#take these small draft snippets instead

[smolmakerel]

Sam turned over on the couch, burying her face into the throw pillow beneath her head. She could faintly hear Danny speaking to her from the kitchen as he stumbled and hissed.

"Don't hurt yourself," Tara called out.

Danny didn't answer.

Sam was pissed, but any energy she had to put into being pissed off evaporated. Her exhaustion weighed on her shoulders like thousands of bricks.

Sam shook her head and sat up. Her arm cast shot out to catch herself when she wobbled and threatened to fall off the couch.

Tara watched her struggle with sad eyes. "Sam, you're not getting better."

"I don't need to get better," Sam whispered to her sister. "I have to take care of you. Don't you understand that?"

"By killing yourself in the process?" Tara stood up in anger. Her hands grasped at the air in frustration, face twisting. "You can't help me, Sam. Help yourself for once. Please."

Sam looked away with the clenching of her jaw showing her frustration.

"Help me help you. I love you! Te amo mucho, Sam, but you stopped going to therapy -"

"They never help," Sam weakly said.

"- and you're wallowing in guilt. It was an accident and there's nothing you can do about it now," Tara said. Her eyes closed, shoulders relaxed, and she sighed. "You promised me you'd keep going."

"B-But I can't - I'll stop -!"

"Sam?"

Sam frantically stood up and ushered for Tara to return to her room. Danny watched the movement with sadness and didn't react to the slamming of Tara's door. He never reacted, not anymore. It was like Tara wasn't one of his priorities like she used to be.

He walked over and sat down on the couch, placing a fresh plate of eggs and toast on the coffee table.

"Sam... you should sit down," Danny told her and she hesitantly sat, hugging the throw pillow to her chest. "I know things haven't been the same since what happened, but you know I'm always here for you."

Sam huffed. "You don't have to be. You could leave, get out while you still can."

"And leave you all alone? Sometimes I think you want me to leave." Danny smiled without humor. When he noticed the blankness of Sam's face, he furrowed his eyebrows. "Have you been going to therapy?"

Shame lit a torch to Sam's face. Leave it to Tara to accidentally tell Danny about Sam's terrible adventures in therapy. And here she thought the two would never speak again.

She studied his face and saw nothing but concern for her. Her eyes drifted up to his hairline where the cut on his forehead was just beginning to heal. The stitches would dissolve soon. Her eyes drifted to the left where she was blinded.

Sam quickly snapped her vision back front and shuddered a sigh. Her thigh was gently grabbed for her own reassurance.

"No use for therapy," Sam spat. "I don't need licensed professionals telling me how I fucked up."

"Sam -"

"Can you just - Please leave."

"Sam, please, this isn't what -"

"Thanks for breakfast," Sam droned on, losing the spark of energy she once had, "but I want to be alone."

Danny nodded. He stood and left a thoughtful kiss to the top of Sam's head before leaving. The front door closed, and Sam slumped.

She stared down at the cast on her arm, tracing the words and the drawings of multiple cartoonish penises.

"You had to push him away, didn't you?"

Sam put her face in her hand. "You know I had to. He -"

"- was being too nice, but he's pushy sometimes about your health. I know, Sam, I know better than you think I do."

Sam twitched.

"Sam, come on! I know better than you think I do! Just once without a Ghostface threat, please!"

"Fine fine! Let me -"

"Sam!"

"Don't tell me that. Don't you dare tell me that!" Sam yelled at Tara. The guilt immediately hit her in the chest, but Tara didn't appear fazed at all. She didn't react anymore. Both her and Danny have been acting weird.

"Go to therapy. You promised me that you'd keep going."

"That was before -"

"I know," Tara interrupted her again, voice soft. "I know."

Sam nodded and looked down. "I'll go. For you." Her stiff words did little to change Tara's facial expression. "I still have Wren's number, so I don't have to search for another therapist."

Tara nodded. "Good."

"And please change your clothes, you've been in that same outfit for days now," Sam teased her.

Tara only quirked her lip and began to go back to her room. Panic sparked in Sam's chest.

"Wait!" Tara stopped. She didn't turn around. "Can - Give me a hug first?"

Tara glanced back at Sam and smiled. Her eyes showed nothing. "Good night, Sam."

Sam breathed shakily as she plopped down so she was laying on the couch. She wiped at her wet eyes. It seemed like she wasn't ready to quit crying yet.

■■■■■

"Sam! Long time no see! Come in, come in!"

Sam shuffled into her therapist's office. She wished she could've taken Tara with her for support, but Tara never wanted to leave the apartment anymore.

"Sorry I haven't been by in a couple weeks," Sam apologized with a smile. It was crooked and awkward, but Wren wasn't disturbed by it. "Life, you know?"

Wren nodded. "I understand. Would you like to sit by the window today?"

Sam looked nervously at the window. The bright sun was shining through, but all Sam could see was -

"Sam, come on, open your eyes!"

She flinched.

Wren didn't comment when Sam took them to the seating away from the window. Usually Sam enjoyed the fresh rays of light warming her up, but now all it brought was dread.

"So," Wren started with a smile, "how's life been treating you?"

Sam shrugged. "I mean, it's been hard. I hit my head, broke my arm. You would've thought I was invincible with how many Ghostfaces I've dealt with."

"Five now, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Sam shifted in her seat. "Tara shouldn't have had to deal with either of them. I'll make sure she won't have to even hear about the next one."

"What makes you so sure there'll be a next Ghostface?" Wren asked to which Sam snorted.

"They always come back. I'm kind of used to it already."

Wren scribbled something down on his notepad while Sam drummed on her fingers on her leg. Words burned in her throat. This was for Tara. She had to do this for -

"I was in an accident a few weeks ago."

Wren looked up, surprise coloring his face. It was one of the first times Sam brought something up that didn't have anything to do with Woodsboro, Ghostface, or Tara.

"I um, I was driving us back to the apartment and we just. You know how accidents work."

"And did everyone get out okay?"

"Yeah. We're all fine." Sam picked at her cast.

We're all fine.

■■■■■

"Sam - Sam, stop, you're drunk."

Sam shook her head at Danny's words. She pushed him back to lay on his mattress and climbed on top of him.

"'M not drunk, jus' a lil tipsy," Sam slurred.

Danny sighed. "Sam -"

"Danny..." She grabbed his hand and dragged it to the hem of her shirt. His breath hitched at the way she easily guided his hand up to her bra. "You make me feel so good, I jus' wanna be happy."

"Sam, I want you too." He pulled his hand away and sat up, dragging Sam further onto his lap. "I want you so much, but you're drunk and I won't do that to you."

Sam's face twisted in anger. Her flushed cheeks became hotter from the embarrassing dismissal of her failed seduction attempt.

"But Wren told me - he told me to find a way to be happy! Sex makes me happy!" Sam's bottom lip wobbled. Her emotions switched from anger to immense sadness. "Do you not love me anymore, is that why you won't fuck me?"

Danny pressed a chaste kiss to her neck and hugged her. "I do love you, princess."

"Then why won't you make me happy..?"

"This isn't something sex can fix. You're hurting and looking for a way to fix it, but, Sam," Danny said, pulling back to stare into Sam's glossy eyes, "I promise this isn't the way to do it."

Sam began to cry. Loud and trembling sobs fell from her as Danny swept her up and wiped her tears away as best he could. She was apologizing, begging to be forgiven. She wasn't a monster, she wouldn't force Danny to have sex with her. Danny shushed her, he forgave her. He was the good one between the two of them. Sam didn't know why Danny was still there when all she did was destroy everything she loved.

"Te amo mucho... I'm sorry... I love you..."

"I love you, too. I forgive you, it's okay."

Sam wasn't talking to Danny.

■■■■■

Sam anxiously stared at Tara's closed door. It wasn't opening, Tara wasn't going to come out for game night. She even invited Kirby so the two of them could team up and pick on Gale who she also invited.

"Okay... Okay! 4 words!"

Sam drew her attention to Chad and Mindy who were continuing the game with the others. Mindy was holding up 4 fingers and shaking her head at Chad's words. She waved her hand and enunciated the 4.

Chad snapped his fingers. "Oh! Oh, I know!"

Mindy groaned.

"4 words!"

Gale gave Chad a look of disappointment. "Kids these days are unbelievably stupid."

Mindy nodded to Chad's dismay.

Danny noticed Sam's attention being drawn back to Tara's door. He leaned over and squeezed her knee. "You gonna join us?" Danny whispered in her ear.

"In a minute," she muttered. "Tara hasn't even come out to say hi."

"... Maybe she's tired. We should let her rest."

He was right - Sam knew he was right - but it was her protective instincts kicking into overdrive. Maybe she should just go check on her.

As she stood up, Mindy groaned. "Seriously, we only got one in a minute?!"

"It's not my fault you suck at the game, Minds."

"Chad, I swear I'll kick you from being my partner!"

"And replace me with who? Kirby?"

"Sorry, you two," Kirby said, relaxing into her arm chair with a smirk, "I'm already taken."

"You can have her." Gale eyed Kirby up and down with distaste. Kirby looked offended.

"Sam, maybe we should go next," Danny suggested as he stood up next to Sam. Sam worriedly eyed the door again, but Danny grabbed her uninjured hand and gave her a mischievous grin. "We can take the win easily. What do you say?"

Sam licked her lips. "I don't know how Tara would feel if we played without her."

Danny's grin shrunk to a soft lift of the corner of his mouth. "I won't tell her if you don't."

Sam's eyes slid to the door. She could sense Danny's concern for her, but all she could think about was how alone Tara must be. She could knock on the door and invite her, then she could linger in the room if Tara said no. Tara always laughed whenever Sam dramatically flopped next to her to cheer her up for game night.

But maybe she wanted to be alone. For now.

■■■■■

"Where have you been?!" Sam screamed at Tara when she finally appeared from her room for the first time in a week. She couldn't be guilty for screaming because she cared. "You haven't called, you haven't texted! What if you needed me and I wasn't there?!"

