip out your own fingernails.”

“Why are you—why are you saying this?”

“Because maybe if you know what it’s like, you’ll finally trust me,” Ominis snarls. His voice shakes with anger, and oh, Sebastian shouldn’t find it so beautiful to witness Ominis lose control. “I tried to tell you. Can you imagine now, truly, what it was like to have that done to me as a child? At age five, at age seven? Can you imagine what it felt like for me to do it to someone else, knowing what it would feel like, and doing it only so that I didn’t have to feel that way? It was my eighth birthday. Can you imagine what it was like for me to do it to you, knowing this and knowing that you wanted it without knowing what it meant?” He releases Sebastian’s jaw. “It’s a poison, Sebastian. The Dark Arts are not a secret tool to save your sister. They’re a poison.”

Sebastian’s chest is hollow. He wants to say something. He wants to apologize. He wants, strangely, to kiss Ominis. He wants to vomit again. He does none of these things.

The grimoire lies in wait on a table, not even concealed behind protective enchantments. “I hope it was worth it to you,” Ominis says as a parting shot over his shoulder.

Power blooms under Sebastian’s fingertips as he picks up the heavy, dusty book. The feeling is heady, intoxicating.

Worth it doesn’t begin to describe how he feels.

ii. power

Bony fingers seize Sebastian’s wrist. “You’re a liar, Sebastian,” Ominis spits. “You swore to me—“

“I didn’t,” Sebastian says reflexively. “I said I would never give up on Anne. I would never lie to you.”

Ominis scoffs. “I honestly doubt you’re aware of whether you’re lying or not.” It cuts Sebastian, and he opens his mouth, but Ominis holds him off. “No, you only led me to believe that you valued my feelings on the matter. I had really hoped that after the Cruciatus, you’d realize that the Dark Arts are not going to help you. Sebastian, don’t you understand? They don’t work unless you want them to.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I wanted to hurt you,” Ominis says with venom. “I wanted you to hurt you badly enough that you’d be too frightened to continue. I see that I failed in that regard. I will not fail again.” His wand prods the underside of Sebastian’s chin, tilting his head back. “If experiencing it for yourself didn’t work, if you hold yourself in such blatant disregard, maybe seeing it on me will.”

“What are you—?“

“Legilimens.”

Pain licking at the bones. A child, sickly-looking in his paleness, screaming on the floor. An older, darker boy, cackling. The child, older now, fingers bloody from scratching at the wooden door to try to escape the flames of agony. The boy, outside now, casting it from behind a bush at an unsuspecting Muggle girl, his hand being guided by the older boy. Light and images fracture as though through a prism.

The image shifts, or rather, dissolves. The memories are pure sensation now. Guilt and fury, betrayal and hurt, fear and—love? Yes, love in sunlit fields sharing the summer’s first raspberries and curling together in a narrow bed and calloused fingers guiding his head towards a voice so he can fit in and look a little less odd, less blind—

And suddenly, Sebastian’s mind is his own. The intrusion of light sends him staggering. “What the hell,” he spits on the ground, ridding himself of bile. “What the fuck.” He shudders, nauseated, violated, yet…impressed. Even he lacks the nerve to attempt Legilimency, let alone execute it expertly enough to project his mind into someone else’s. He tries to move finds himself crumpling instead.

Despite everything, Ominis catches him. Sebastian leans his forehead on Ominis’s, sharing ragged breath. It’s not a question of if he will break Ominis’s heart, but how, when, and how many times.

Ominis seizes the back of Sebastian’s hair and pulls, forcing his head back and away from his own, so that Sebastian is forced to look at his blazing eyes. “You know how much I care for Anne,” Ominis says in a low voice. “You’re all the family I have. You know that I would never deprive you of something to help her if I thought it would work.”

Sebastian does know this about Ominis. And yet, who is he to deny himself? “How do you know it wouldn’t?”

Ominis’s eyes flash dangerously, blue flames in a white face. “The Dark Arts have given me nothing but misery. Some magical trinket mentioned in a book by Salazar Slytherin is about as dark as it gets.”

“But—“

“There is always a cost, Sebastian. Let’s say—let’s just say—that it works. What are you prepared to give for it?”

Sebastian’s silence is answer enough.

Ominis laughs joylessly, his face a study in incredulity. “I can’t believe you.”

And it’s really not fair, Sebastian thinks, that he has to choose. Here are the two people he cares about most in the world: which one does he eviscerate?