Tara watched Sam pace in front of her. She was still in that same outfit despite Sam asking her to change. Her eyes were still blank, and they made Sam slightly uncomfortable with how closely they followed her.

"You know I don't need you anymore," Tara claimed. "And you know it, too. Why do you keep doing this to yourself, Sam?"

Sam squeezed her eyes shut.

"I don't need you. You need me."

"Stop it. Tara, please -"

"It wasn't your fault. I know what you've been telling your therapist and even Danny - about what happened being because of what you did - but you need to stop. It's time."

Sam squeezed her hands into fists. Her fingers bunched awkwardly on her cast.

"I-I can't - stop -"

"You need to move on. You can't help me anymore."

"Tara..!"

"You want proof? I know where it is. You told nobody else where it was - nobody - but I want you to look under your bed."

Fear rose in Sam's chest. She knew what was under there. She tried to deny it.

"I-I can't! Tara, please, don't do this! Let me have this a little longer, please!"

Nothing.

"Tara?"

Nothing.

"T-Tara..?"

Nothing.

■■■■■

Sam and Danny stared down at the box in silence. Sam's throat was thick, and her eyes were dead.

"Are you sure you're ready to do this?" Danny asked hesitantly.

Sam nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak.

Nodding to himself, Danny slowly reached into the box and pulled out the carefully tended to urn. He unwrapped it and gave it to Sam.

Sam stared at the urn in her hands. It was light. Sam knew it would be.

"I'm still not ready to say goodbye yet," Sam choked out.

Danny squatted down by the couch. He searched for the right words to say. "It doesn't have to be goodbye. It can be... see you later."

Sam passed her thumb over her favorite picture of Tara. It was one she took with her when she ran off after her 18th birthday. Tara was 10 in this picture and wearing Sam's old clothes. She was smiling, big and wide, and posing for the flash of the camera. She remembered this birthday as clear as day.

Tara had begged Sam to take her somewhere fun for her birthday - a happy birthday for once. Despite her angst, Sam couldn't say no. They had ice cream and went to the zoo. Tara bragged about how she wanted to go to a bigger zoo when she was older and work with the animals. She had a soft spot for snakes for whatever reason. Sam laughed it off and took her home so Sam could get high and spend the rest of Tara's birthday in bed.

She was ashamed that she did that for the last few birthdays Tara had.

"She was so young." Sam's throat was burning with held back emotion. The urn shook in her hands. "She didn't deserve that. I should've been more careful."

Danny shushed her. "Wasn't your fault, remember? That guy was drunk."

Sam growled as she remembered stumbling from the car. Danny had received the least injuries, only a small concussion and some bruising. He went to Tara first before immediately going to Sam to pull her away from the upside-down car.

Sam had a broken arm and a concussion. She was still healing in a cast, and her headache sometimes comes back in her grief. She had to lay down on the dirty New York street in shock as many different responders got the her.

Tara...

Sam never actually saw what happened to Tara, but Danny said it was bad. She didn't suffer, that's what the doctors told her.

Sam stood. She walked around the coffee table and to the TV stand. She placed down the urn and turned it, deeming it the perfect spot.

Danny came up behind her and hugged her. All Sam could think of was Tara doing that with her.

But Tara was gone now.

Sam broke down and allowed herself to be put back together by Danny. Some of the pieces were missing, some she'd never get back, but she could find a way to fill the space.

That's what Tara would want.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

dark!barty has been on my mind so much lately!! need jealous, possessive, obsessive, barty!

AN: HECK YEAH THIRD POST OF THE NIGHT BABIEEE- Almost all my drafts are done

Trust and Obedience

Dark!Obsessive!Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader

Summary: Small snippets of moments between you and Barty, where you really should have picked up on his spiral.

WC: 11.2k... someone teach me how to write normally-

CW: Chocking, reader is referred to as 'belonging' to Barty, Barty is controlling and (at times) read as condescending, sniffing, reader trusts him way too much, slightly oblivious and innocent reader, the ends gets very ~spicy~ but cuts before anything actually happens- skip the last scene if you aren't interested in that.

It was late- far later than any of self respecting 5th year should have been awake- but no one seemed eager to call it a night. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls of the dormitory. The room was cozy, its deep green and silver tones softened by the golden glow of the flames.

Pandora was sprawled on Regulus’s bed, flipping idly through a magazine, her long hair hanging over the edge as she hummed softly to herself. Regulus sat by the window, seemingly uninterested in the conversation, gazing out into the dark grounds below. Meanwhile, Evan sat cross-legged on the floor, his wand in hand as he absentmindedly practiced non-verbal spells on the edge of a quill, making it levitate an inch off the ground before it wobbled and fell.

And you- you were seated on the floor, leaning back against Evan’s bed where Barty lounged behind you, your knees drawn up as you flipped through a book. You were engrossed in whatever you were reading, your brow furrowed slightly in concentration. Every now and then, you’d let out a soft sigh of frustration, your lips pursing as you tried to make sense of the passage in front of you.

Barty wasn’t paying attention to his own book. He hadn’t been for a while. Instead, his eyes lingered on you, taking in the way the firelight danced across your features, the way you absentmindedly chewed on your lower lip when you were deep in thought. He liked watching you like this, when you were unaware of the intensity of his gaze.

Evan, clearly annoyed by the quiet tension in the room, flicked his wand and muttered something under his breath. Your book snapped shut on its own, making you jump slightly.

“Evan!” You gasped, glaring at him.

“What?” Evan drawled, smirking. “You’ve been staring at that thing for ages. Thought I’d do you a favor.”

“You’re such a git,” You muttered, reopening the book.

Pandora giggled from her spot on the bed. “Oh, leave her alone, Evan. You’re just grumpy because you lost to Regulus in Gobstones earlier.”

Regulus didn’t react, still gazing out the window as though he hadn’t heard a word.

Barty leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he watched you with quiet amusement. You sighed again, leaning your head back against his legs, frustrated with how the numbers and letters on the page kept dancing between each other. Without thinking, his hand moved on its own, brushing through your hair in a slow, deliberate motion.

You didn’t pull away. You never did.

His fingers trailed down, grazing the nape of your neck, where they lingered just a second too long. He felt you shiver slightly under his touch, a small reaction you probably didn’t even notice yourself, but it made something twist deep in his chest.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low, almost soothing. “You’re too tense.”

You smiled, tilting your head slightly to look up at him, completely oblivious to the way his eyes darkened, to the way his fingers curled slightly as if resisting the urge to hold you there, to press against the pulse point beneath his touch. He imagined wrapping his hand around your throat- not to hurt you, never that- but to feel the proof of your life beneath his fingers. To remind you that you were his, even if you didn’t realize it yet.

“You’re always like this,” Evan muttered, clearly irritated. “Touching each other.”

Pandora propped herself up on her elbows, grinning. “I think it’s sweet,” she said, her tone dreamy. “They’re comfortable with each other. You wouldn’t understand, Evan.”

Barty didn’t respond, his hand still resting lightly on your neck. He liked the way it felt, the way you trusted him so blindly. It unraveled something in him, made the ever-present hunger beneath his skin burn hotter.

You laughed softly, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. “We are just friends,” you said lightly, not noticing the way Barty’s fingers twitched slightly at your words. “Right, Barty?”

His grip tightened ever so slightly- just for a moment, just enough for him to feel your pulse quicken beneath his touch- before he forced himself to relax. He didn’t like hearing you say it, didn’t like the way it sounded coming from your lips. Just friends. But it was enough for him, for now.

He played along, as he always did.

“Sure,” He chuckled, his voice steady, though there was a hint of something darker beneath it. “Just friends.”

Evan scoffed, clearly unimpressed, while Pandora gave a soft, knowing hum, her gaze flicking between the two of you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Friends don’t touch each other like that,” Evan muttered under his breath, flicking his wand again to make the quill hover once more.

Pandora ignored him, turning her attention back to her magazine, and Regulus remained silent, as always, seemingly uninterested in the whole exchange.

“We do.” Barty challenged listlessly- only for a small smirk to over take Evans face.

Evan’s smirk widened, the mischievous glint in his eyes sharpening as he caught sight of Barty’s fingers resting lightly on your neck. The tension radiating from Barty was palpable, his normally chaotic demeanor stretched thin, but Evan didn’t seem to care.

“Well, if you’re just friends,” Evan said, dragging out the words in a tone that bordered on taunting, “then she won’t mind if I-”

He took a step forward, reaching toward your shoulder, but he didn’t get far.

Barty’s hand moved faster than anyone expected, tightening on your neck- not enough to hurt, but enough for you to notice. His other hand shot out, palm flat against Evan’s chest, stopping him mid-step with a force that was anything but playful. His eyes locked on Evan’s, cold and unyielding.

“Don’t. Touch.” Barty practically growled, his voice dangerously low. There was no trace of humor left, only a thinly veiled threat simmering beneath the surface. His entire posture was tense, like a guard dog poised to attack at the first sign of danger.

Pandora sat up fully, wide-eyed but clearly entertained than alarmed. “Oh dear,” She mused softly, a smile playing on her lips. “You’ve done it now, Evan.”

You, oblivious to the darker undercurrents in Barty’s reaction, reached up to touch his wrist lightly, as if to reassure him. “It’s fine, Barty. He’s just being annoying.”

But Barty didn’t relax. His gaze didn’t waver from Evan, who raised his hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never left his face.

“Merlin, calm down,” Evan muttered, backing up a step. “It was just a joke.”

Barty didn’t move, didn’t speak. He watched Evan retreat like a hawk, as though daring him to try again. Only when Evan dropped back onto the floor, still smirking but clearly deciding not to push further, did Barty loosen his grip on your neck. His fingers lingered for a moment longer before falling away entirely, though the tension in his shoulders remained.

Pandora giggled softly. “You’re so protective, Barty. It’s sweet, really.”

You gave Barty a puzzled look, still unaware of the possessive storm swirling behind his eyes. “You didn’t have to react like that,” you said lightly. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Barty didn’t answer immediately, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to remain calm. It was a big deal- to him. The idea of anyone else laying a hand on you, even in jest, made something dark and primal rise to the surface. But he couldn’t say that to you- you'd think he'd gone mad. Or worse- you'd worry about him.

“He shouldn’t touch you,” he muttered instead, his voice quiet but firm, as though that explained everything. “You don't know where he's hands have been.”

Evan scoffed from his spot on the floor, leaning back on his elbows. “You’re ridiculous,” He bemoaned, clearly amused by Barty’s reaction. “It’s not like she’s-”

“Careful, Rosier.” Regulus said suddenly, his voice calm and detached as he continued to gaze out the window. He slowly turned to look ag you guys, smirking as his eyes locked with Barty’s. “That's Barty’s girl. Everyone knows that.”

Evan fell silent, his smirk fading slightly as he glancegavs a dramatic groan and leaned back against the couch, smirking at you as Barty chuckled.

“Exactly right, Reg.” Barty smirked and flattened his palm against your neck, but again, you gave no reaction. 

Evan gave another dramatic groan, leaning back further against the couch. He shot you a playful glare, though his smirk betrayed any real annoyance. “Unbelievable. You just let him do that?” He gestured toward Barty’s hand, still resting possessively on your neck. “Merlin, you’re both hopeless.”

Pandora grinned from her spot on the bed, clearly enjoying the scene. “Hopelessly sweet,” she teased, propping herself up on her elbows. “Honestly, it’s like watching a couple who refuse to admit they’re together.”

You let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes as you stretched your legs out, nudging Evan’s ankle with your foot. “Oh, stop it. You’re all making it a bigger deal than it is.”

Barty didn’t say anything, but his smirk grew, fingers flexing ever so slightly against the curve of your neck. You didn’t even notice, too busy teasing Evan by nudging his foot again in a childish game of footsie.

“You’re asking for it now,” Evan warned, leaning forward slightly, clearly ready to retaliate. He grinned wickedly, flicking his wand toward your leg to tickle your ankle with a harmless jinx.

You squealed, jerking your leg away as you laughed. “Evan, you prat!”

The sound of your laughter filled the room, light and carefree, and Barty’s gaze softened, though the possessiveness never fully left his expression. He liked seeing you like this- happy, playful, surrounded by people you trusted.

But still… his hand remained on your neck, a silent claim no one else seemed to question anymore.

Regulus returned his attention to the window, his smirk fading into the same detached calm he always carried. Pandora giggled quietly to herself, watching Evan and you bicker as if it were her favorite form of entertainment.

Meanwhile, Barty leaned back against the bed once more, his fingers trailing down your neck in a slow, deliberate motion before falling away entirely. He didn’t need to say anything. He didn’t need to react further.

Everyone here knew it. You were his. Even if you didn’t realize it yet. 

He could wait. He always had.

~~~

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon, and most of the house is either outside enjoying the crisp autumn air or scattered around the common room. You’ve just come back from Hogsmeade, a small bag in hand filled with little trinkets and things you’d picked up during your trip. Among them is a new perfume you’d been curious about, a light floral scent with hints of vanilla and something warmer, richer.  

You dab a little on your wrists and neck, the scent quickly enveloping you in its delicate sweetness. You smile, pleased with your purchase, and- after thanking a fellow sixth year who held the door for you- stand behind the couch, tossing Evan a sweet he had begged you to grab for him.

Barty, seated across the room with Pandora and Regulus, had barely been paying attention to the conversation- until now. The moment the scent reaches him, something shifts. His gaze sharpens, zeroing in on you as if drawn by an invisible thread. He gets up, crossing the room with a casualness that doesn’t quite hide the intent behind his movements.

“You smell different,” He murmurs as he comes to stand behind you, his voice low, almost reverent. Before you can respond, he leans down slightly, his hands settling lightly on your shoulders as he inhales the scent lingering around your neck. “What is that?”

You laugh softly, turning your head slightly to glance at him over your shoulder. “It’s just a new perfume I bought today. Do you like it?”

“Like it?” He repeats, his hands sliding down your arms, his grip warm and grounding. “It’s you.” His voice is softer now, almost dazed, as if the scent alone has enchanted him. He leans closer again, this time pressing his face against your hair, taking in more of the scent. “You smell… amazing.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but the blush rising to your cheeks betrays your flustered reaction. “Alright, alright, you’re acting like I invented the stuff.”

Barty chuckles, wrapping his arms loosely around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Can’t help it,” he says, his voice lower, more intimate. “You smell too good.” His hands tighten slightly, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he murmurs, “You should wear this more often.”

The whole scene feels strangely domestic- like something a lovesick boyfriend would do. But to you, it’s just Barty being overly affectionate, as always.

But Evan? Evan isn’t having it.

He throws up his hands dramatically, gesturing wildly at the two of you. “Oh, come on! You two have to be taking the piss at this point!” He points an accusatory finger between you and Barty. “You two must to be shagging!”

Pandora giggles from her spot by the fire, clearly delighted by the chaos. Regulus, as always, remains stoic, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“We’re not,” You say quickly, laughing as you try to wriggle out of Barty’s grip. But he doesn’t let go, holding you firmly in place, his smirk growing as he glances at Evan.

“Jealous, Rosier?” Barty drawls, his tone lazy but his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I can’t help it if I appreciate good company.”

“Good company?” Evan repeats incredulously. “You’re practically glued to her! Friends don’t do that! Friends don’t-” He gestures wildly again, flustered. “-sniff each other!”

Pandora bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over as she watches Evan struggle to find the right words. “Oh, Evan, leave them alone..”

Barty doesn’t move, still holding you loosely in his arms, his fingers idly tracing patterns against your wrist. You’re flustered but laughing, brushing it off as nothing more than playful teasing.

But to Barty, this is something else entirely. The scent, your warmth, the way you relax so easily in his hold- it’s driving him mad in the best way possible. He knows Evan’s teasing is harmless, but part of him bristles at the idea of anyone thinking they could have what he already considers his.

“We’re just friends,” You say again, more for Evan’s benefit than anything else. “Barty’s always like this.”

Evan stares at you, utterly exasperated. “Always like this? You’re telling me he always holds you like you’re the love of his life and sniffs you like you’re bloody Amortentia?”

Your cheeks flushed a passionate rosey shade. “I- well- the sniffing is new!”

Pandora chokes on another laugh, clutching her stomach as Regulus finally speaks, his voice calm but dry. “You might as well give up, Evan. They’ve been saying the same thing for years.”

Barty doesn’t respond to any of them. He doesn’t care what Evan thinks, or even what Pandora finds amusing. All that matters is you- your scent, your warmth, the way you let him hold you without question.

He presses his lips briefly to your hair, a gesture so soft and quick that it goes unnoticed by everyone but you. “You smell perfect,” he murmurs again, just for you.

And though you laugh it off, brushing away the warmth spreading across your cheeks, something about the way he holds you lingers in your mind far longer than it should. 

To you, it’s just Barty being affectionate.

To Barty? It’s you unknowingly giving him another reason to be completely, utterly obsessed.

~~~

Your head girl dorm was warm and inviting, filled with the blue haze from the lake just a few yards below. Pandora, Evan, and Regulus were already there, lounging comfortably- Pandora on your bed, Regulus perched in one of the armchairs, and Evan sprawled on the floor, fiddling with his wand as he always did.  

Their conversation had been light and easy until the door swung open, revealing you storming in, frustration written all over your face. Barty followed closely behind, his expression unreadable, calm in a way that only made your irritation grow.

Pandora’s brows raised as she exchanged a glance with Evan, who straightened slightly, clearly intrigued by the tension crackling between you and Barty. Regulus didn’t react outwardly, but his gaze flicked toward the two of you, quietly observing.

“I can’t believe you did that!” you snapped, spinning on your heel to face Barty as you threw your bag onto the bed. In all the years they’d known you, none of them- not Pandora, Evan, or even Regulus- had ever heard you truly raise your voice at him. Sure, you’d been upset with Barty before; you’d sighed, pouted, and even shot him the occasional glare. But shouting? Walking away from him? That was unheard of.  

“You had no right,” you continued, your voice sharp, crackling with a frustration that felt foreign even to you.

The door clicked softly shut behind him as Barty stepped inside. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his posture maddeningly relaxed, yet there was a tension about him, an unspoken electricity in the way his eyes locked onto yours. His calm wasn’t comforting- it was unnerving, especially when paired with the fiery crackle of your anger. 

It was impossible to tell what unsettled the others more: the rare sight of your hostility or the uncharacteristic stillness in Barty’s demeanor. For once, the boy who thrived on chaos and disruption seemed like the eye of the storm- calm, deliberate, and entirely unbothered. 

Pandora exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Evan, who raised his brows in silent surprise. Even Regulus, who rarely looked interested in anything, shifted slightly in his chair, his gaze sharpening as he observed the brewing tension between you and Barty.

Barty didn’t respond immediately. He stood there, leaning casually against the closed door, as if he were giving you a moment to let your words hang in the air. His eyes, however, remained fixed on you, dark and unwavering, his calm exterior betraying the intensity simmering just beneath the surface.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Barty muttered evenly, his voice low and composed. “I told him what he needed to hear.”

“What he needed to hear?” You repeated incredulously, your voice rising, practically echoing off the stone walls of your dorm. “He asked me on a date, Barty. Me. Not you.” 

Pandora leaned forward slightly, clearly invested in the unfolding argument, while Evan smirked, obviously enjoying the drama. Regulus remained quiet, his gaze steady, but his lips twitched ever so slightly in amusement.