There is also the matter of himself, he knows. The groundswell of power from the book, better than the blood of life itself. He’s felt it making him stronger by the day. He starves for it.

Ominis steps back, releasing his hold on Sebastian and dousing the light from his wand. He doesn’t put it away, doesn’t render himself entirely helpless, but he seems to be making Sebastian’s choice for him. “The only way I will not follow you is if I can’t. And if I follow you, our—our relationship will not survive.” His tone is so calm, so controlled, and Sebastian didn’t expect that he would be the one to get his heart ripped out.

“What do you mean, if you can’t follow?” Sebastian’s throat has never been so dry. “I don’t—I don’t know how to Obliviate or Confund you.” The admission tastes like vinegar. Ominis blinks impassively, and it comes to him. Sebastian’s stomach roils. He has never felt worse, not even under the Cruciatus, because he cannot hurt Ominis, because he knows he’s going to.

He raises his hand. His hand shakes, but he forces himself to look into Ominis’s eyes. “Imperio.”

Ominis’s eyes go glassy and his head looks as power floods Sebastian’s veins. He is acutely aware that he holds Ominis’s soul in the palm of his hands. It’s breathtaking, exhilarating. What had he been worried about only moments before? He is transcendent, a god. The power wells in his throat and threatens to choke him, but he manages a delicious, steadying breath.

Ominis waits attentively.

“Can you hear me?” he asks, as if Ominis has possibly gone deaf as well.

“Yes,” Ominis says vaguely.

“Will you do what I tell you?”

“Yes.”

“Will you remember what happens?” Sebastian realizes that he doesn’t know the answer to this, has only ever read about the Imperius Curse, has no real idea what it will do, and a creep of doubt infiltrates his glory. Ominis pauses. Ordinarily, Sebastian would say he was considering. He feels the connection between them go taut, and he’s not entirely sure which of them will be hurt if it snaps. “Ominis?” he prompts.

“No,” Ominis says almost dreamily.

For reasons he can’t pinpoint, he’s not at all sure that he believes Ominis. He gambles anyway. He commands in a voice like a prayer. Ominis will wait for him here. He will think that the relic is lost, or that Sebastian has failed in some way, but he will not ask questions because Sebastian knows he cannot lie to his face. It’s risky, but the risk is far greater in telling Ominis to make his way back to school with only fragments of his wits intact. As a parting blow, he kisses Ominis. He doesn’t ask permission, doesn’t ask if Ominis wants it, he steals it. Their first. Just a brush of the lips that sends his cells buzzing. Just one more reason for him to hate himself.

The power of the Imperius Curse is nothing compared to the power that suffuses his body when he grasps the relic. It swells in him, making him drunk and triumphant with it, and he can feel that this is it, this is what he’s been searching for.

iii. ruin

Like so many things in Sebastian’s life, it happens before he realizes, before his rationality can temper his impulses.

It’s so simple, really: either he dies, or Solomon does. And while Sebastian has never entertained the idea that he will die warm in his bed, an old and happy man, he would prefer not to die an angry sixteen-year-old, burnt to a crisp by Fiendfyre. He doesn’t know how to control it—it’s too dangerous, even for him—and nothing in Solomon’s magical repertoire has impressed him that his uncle can control what he’s unleashed.

Watching him obliterate the relic that was all his hopes and dreams simply made it easier.

The loss of it is a physical ache, a voiding of power so fierce that Sebastian’s head spins with it. He feels, as messily and distinctly as pulling a tooth, the relinquishing of control over the Inferi. His planned sacrifice—fulfilling the spirit, if not the letter, of the requirements, by willingly giving up the delectable feeling of control over them, by condemning them back to the dust. His own lust-filled power and control for Anne. It would have been the second-hardest thing he’s ever done, but he would have. He was ready. But the relic evaporates and the Inferi don’t melt into the earth, but turn on him instead, hungering for the hint of life.

And Solomon summons Fiendfyre, of all things.

The flames tickle the hems of his robe, sear the tips of his eyebrows, and he isn’t sure if Solomon intends to kill him, but he wouldn’t be surprised. There is no love lost between them. He isn’t killing his uncle so much as he’s squashing a particularly loathsome insect.

He hardly gets to revel in the lusty swell of dominion over life before he’s slammed once again (really, this is becoming a habit) into the far wall. But he can taste the leavings of magic in the back of his throat and recognizes immediately who’s thrown him back.

Anne doesn’t speak to him, doesn’t even look at him as she gives one shuddering sob and vanishes with Solomon’s body.