The tension crackled in the room like a live wire, yet Barty remained infuriatingly calm, his hands still tucked into his pockets, his head tilted ever so slightly as he watched you pace back and forth. Your frustration was evident, radiating from you in waves, and yet he didn’t seem the least bit concerned. If anything, he looked amused.

“You didn’t have to do that, Barty,” you huffed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You always do this- stepping in, making decisions like I can’t handle myself.”

Barty leaned back against the closed door, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he spoke, his voice low and even. “You say that like I did something wrong.”

“Because you did!” You spun on your heel to glare at him, your cheeks flushed from a mix of anger and embarrassment. “He was just asking me on a date. That’s all. I could’ve handled it.”

“He didn’t deserve to ask you anything,” Barty replied smoothly, his tone infuriatingly casual as his dark eyes stayed locked on yours. “I did him a favor, really. Saved him from wasting both our time.”

You groaned, your fists clenching at your sides as you stopped in front of him, your head tilted back to meet his gaze. “It’s not your job to decide that.”

Barty finally moved, leaning forward slightly, the space between you shrinking as his smirk softened into something more dangerous. “It is when it involves you,” he said simply, his voice softer now, almost tender. “You’re my best friend.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, your resolve wavered. You hated how easily he could disarm you, how the sharp edge of your anger dulled the moment his tone softened, the way he tilted his head like he was waiting for you to see things his way.

Pandora, perched on your bed with her legs crossed, was watching the scene unfold with wide, curious eyes. Evan, sprawled on the floor, had long since given up pretending to be interested in his wandwork, his smirk growing wider with every passing second. Even Regulus, who rarely seemed to care about anything, was watching now, his sharp gaze flicking between you and Barty with quiet interest.

You took a step back, shaking your head as if to clear it. “I’m not a child, Barty. I can make my own decisions.”

His expression didn’t change, but his hand moved, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture so soft, so intimate, that it made your breath hitch. “I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t look out for you.”

You hated how easily he got under your skin, how his touch unraveled you no matter how much you tried to hold yourself together. “You don’t always have to protect me, Barty,” you muttered, though your voice lacked the bite it had earlier. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he said again, his hand lingering at the side of your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone. “But I’m still going to.”

You huffed, crossing your arms as you tried to look anywhere but at him, though his gaze was like a tether pulling you back. His hand didn’t move from where it lingered near your face, warm and steady, and you hated how your resolve was crumbling under the weight of it.

“You’re pouting,” Barty said, his tone calm but laced with amusement, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“I am not,” you shot back quickly, though the heat rushing to your cheeks betrayed you.

“You are,” he said simply, leaning in just a fraction closer. His smirk softened into something almost affectionate as he added, “It’s cute, though. You can keep doing it.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you stumbled over your words, caught completely off guard by the casual compliment. “I- I’m not pouting,” You insisted, though your voice wavered, and the corners of your lips twitched as if you were fighting the urge to smile.

Barty chuckled, his thumb brushing ever so lightly against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. “Sure, you’re not,” he teased, his voice dropping lower, softer. “But I don’t mind if you do.”

Pandora let out a small squeal of delight from her perch on your bed, clearly enjoying the interaction far too much. “Oh, this is precious,” she giggled, kicking her legs in the air. “You’re so hopelessly sweet, the both of you.”

Evan groaned dramatically from his spot on the floor, throwing his head back against the carpet. “Merlin, you’re both insufferable. Just snog and put us all out of our misery.”

Your eyes widened, and you whipped around to glare at him. “We are not-” but your voice trailed off when Barty’s hand slid to your shoulder, grounding you.

“Calm down, Evan,” Barty drawled, his smirk growing wider as he glanced over at the other boy. “You’re just jealous she likes me better.”

Evan scoffed, rolling his eyes. “As if. I just want to live in peace without the two of you staring at each other like a pair of lovesick Puffskeins.”

You felt your cheeks flush even hotter, but before you could protest again, Barty gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, drawing your attention back to him. His expression had softened now, his eyes searching yours.

“You can keep pretending to be mad at me if you want,” he murmured, his voice quiet enough that only you could hear. “But I know you’re not.”

You let out a loud, dramatic huff, throwing your hands in the air as you turned away from him. Without another word, you stomped over to your bed and flopped onto it with a groan of pure frustration, your legs dangling over the edge. The sound was almost comically displeased, and you kicked your feet against the mattress in a childish show of annoyance.

Behind you, Pandora stifled a giggle, and even Regulus quirked an amused brow, though he said nothing. Evan, on the other hand, looked entirely too pleased with the chaos unfolding before him.

Barty, unbothered by your theatrics, followed you over with that maddeningly calm expression still plastered on his face. He knelt at the foot of the bed without a word, slipping your shoes off one by one with deliberate care. You made a point to keep your arms crossed and your lips pressed into a pout, but the edges of your resolve wavered ever so slightly as his fingers brushed your ankles.

When he was done, he rested one elbow on the bedframe and leaned in close, his other hand resting against the mattress near your hip. His gaze was heavy, and it pinned you in place despite your best efforts to avoid looking at him.

Finally, you peeked up at him through your lashes, still pouting as you muttered, “You’re terrible at this friend thing, Barty.”

He let out a low sound- half groan, half sigh- as his head tilted slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “I know,” he said softly, his voice carrying that same infuriating calm that made your chest tighten. “I’m bloody awful at it.”

You huffed again, though it came out weaker this time, and you buried your face in your hands for a moment before peeking out at him once more. “You’re not even trying to be better.”

“I’m not,” he agreed shamelessly, leaning in closer, his face only inches from yours now. His smirk softened, and for a moment, his expression bordered on something more vulnerable. “But I’m not sure I want to be better.”

That caught you off guard, and for a second, you forgot to be annoyed as you stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. You weren’t sure what he meant, not entirely, but the way his gaze lingered on yours made your chest feel uncomfortably warm.

“Hopeless,” Evan muttered from across the room, breaking the moment as he rolled onto his side with a dramatic groan. “The both of you.”

Pandora just grinned, resting her chin in her hands as she watched the scene unfold with unabashed delight. “Don’t mind him,” she said, her voice sing-song. “I think it’s sweet.”

You let out another huff, though this time it was more embarrassed than angry, and you shoved at Barty’s chest lightly. “I can't stand you,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing as you turned your face away.

Barty chuckled softly at your reaction, his smirk growing as he caught your chin with his fingers, gently tilting your face back toward him. “You say that,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with something that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to admit, “but you don’t really mean it.”

You swatted at his hand half-heartedly, but he didn’t let go, his thumb brushing along your jaw in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “I do mean it,” you insisted, though your voice wavered, and you hated how easily he could unravel you.

Pandora giggled from her spot on the bed, clearly delighted by the dynamic. “Oh, come on,” she teased, propping herself up on her elbows. “Just admit he’s your favorite, and we can all move on.”

Evan groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “If she says it, I’m leaving. I can’t bear to hear her feed his ego.”

Barty’s smirk turned almost predatory, and he leaned in just a fraction closer, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Go on,” he urged, his voice soft and teasing. “Tell them I’m your favorite.”

You glared at him, though it was half-hearted at best. “You’re impossible,” you muttered again, but there was no real heat behind your words.

Barty’s grin widened, and he finally let go of your chin, leaning back slightly as he rested his forearms on the edge of the bed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said smugly, clearly pleased with himself.

Pandora clapped her hands together, her grin as wide as his. “I knew it!” she exclaimed. “You’re both hopelessly sweet. It’s adorable, really.”

Regulus, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke, his voice calm and dry. “Can we move on now? Or are we just going to sit here while they flirt all night?”

Your face flushed even hotter, and you buried it in your hands, groaning. “We’re not flirting!” You insisted, though even you didn’t believe it.

Barty laughed, the sound warm and rich as he reached out to ruffle your hair. “Sure we’re not,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “Whatever you say.”

You swatted at his hand again, but this time, you couldn’t help the small, reluctant smile that tugged at your lips. No matter how frustrating he could be, he always had a way of making you forget why you were mad in the first place.

~~~

The common room was alive with celebration, the emerald and silver banners draped across the walls shimmering in the floating candlelight. Music pulsed softly in the background, mingling with the chatter and laughter of students sprawled across couches and cushions. The Ravenclaw-Slytherin match had been brutal, but the RavenClaw team had emerged victorious, and Barty- of course- had made himself the star of the night.

You were perched on the arm of a chair across the room, a cup of butterbeer in your hand, but your attention was focused on Barty, who was lounging on one of the larger couches near the hearth. A girl- a sixth-year Ravenclaw whose name you didn’t remember- was leaning far too close to him, her laugh too loud, her hand brushing his arm as she spoke.

Your stomach twisted, and you took a sip of your drink, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot of jealousy that had taken root. But the sight of her leaning closer, her hand lingering on Barty’s shoulder, made your blood simmer.

Pandora was the first to notice your pout. She had been sitting cross-legged on the floor near the couch, her chin resting on her hand as she observed the lively room. Her sharp eyes caught the way your gaze kept darting toward Barty and the Ravenclaw girl, and the faint downturn of your lips sent her curiosity spiraling.

“Did you just… pout?” Pandora asked, her tone laced with amusement. She sat up straighter, nudging Regulus with her elbow to get his attention. “Reg, are you seeing this?”

Regulus, ever the picture of detached elegance, arched a brow and looked up from the book he was pretending to read. He followed Pandora’s gaze, his eyes landing on your furrowed brows and the way your fingers gripped your cup a bit too tightly. A smirk slowly curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, this is new,” he drawled, closing his book with deliberate care. “She looks… upset. Over a person, no less. That can’t be right.”

Pandora giggled, shifting closer to you with an eager grin. “What’s the matter, love?” she teased, her voice sing-song. “You’ve got that look like someone just stole your favorite quill. What did she do?”

Your head whipped toward them, cheeks flushing under their amused scrutiny. “I don’t like her,” you blurted out, the words leaving your lips before you could stop them.

Pandora’s jaw dropped, and she gasped dramatically, clutching at her chest like you’d just delivered the most scandalous confession of the century. “You don’t like her?” she repeated, her grin widening. “You? The girl who likes everyone?”

Regulus leaned back in his chair, resting his chin in his hand as he observed you with quiet amusement. “I didn’t think it was possible,” he said lightly, his smirk deepening. “The golden girl of our odd bunch doesn’t like someone. Are you feeling alright?”

You groaned, turning away from them in a futile attempt to hide the heat spreading across your cheeks. “It’s not a big deal,” You muttered, your fingers tightening around your cup. “She’s just… annoying.”

Pandora’s laughter bubbled out again, and she leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement. “Annoying? How so? You’ve never called anyone annoying before.”

You bit your lip, casting a quick glance at Barty and the Ravenclaw girl. She was still leaning far too close, her laugh grating in your ears as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “She’s loud,” you mumbled, your voice tinged with irritation. “And she keeps laughing at everything he says like he’s Merlin reincarnated.”

“Oh, she’s loud, at a party” Pandora turned to look at Regulus in exaggerated aspiration, her tone dripping with mock seriousness. “How dare she.”

“And laughing?” Regulus added with a feigned gasp. “What an outrage.”

“She’s touching him.” You snapped, your voice a little louder than you intended. Both Pandora and Regulus froze for a moment, staring at you in stunned silence before breaking into twin peals of laughter.

“Touching him?” Pandora echoed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, darling, Barty would be thrilled to hear you now.”

“Tragic,” Regulus murmured, shaking his head with mock pity. “Jealousy really doesn’t suit you.”

“I am not jealous,” you said sharply, your voice a touch too defensive. The way they both exchanged knowing looks made your stomach twist even more.

“Oh, sure,” Pandora said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You’re not jealous. You just don’t like the girl because she’s breathing the same air as Barty.”

Regulus leaned forward, propping his elbow on his knee as he smirked knowingly. “Breathe a little louder, and she might vanish,” he teased, his tone smooth and laced with amusement. “You’re practically glaring a hole into the back of her head.”

You whipped your head toward him, cheeks burning hotter than the fireplace behind you. “I’m not glaring,” you snapped, though the defensive edge in your tone betrayed you.

Pandora was practically bouncing now, her grin threatening to split her face in two. “Oh, this is delicious,” she cooed. “You’re jealous. Admit it. Come on, it’s alright to say it.”

“I’m not jealous,” you insisted, though your voice cracked slightly on the last word. You took another sip of your butterbeer in a vain attempt to calm yourself, but the sight of the Ravenclaw girl leaning closer to Barty made your grip tighten on the glass.

Pandora leaned toward Regulus, cupping her hand around her mouth as if whispering a grand secret. “Do you think she realizes she’s been holding that butterbeer like she wants to hex it?”

Regulus tilted his head thoughtfully, his lips twitching. “I doubt it,” he murmured back, loud enough for you to hear. “She’s too busy deciding whether to hex the butterbeer or the girl.”

You let out a frustrated groan, setting your cup down with a louder-than-intended thud. “You’re both impossible.”

“And you’re completely transparent,” Regulus shot back smoothly. His silver eyes gleamed as he leaned closer, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt. “If you’re so bothered, go do something about it. Merlin knows Barty would fall over himself if you so much as batted your eyelashes.”

Pandora nodded fervently, her curls bouncing as she clapped her hands together. “Oh, yes! Just go over there and ruin her night. It’s what she deserves, really.”

You shook your head, determined to ignore them, but the Ravenclaw girl’s hand brushing Barty’s arm again made something snap inside you. Before you could stop yourself, you stood abruptly, drawing the attention of Pandora and Regulus.

“Finally,” Regulus muttered under his breath, a smug grin curling his lips.

“Go get him, love!” Pandora called after you, her voice sing-song and filled with glee.

Your stride across the common room was purposeful, your heart pounding as you ignored the heat of Regulus and Pandora's amused stares boring into your back. You weren’t even thinking; your legs seemed to be moving on their own, fueled by a mix of irritation and something deeper, something you weren’t ready to name.

Barty noticed you before you even reached him. His sharp eyes flicked up, his smirk softening into something unreadable as he leaned back against the couch, one arm slung lazily over the backrest. The Ravenclaw girl, oblivious to the shift in his expression, was still chattering on about something inconsequential, her fingers grazing his arm again.

You didn’t stop to acknowledge her. Without so much as a glance in her direction, you stepped into Barty’s space and, in one fluid motion, sat yourself down on his lap. 

The Ravenclaw girl froze mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open as her wide eyes darted between you and Barty. Pandora let out a loud, delighted gasp from across the room, and Regulus snorted, barely able to hide his amusement. Even Evan, who had been engrossed in a conversation with another group, glanced over with raised brows.

Barty, on the other hand, didn’t seem the least bit fazed. If anything, his smirk widened, and his hands came up instinctively, one settling on your waist while the other rested casually on your thigh, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t say a word as you settled into Barty’s lap, your arms crossing loosely over your chest as you stared up at him. Your expression wasn’t sassy or confrontational- it was soft, expectant, and patient, the kind of look only you could manage, one that could coax a response out of anyone without so much as a word. 

Barty’s smirk twitched, his sharp eyes softening as they met yours. The quiet patience in your gaze was like a silent challenge, and it drew him in immediately. The Ravenclaw girl’s voice faltered into awkward silence as his attention shifted entirely to you. 

“Something I can help you with, love?” he asked lightly, his tone teasing but his hands steady as they rested on your waist. His fingers flexed slightly, grounding you both in the moment.

Still, you didn’t speak. You only tilted your head a fraction, looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes that had always been his undoing. Your lips pressed into the faintest pout, and though it was subtle, Barty recognized it instantly. He couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound warm and rich as it rumbled in his chest.

Pandora, from her spot across the room, clutched at her heart dramatically. “Merlin, she’s too sweet! Look at her!” she whispered loudly, nudging Regulus, who arched a brow but remained otherwise composed.

Regulus’s silver eyes flicked to you and Barty, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “She’s not saying anything because she doesn’t have to,” he muttered, his voice dry but amused. “That look alone does all the work.”

Meanwhile, Barty was focused entirely on you, his smirk softening into something more tender as he leaned closer, his hand sliding up your back in a lazy, possessive motion. “Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a quieter, more intimate tone. “What is it? You’ve got my attention.”

You tilted your head slightly, your pout deepening just enough to tug at his chest. “You were busy,” you said softly, your voice carrying no hint of accusation, only quiet disappointment. 

Barty’s expression flickered, the teasing edge of his smirk replaced with something almost apologetic. He shifted slightly, pulling you closer until your knees bumped against his. “I wasn’t too busy for you,” he said, his tone softer now, his eyes searching yours. “You know that.”

Pandora let out a delighted squeal, practically bouncing in her seat. “Oh, I love this,” she crowed. “She’s not even mad- just quietly disappointed. It’s perfect.”

Evan groaned from his place by the fireplace, throwing his hands up. “It’s maddening, is what it is. She doesn’t even have to try, and he’s practically falling over himself.”

You were trying to be nice. You really were.

But she was still right there.

You tilted your head slightly, your pout giving way to a small, mischievous smile. Slowly, you leaned closer to Barty, your fingers lightly brushing against his shoulder as you looked up at him, your voice soft and teasing. “You know,” you began, your tone low enough that only he could hear, “I might have something for you.”

Barty’s smirk widened as he leaned in, his hand sliding up your back to rest between your shoulder blades. His eyes searched yours, flickering with intrigue. “Oh? And what might that be?”

You let him lean in closer, his face just inches from yours now, the scent of your perfume enveloping him. He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, inhaling deeply as if trying to commit it to memory. When he opened them again, his gaze was darker, more focused, his lips quirking in an almost predatory grin.

“A reward,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear as you tilted your head slightly, letting him catch another wave of your perfume. His grip on your waist tightened instinctively, and you felt the faintest tremor run through him.

“For the win?” he asked, his voice dropping to match yours, the words laced with anticipation. His free hand slid down to rest lightly on your thigh, his fingers flexing against the fabric of your skirt.

“For the win,” you confirmed, your smile growing as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by something softer, something more vulnerable.

“And where,” he asked, his tone still teasing but with an edge of genuine curiosity, “might I find this reward?”

You leaned in again, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “In your dorm room.”

The words hung between you like a challenge, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. Barty’s eyes widened just slightly, the faintest flush creeping up his neck before his smirk returned, sharper than ever.

Pandora let out a gasp from across the room, clutching at Regulus’s arm as she whispered, “Did she just say what I think she said?”

Regulus didn’t answer immediately, his silver eyes fixed on the two of you with quiet amusement. “She did,” he murmured, his lips twitching in the faintest hint of a smirk. “And I think she means it.”

Evan groaned dramatically, covering his face with his hands. “Merlin, this is unbearable. Just go already and put the rest of us out of our misery.”

You ignored them all, your attention locked on Barty as his smirk softened into something almost affectionate. “Well then,” he murmured, his voice low and warm as he tightened his grip on your waist. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

You slid off his lap with a graceful motion, your fingers trailing down his arm as you stood. Barty followed without hesitation, his movements fluid and deliberate as he kept his hand on the small of your back, guiding you toward the staircase.

Behind you, Pandora’s laughter rang out, bright and full of delight. “Oh, this is brilliant,” she exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat. “I’ve never seen anything so perfectly dramatic in my life.”

Regulus chuckled softly, shaking his head as he returned to his book. “Let them have their moment,” he said simply, his tone tinged with amusement. “It’s been a long time coming.”

As the two of you disappeared up the staircase, the sound of your friends’ laughter faded into the background, leaving only the steady rhythm of your footsteps and the quiet hum of anticipation crackling between you and Barty. 

You glanced over your shoulder, your smile softening as you caught his gaze. “You really weren’t too busy for me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

“Never,” Barty replied without hesitation, his voice steady and sincere. “Not for you.” 

And in that moment, as the door to your dorm room swung shut behind you, you realized that you didn’t need to say anything else. Because she was still down there on that couch.