His ears ring from the impact of the wall. He tastes blood in his mouth from where he’d bitten through the inside of his cheek. Worst of all is the sudden absence of the power that’s been stoking the fire in him for months now. The loss feels like an amputated limb, like ice in his veins, like nausea.

The third unexpected thing happens then. Ominis appears through the flames like an avenging angel.

His hand lashes out to clasp Sebastian’s throat, not enough to hurt, but to hold him there and make clear he could hurt if he wanted to. “You just—do you have any idea what you—“ And for the first time, Sebastian is properly frightened, for he’s never heard Ominis so infuriated that speech fails him. The hornbeam wand, almost as familiar as Sebastian’s own, digs into the soft skin beneath his chin. “Legilimens.”

The images bleed like a drop of ink in water. Solomon telling Ominis that he can come back next holiday. Anne wrapping a scarf of her own making around Ominis’s throat. The three of them picking wild strawberries, growing sick on the sweetness. Anne tutoring Ominis in Potions so that he scrapes a pass, if only just. Sebastian pulling Ominis’s feet into his lap so that they can huddle close while Sebastian reads to him. Sebastian doubling in laughter, tears running down his face, at Ominis’s singed-off eyebrows. Sebastian, joyous and carefree and clever and alive.

The vertigo of regaining his own mind, mingled with the blood in his mouth and the weakness in his veins, nearly makes Sebastian faint. Ominis won’t let him. He seizes Sebastian’s jaw. “Do you see what you’ve ruined?” Ominis’s voice is whisper-thin.

Sebastian struggles to draw enough breath to speak. Even to his own ears, his voice sounds like he’s fallen down a well. “I would honestly prefer for you to cut out my heart than do that again.”

Ominis’s laugh is silent, mirthless. “I really don’t give a damn what you prefer. Just like you never did for me.”

Sebastian scrapes the last of his energy to summon a frown. “What are you talking about.” He’s too tired to inflect his voice for a question.

Ominis’s face, an eerie contrast to his voice, betrays nothing. He merely regards Sebastian for long enough that Sebastian figures he’s decided not to answer before he strikes.

The kiss Ominis catches him in sears like fire. He is too stunned, too exhausted, to do a great deal, but Ominis seems to pour himself into Sebastian, as if he could singlehandedly restore Sebastian to life. It is desperate and terrible and Sebastian feels the worst pain he’s felt yet when Ominis pulls away.

Ominis pants, turning his face away. “For the record, one recalls everything when under the influence of the Imperius Curse.”

The implication flays Sebastian alive.

Ominis moves to stand. Sebastian tries to raise his hand, but his fingers look so strange to him. They cannot possibly belong to him. “What—?”

Ominis looks down upon Sebastian, who forces himself to incline his head upward. Ominis is wreathed in flame that threatens to scorch his eyes. He watches Ominis take several deep breaths, watches the mask descend neatly into place. This knowledge, he pretends, soothes the pain of Ominis’s tone, which falls somewhere between indifference and disdain. “You wanted to rot. I’m not going to stop you.”

Sebastian lets the blackness take him as Ominis walks away from him.

[do-the-jamrock-shuffle]

I think that Kim Kitsuragi is good with kids, especially because of how poor his own childhood was.

This is shown particularly with his patience towards Cuno/Cunoesse, how he interacts with the twins in the fishing village, and even a bit of empathy and caring towards some young adults struggling in life like Acele and how he offers her his jacket. I mean, even his sternness at Harry when Harry doesn’t accept feeling Lamby from Little Lily. It was less of “Can you just stop feeling sorry for yourself for once?” at Harry, and more so the satisfactory of seeing Lily, a child who probably doesn’t get a whole lot of support living in poverty, happy.

Just a insight about Kim I don’t see people discussing that often (or that I haven’t at least seen myself)

[zukkaoru]

HI MAY I HAVE SOME SIBLINGS (yosano and ranpo!!!!)

with UHMM "did you steal my drink?"

“Did you steal my drink?”

“…No,” Ranpo responds, around the straw in their mouth. Yosano levels them with a glare that they may not be able to see, but they can most certainly feel. “This is mine. I dunno what happened to yours.”

Yosano scoffs. She marches over, but instead of swiping her drink back, like Ranpo expected, she goes for his half-eaten bag of chips instead.

“Hey, wait—!”

“These are mine,” Yosano taunts, easily evading Ranpo’s attempt to grab at her before promptly shoving three chips into her mouth. “I don’t know what happened to yours.”

send me a ship + a sentence and i’ll write the next five(ish) sentences