~~~

The night of your graduation had felt surreal, every moment tinged with a bittersweet haze. The castle, your friends, the life you had known for so many years- it was all slipping away into the past. But there was Barty, steady and constant, as if anchoring you to the present. His presence, sharp and magnetic, was the only thing keeping the melancholy at bay.

After the celebrations, the laughter, and the endless teasing from Pandora and Evan, Barty had pulled you aside. His hand, warm and firm, clasped yours as he whispered in your ear, “Come with me.”

The suggestion, laced with something that felt more like a command than a request, sent a thrill down your spine. 

The night air was crisp as Barty guided you along the dimly lit path, his grip firm but gentle. You had no idea where he was taking you, but his silence spoke volumes. There was a nervous energy to him, the kind of tension he couldn’t quite hide. It wasn’t often that Barty Crouch Jr. seemed unsure of himself, but tonight, there was a vulnerability in his every step.

When you arrived, you couldn’t help but blink in surprise. The small estate before you was a far cry from the grand manors both of you had grown up in. The house was simple, modest, with ivy creeping up the stone walls and a soft glow emanating from the windows. It looked warm, inviting, but entirely unlike the opulence you had expected.

“Barty…” you began, but he shook his head, pulling you toward the door.

“Just… let me show you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. There was an edge of uncertainty to it, as though he wasn’t sure how you’d react.

He pushed open the door, revealing a small living room. The space was cozy, with a low ceiling and a worn but comfortable-looking sofa. A fireplace crackled softly in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the room. The furniture was simple, not at all like the ornate pieces that filled your childhood home, but it felt… lived-in. Real.

Barty glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, watching your reaction carefully. “It’s not much,” he admitted, his voice tinged with hesitation. “But I wanted it to feel like… like a home.”

You didn’t say anything at first, letting him guide you through the space. The kitchen was small, the kind of place where two people might bump elbows while cooking. The floors creaked softly under your feet, and the scent of wood smoke lingered in the air.

“It’s cozy,” you said finally, your voice soft. And you meant it. There was something about the simplicity of it all that felt refreshing, grounding. It wasn’t about grand gestures or flaunted wealth- it was real.

Barty seemed to relax slightly at your words, his shoulders dropping as he led you down a narrow hallway. “It’s nothing like what we’re used to,” he said, glancing at you again. “But I didn’t want this to be about… them.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I bought this place with my own money. Not my father’s.”

That caught you off guard, and you turned to look at him fully. His expression was unreadable, but his hands fidgeted slightly at his sides- a rare sign of nerves. “Barty…” you started, but he cut you off.

“I wanted to give you something that was ours,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Something that wasn’t tied to the Crouch name or anything else. Just… us.”

Before you could respond, he opened the final door at the end of the hall, revealing a bedroom that stood in stark contrast to the rest of the house. The room was larger than you expected, with high ceilings and a grand four-poster bed draped in rich white and cream fabrics. The walls were lined with shelves, some filled with books, others empty, waiting to be filled. A plush rug covered the wooden floor, and the faint scent of fresh paint lingered in the air.

“This is the only room that’s finished,” Barty admitted, his voice softer now. “I spent most of my time on it because… well, I wanted you to have a space that felt special. Somewhere you could feel like you belonged.”

You stepped inside, running your fingers over the edge of the bedframe. The room was beautiful, but it was the thought behind it that left you speechless. Barty had always been brash, confident to the point of arrogance, but this… this was different. This was him laying his heart bare.

“Why?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why do all of this for me?”

He stepped closer, his hands finding yours as he looked down at you. “Because you’re everything to me,” he said simply, his voice steady and sincere. “And I wanted you to have a place where you could feel that. Where you could see how much you mean to me.”

Your chest tightened at his words, a warmth spreading through you that you couldn’t quite describe. You glanced around the room again, taking in the details- the care he had put into every corner, every choice. It was all for you.

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “Barty… it’s perfect.”

Barty stood there, watching your expression with a vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see. His hands, normally so assured, fidgeted slightly at his sides before he clenched them into fists, as if trying to ground himself. The sight of you standing in the room he’d poured his heart into was almost too much to bear. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, a steady, insistent rhythm that only grew louder as the silence stretched between you.

You turned back to him, your eyes soft, full of emotions you hadn’t yet put into words. “Barty,” you murmured, stepping closer. “Why are you so nervous? This is… it’s beautiful.”

He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair in a rare display of uncertainty. “It’s not just the house,” he said, his voice low. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in. Barty had always been intense, magnetic, impossible to ignore, but this… this was different. There was a raw honesty in his gaze, a kind of vulnerability you weren’t used to seeing from him.

He took a step closer, his hands finding yours as he held them between you, his grip firm yet careful. “I’ve been trying to say this for years,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts to stay calm. “But every time, I stopped myself. I thought- maybe you’d laugh, or maybe you wouldn’t take me seriously.”

“Barty,” you began softly, but he shook his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly as if afraid you’d slip away.

“No, let me finish,” he said, his voice firmer now, though still tinged with that same vulnerability. “From the moment I met you, you’ve been it for me. The only person who’s ever made me feel like there’s something worth fighting for, something worth… building a life for.”

Your chest tightened at his words, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you stared up at him, your heart pounding in your ears. He stepped closer still, his hands releasing yours only to cup your face, his thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks.

“This house,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s not just for me. It’s for us. Because I want you to have a place that’s ours. A place where you can feel safe, loved, cherished. A place where you know, without a doubt, that you mean everything to me.”

Tears spilled over now, and you couldn’t stop them, even if you wanted to. His words, his actions, the sheer intensity of his gaze- it was all too much, too overwhelming in the best possible way.

“Barty,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I-”

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, the words escaping him in a rush before he could stop them. He froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as if realizing what he’d just said. But then he doubled down, his grip on your face firm but gentle as he continued, his voice steady despite the emotion threatening to break through. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t want to waste another second pretending I can be without you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as you searched his eyes, desperate to find some hint of hesitation, some sign that this wasn’t real. But there was nothing- only pure, unyielding devotion staring back at you.

“Marry me,” he repeated, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Be mine. Always.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The air between you crackled with unspoken emotion, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the space you shared. And then, finally, you nodded, a watery laugh escaping you as you threw your arms around him.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice breaking as tears streamed down your face. “Yes, Barty. Always.”

His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you close as he buried his face in your hair. You could feel the tension leaving his body, replaced by a warmth that seemed to envelop you both, grounding you in a moment you knew you’d remember forever.

Barty's arms tightened around you, pulling you so close you could feel every beat of his racing heart. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply as though committing every part of you to memory. For a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you standing in the center of a life he'd carefully crafted for this exact moment.

When he pulled back, his hands didn’t leave you. They slid down, trailing over your arms and settling firmly on your waist. His touch lingered, warm and deliberate, and his thumbs brushed over the fabric of your dress in slow, deliberate circles. His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unwavering, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like he was trying to ground himself in your words.

You blinked, still caught in the whirlwind of his confession, your lips trembling as you whispered, “Yes, Barty. Always.”

A quiet, almost desperate sound escaped him- a mixture of relief and something deeper, something darker. His hands moved again, sliding up your sides and coming to rest just below your ribs. His touch was firm but not forceful, grounding you as his head dipped closer to yours.

The first kiss was tentative, almost shy, his lips brushing against yours with a softness that belied the intensity simmering beneath the surface. It was slow, unhurried, as though he was savoring every second. But then he sighed against your mouth, a deep, shaky sound that seemed to break the fragile barrier between you.

Barty’s hands tightened on your waist as the kiss deepened, becoming more consuming, more insistent. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak, and his fingers gripped you like he was afraid to let go. He muttered something against your lips- soft, almost inaudible- but you caught the words anyway.

“Mine.”

The word sent a spark through you, igniting something you hadn’t realized was waiting just below the surface. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips firmly as he pulled you closer, eliminating any remaining space between you. His lips left yours, trailing a heated path along your jaw and down your neck, and he whispered again, his voice rough and breathless.

“My girl.”

You gasped, your hands finding their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as he continued his assault on your senses. His lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped you.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. His hands roamed over your sides, one sliding up to cup the back of your neck while the other pressed firmly against the small of your back, keeping you anchored to him. “Say you’re mine.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his lips returned to yours, claiming them with a renewed intensity. The hand on your neck tilted your head back slightly, giving him better access as he kissed you with a fervor that bordered on desperate. Every touch, every kiss, was a silent declaration, a promise etched into your skin.

“Barty,” you breathed against his lips, your voice trembling but certain. “I’m yours.”

A growl rumbled in his chest, and his hands tightened their hold on you, pulling you even closer. “My fiancée,” he muttered, the words almost a growl as they left his lips. “You’re my fiancée now.”

You could barely think, barely breathe as his words washed over you, each one sinking into your skin and branding itself into your very being. His kisses turned more fervent, more insistent, and his hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that left no doubt in your mind: you were his, completely and utterly.

The atmosphere in the bedroom shifted, the air thick with tension as Barty backed you toward the bed. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the suddenness of his movements, but his hands were there to steady you- firm, commanding, and undeniably possessive. Before you could say a word, he pressed his body to yours, his touch leaving a trail of heat wherever his hands grazed. 

“Barty-” but the words barely left your lips before he lowered his head, capturing your mouth with a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It was rougher this time, more insistent, as if he was claiming you with every movement. His hands slid down your sides, warm and steady, guiding you as he nudged you back onto the bed.

You let out a soft gasp as your back hit the mattress, but there was no time to process it before Barty climbed on top of you, settling himself firmly between your thighs. The weight of him against you was grounding, his presence overwhelming in the best way. His hand splayed across your side, his thumb brushing the curve of your hip in slow, deliberate circles that sent shivers coursing through your body.

He kissed you again, harder this time, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that left you breathless. His free hand slid up your body, his fingers trailing along the line of your ribs before settling just beneath your jaw. He tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss as his thumb brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your heart was racing now, thundering in your chest as his hand pressed more firmly against your throat. It wasn’t enough to hurt- never that- but just enough to make you hyper-aware of every beat of your pulse, every shallow breath that passed your lips. The sensation sent a dizzying rush through your veins, leaving you lightheaded and craving more.

“Look at me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. When you hesitated, your gaze flickering away, he pressed his nose to your cheek, letting out a sound that was nothing short of devastated. It was a quiet, broken noise, like it physically hurt him that you weren’t looking at him.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice softer now, tinged with something vulnerable. “Don’t look away.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed over your pulse point, his touch firm but careful. The weight of his gaze was almost too much, too intense, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, the dark orbs filled with an unspoken need that made your chest ache.

“There you are,” he said softly, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. His hand tightened slightly on your neck, just enough to make your head swim, and you felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk. “That’s my girl.”

Your cheeks flushed, the words sinking into your skin like a brand. His hand on your side slid lower, his fingers grazing the edge of your skirt as he pressed his body more firmly against yours. The heat of him was intoxicating, his presence all-consuming, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped you as his lips found your neck.

“Barty,” you gasped, your voice trembling as he nipped at the sensitive skin just below your ear. His teeth grazed your pulse point, and you felt his smirk against your skin as his tongue soothed the sting.

“I can feel your heart racing,” he murmured, his voice low and full of satisfaction. His hand on your neck flexed slightly, the pressure just enough to send a wave of dizziness through you. “It’s like it’s beating just for me.”

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, desperate for something to ground yourself as his kisses trailed down your throat. Every touch, every movement, was deliberate, calculated to drive you to the brink. And yet, despite the overwhelming intensity of it all, there was a tenderness to him- a care that shone through even in his most possessive moments.

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his gaze heavy with unspoken emotion. His hand slid up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he searched your face. “Tell me who you belong to,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Say it clearly.”

You swallowed hard, your lips parting as you tried to steady your breath. “B-Barty,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. “You.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and his grip on you tightened, his lips crashing against yours once more. This kiss was different- hungrier, more desperate, like he was trying to pour every ounce of his devotion into it. Merlin, it almost hurt. His hands roamed your body, one sliding down to grip your thigh as he pressed himself closer.

Barty’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper as his fingers pressed into your thigh, his grip firm and unyielding. “No one else,” he murmured, his tone low and reverent, like a vow. “No one else will ever leave a mark on you. Only me. Only my hands.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled over you, each syllable searing into your skin. His eyes burned with something primal, his usual mischievous smirk replaced by a solemn intensity that made your pulse race. He wasn’t teasing anymore- this was raw, unfiltered, and entirely Barty.

His hand slid higher, pushing the hem of your skirt up with deliberate slowness. The cool air brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his touch. His thumb pressed lightly into your thigh, and you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips. The sound made his smirk return, sharp and predatory.

“You feel that?” He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand traced a path upward. “That’s me. Just me. No one else gets to touch you like this.”

Your grip on his shoulders tightened,  your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he shifted closer, his body pressing against yours. His other hand cradled your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as his gaze locked onto yours. There was no escaping it, no looking away from the sheer possessiveness in his expression.

“You're so cute.” He chuckled, but his voice was firmer now, the words carrying a weight that left no room for argument. “So bloody trusting.”

“Not scared,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. The admission felt like both a surrender and a victory, and the way his eyes darkened made your chest tighten. “It's you.”

Barty let out a soft, almost triumphant laugh, his hand tightening on your thigh just enough to make you gasp. “Good girl,” he murmured, this time, it was his teeth that trailed down your neck. Before giving you a rather punishing bite. Your skin burned, tinted, but he still didn't let up. 

You gasped when he only bit down harder. Your legs flinching against him, only one able to raise as the other was kept down by his harsh grip. You were sure the spot was bruised.

It drove him mad.

You never voice protest against his abuse.

He cooed at you, like a dog for good behavior, before he finally let up. He kissed your soft skin as a feeble apology. His kisses turned rougher, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. You felt the faint sting of his touch, a possessive claim that made your heart race. “No one else,” he muttered against your skin, his voice almost a growl. “No one else will ever get this close to you. Not while I’m breathing.”

The intensity of his words, his touch, his presence- it was overwhelming, consuming, and yet you didn’t want it to stop. Barty had always been a force of nature, wild and untamed, but in this moment, he was entirely focused on you.

“Barty,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper as his hand slipped higher, his touch igniting every nerve in your body. “Please…”

He paused for a moment, his lips hovering over yours as he searched your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant. “Please what?” he asked, his voice low and filled with unspoken promise. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

You swallowed hard, your cheeks flushed as you met his gaze. The weight of his attention, the sheer intensity in his eyes, made it impossible to think straight. “I want…” Your words faltered, and he tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he waited.

“Say it,” he urged, his voice like a caress. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he leaned closer. “I need to hear you say it.”

You took a shaky breath, your fingers curling into his shirt as you whispered, “I want you.”

Barty’s smirk softened, his expression melting into something almost tender. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he murmured, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that left you breathless.

You could hardly register what happened next. How his hand slid down your throat, slow and careful. The soft sound of his buckle latch clicking against the floor. 

When he broke the kiss you were too far gone to say another word to him. A small trail of saliva connecting you two- leaving Barty awestruck at the proof of your mindless obedience. 

His girl.

[harveysweakness]

Pressing Charges

WARNING: TALK OF BEING MUGGED

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for so long!!!!

"And she's been saying that Y/N has been yelling at her left and right and on top of that she, I think, might not pass the-"

"What did you say?" Harvey interrupted, listening just barely enough for that snippet to catch his attention.

"Y/N has been yelling at her?" Mike questioned.

"Y/N has been yelling?"

"Yeah, at her first year associate. Anyway," Mike kept rambling and Harvey didn't listen one bit. You never yelled. The only time you ever raised your voice was when someone attacked somebody you cared about. And the fact that you were yelling did not sit right with Harvey at all.

-----

The day seem to drag on as Harvey stared at the clock. The office wouldn't get empty enough for him until 7pm and he knew you'd still be in your cozy corner office a hall down from him way past 7.

He couldn't risk seeing you during the day. The only person who knew him and you were growing closer was Donna, and Harvey knew she could keep a secret. Donna always knew what was going on in the office-

Harvey shook his head, frustrated that he didn't think of it earlier. Pressing the button on the intercom, he waited for her familiar voice. "Donna, can you come in here please?"

"What's up?" Donna asked as she plopped a seat in the chair across from Harvey's.

"Have you heard anything about Y/N?"

Donna looked a little nervous.

"Donna," he pushed, giving her a pointed look that meant he would not ask again.

"Someone heard her on the phone with someone talking about pressing charges."

Harvey's face turned more serious than it had been. "Did someone hurt her?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know, I wish I did."

"Thanks, Donna."

--------

As soon as enough people had left for the day, Harvey made his way down the hall, pausing in the doorway to your office, his heart breaking just a bit at the site. Your head was in your hands, one of your cream-colored blankets draped around your shoulders, and Harvey could only assume that the soft sniffle you gave was from crying.

You picked your head up a moment later, seemingly finally sensing a presence.

"What do you wa- Harvey," your tone softened at his name, eyes going from steely to tired.

"Hey," he greeted softly, finally stepping into your office and shutting the door behind him. He paused for a moment, not quite sure on the best course of action before you burst into tears. The man moved swiftly around your desk towards you. You waisted no time in wrapping your arms around him, burying your face into the jacket of his suit.

"Talk to me, sweetheart."

You pulled away enough to be able to speak, him moving to rest against the edge of your desk.

“Last night, I decided to walk instead of take a car.”

Harvey bit his tongue. You were at least a fifteen to twenty minute walk from the office and he knew for a fact that you hadn’t left while it was still light outside.

“I had made it almost halfway home when some guy came up behind me and hit me and tried to get my bag. I turned to fight,” -Harvey let out a small sigh, which you ignored- “and he pulled out a gun.”

“Y/N.”

You brushed away a stray tear and continued. “I must be the luckiest woman in the world, because there was a cop nearby, who pulled out his gun. The man was shot, he’s in the hospital currently.”

“My god,” Harvey said quietly. You hummed.

“I’m pressing charges, but I can’t get it out of my head.”

“Did you talk to your therapist about it?”

“How do you know I have a therapist?” You questioned, a small smile toying at your lips.

He shrugged. “I know everything.”

“You are not Donna,” you giggled.

“Nor would I ever dream to be.” You both laughed before it got quiet.

“I’m seeing my therapist tomorrow to talk about it.”

“Good. I hope it helps. If you need anything-“

“You’ll be the first one I go to,” you admitted softly. Harvey felt his chest tighten.

“The first?”

“Is that okay?”

“I’d be honored… It’s late, Y/N.”

You glanced at your computer screen, which read 9:24pm.

“I should get going, and so should you.”

Harvey stood and walked to where you had thrown your coat over the couch in the corner. You blushed when he held it open for you, cheeks reddening further when he gently pulled your hair out from under the warm material, his fingers brushing ever so lightly against the back of your neck.

“Let me walk you out. Did you call Frank?”

You nodded. “He should be pulling up any second.”

You followed Harvey to his office, watching him throw his coat on and pack up his bag. You felt a sadness inside, and you weren’t quite sure why. Maybe you didn’t want to say goodnight to him just yet.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Definitely.”

The two of you walked side by side towards the elevators, riding down in silence, both exhausted by the day. After you exited the elevator and made your way through the revolving door to the building, you felt Harvey’s hand on your back, providing the security you needed to feel safe. He walked you to your car, Frank standing at the driver’s side, watching the pedestrians walk by with narrowed eyes. Harvey felt better knowing your driver was someone who cared about you too.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” Frank greeted.

“Hi, Frank, thank you.”

Harvey moved to open the backseat door for you, offering his hand to help you into the car. You took it, but didn’t get in, instead choosing to look at him.

“Thank you,” you whispered, hoping your depth of your gratitude was evident.

“Of course, sweetheart. Get home safe.”

You bit your lower lip, not missing the way his eyes flickered to it. He looked like he wanted to lean in, so did you, but you just gave a small smile and leaned up and around to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight, Harvey,” you murmured, before stepping into the car and taking a graceful seat.

“Goodnight.” He shut the door once he made sure you were clear and you didn’t miss his smile as you pulled into the streets of the city.

[rozaceous]

tcba epilogue: sasumari snippet

this was the main bulk of the epilogue, written even before i posted tcba on ao3. that is how old. ergo, some grain of salt w details pls as it is a v rough draft and some things would have to change for continuity or whatever, but this is the thing it all was angling for. sasumari qpr confirmed.

Watching Sasuke handle the freshly-changed newborn with such intense gentleness while she scrubs off her hands with a shake of chakra, Mariko is bludgeoned with the realization that Sasuke likes babies, and that a sense of responsibility hasn't been his sole driving motivation. And while she reels dizzily from that revelation, she thinks, We can have babies.

And then Mariko stops thinking for a while because that was one too many revelations for it not even being dawn yet.

She has no idea what they think they're doing in the first place. The two of them coming across a raided village with a dying pregnant woman that Mariko hadn't been able to save, and then deciding that they couldn't just leave an infant in a smoking village to die, and then not trusting that the girl wouldn't just meet the same fate the next town over had turned into Mariko manipulating her own hormones to be able to nurse a two day-old baby. And here they are, nearly two weeks out, traveling with a baby in between destabilizing hidden villages and international economies and dodging mercenaries, and she's realizing that the truth of it is that neither of them is gutsy enough to say that they don't think they're giving her up besides all of that. Instead, they've been politely not talking about just such a thing so that they can maintain their fiction of being ruthless shinobi instead of a pair of dysfunctional nineteen year-olds who randomly adopt a baby together despite leading desperately dangerous lives.

God and her boobs hurt. Breast-feeding is no joke; her nipples are chapped and her boobs are sore from going from zero to nursing in the span of thirty-six hours. Her entire upper torso hurts, actually, from having to accommodate the abrupt change in her weight, and the hormonal shift means that she's breaking out for the first time in her life because she's too busy maintaining the hormones and keeping a newborn alive and happy besides her usual maintenance of the Sharingan to have focus to spare to use medical chakra to get rid of her acne.

At least she hasn't actually given birth, because Mariko isn't sure she would be even moderately functional if that were the case.

But instead of pondering any of that mess too deeply, she lets Sasuke bundle the baby up to sleep with him and passes the fuck out. Shun has watch, it's fine.

She doesn't say anything in the morning, either. She feeds the baby, feeling all sorts of soft and sappy and not entirely sure that it's entirely hormonal, because when she looks up, Sasuke is staring at her from across the campsite, staring at them, and to anyone else his expression might be unreadable, but to her all she sees is naked want.

And fine, it's only been a week and a half and by civilian standards they aren't even legal adults yet, but Sasuke has never once complained when the baby cried, has taken her for changing numerous times without Mariko asking, does extra chores, and asks to hold her. Granted that last is in his own, 'I'll take her' Sasuke-style verbiage that makes it seem less about him expressly wanting to do so, but Mariko knows him. And Mariko knows that if she were so diametrically opposed to this entire enterprise, she never would have made herself start lactating, and would've foisted the baby off on the first set of reasonably competent-looking parents she could find, that she wouldn't sing to the baby to calm her from her fussing, wouldn't share comments with Sasuke about how small her hands are with one of those hands gripped around her pinky, wouldn't speculate with him what color her eyes would settle as. (Sasuke thinks dark blue, but Mariko thinks black. She says that she has statistics on her side and Sasuke says that he has the power of basic observation on his and is she sure she isn't still colorblind.)

So to see him staring like that doesn't surprise her as such, but it makes her look away because of how naked it makes her feel to look back. And not naked as in, here she is in the middle of a mountainous forest tits-out kind of naked, because if this was about clothes then they've seen each other naked plenty of times, but naked as in, returning his gaze means he knows that she's thought 'we can have babies,' or at least the equivalent of that thought, and having Sasuke know that about her when she's only known that about herself for less than twelve hours is a bit much.

And so yes, it's all less surprising and more very tender feeling, like a spot that's liable to bruise, and Mariko is just enough of a coward to not to want to prod at it too much.

Instead she looks down at her baby--

And slams the mental brakes because yep, she's in for it now, she's really done it, there's no going back, the river has been crossed. Ha. Ha ha.

Well. No more fooling herself.

She looks back at Sasuke, who's still watching them, makes a sort of tilt of her head that means come here, and then Sasuke's at her side instead of filleting fish, kneeled on the ground where she's cross-legged.

"She needs a name," is what Mariko says, almost like she's hearing someone else say the words. "We can't just keep calling her anoko or Ko-chan." She pauses, thinks a moment, and says dubiously, "Unless you want to name her Kou. I guess that would be…efficient."

Lazy is more like.

Sasuke's eyes go a bit wide. He looks down at the child in question. "A name, huh?"

---

They return to the base in Sound by the time Yasumi is a month and a half old, and she's snug and hidden in her wrap against Mariko's chest under her kimono top and haori, so they don't draw many strange looks until they're waylaid by Juugo and Karin as they're setting down their packs in their dusty entryway and Mariko has to dodge Karin's hug.

"Uhh," says Karin, confused and apologetic, looking her over more carefully, questing for injuries.

"I'm fine," Mariko says hastily. "It's just--"

As if cued, Yasumi starts to whimper and snuffle.

All four of them freeze, and Mariko tries not to glance sideways at Sasuke like a caught-out preteen.

"Is that…a baby?" says Karin cautiously.

"Maybe," says Mariko, like a dumbass.

Yasumi cries louder. Mariko winces and starts shifting fabric around until she's latched onto a nipple. Juugo only seems to realize he's staring at her naked boob after several long moments of shared speechlessness, and then looks away politely, if wild-eyed.

"I'm pretty sure there's no 'maybe' about that baby," says Karin, sounding a bit faint. "Like, that is definitely a baby sucking on your tit, Mariko."

"I mean, you're not wrong."

Sasuke is determinedly not meeting anyone's eye.

"I'm sure that we didn't leave the two of you alone long enough for this to have happened," Juugo says.

Mariko feels a deep flush cover her face, sees something similar happening along Sasuke's cheekbones and ears. If they weren't in the middle of having to explain a mystery baby, she'd think it was adorable. She's only seen him blush a handful of times in her life.

"Five months is not long enough for a baby," Karin agrees. "So why--how--baby?!"

"We found her," Sasuke says. "Her mother died, the village was basically ash--we couldn't leave her."

"So naturally the best option is to just adopt her," Karin says sarcastically.

Neither Sasuke nor Mariko reply to that.

"Oh my god!" Karin bursts out. "Seriously?! You found some strange baby and decided to just keep her?!"

Juugo closes the front door.

"You two are some of the most wanted people on the entire Continent! The bounties on your heads are worth a small country! And you just randomly adopt a baby?! Are you stupid?! You--I--since when are the two of you even sleeping together?!"

Mariko and Sasuke frown in unison at that, because what does that have to do with it?

"Technically we've slept together since the age of twelve," Sasuke says, surly.

"Oh, don't be--you know what I mean! Whatever, you've been doing the whole bedroll-sharing thing for years, blah blah! I mean, Mariko's had this whole under-the-table booty call thing off and on with Haku, and you two are connected at the hip, but you've never been together." But Karin retracts the finger she's been jabbing in their direction, looking between them with sudden uncertainty. "Right? You weren't--you're not together?"

"We haven't been secretly having sex for the past few years, no," Mariko says dryly. Meanwhile, Yasumi detaches herself from her breast, making soft noises. "Not that it's your business, really."

Karin puffs right back up, bright hair tossing over a shoulder, and hands on her hips. "Well, excuse me, but when you bring back a baby together and are implying that she's yours now--you're basically saying that you're her parents!"

Mariko stiffens, because that's a word that she's successfully avoided thinking, even though she's thought the equivalent of its meaning with quite a bit of depth. But when she looks over to Sasuke, he's just frowning at Karin, apparently confused.

"Who else would I have children with but Mariko?" he asks.

Karin has no reply to that; her jaw is locked open. Juugo has his eyebrows up, but doesn't look like he's had the rug pulled out from under him the way Karin does.

Mariko--Mariko can't say exactly the same as Sasuke, mostly because Sasuke says it like he's never even thought about having children except in the context of 'with Mariko.' And Mariko, in contrast, has thought about having children a lot, because talented kunoichi without bloodlines were considered valuable in a way that meant that there was a lot of semi-public conversation about who she'd make a good match for back in Konoha, as soon as she'd visibly hit puberty. Shinobi placed a lot of stock in--well, in one's stock, and to avoid inbreeding to the point of injury, clans liked to bring in fresh blood that was unlikely to rock the genetic boat. Or, hopefully, improve it. And having graduated in a class full of clan heirs and with bloodline geniuses for peers, while herself having gotten a swift series of promotions and an apprenticeship with one of the village's most notorious shinobi…Mariko had always been considered a hot commodity insofar as the older generation was concerned. Her relationship with Haku had garnered a lot of attention, and the possibility of him marrying into Konoha and having children had been a big reason for it.

So if Mariko's ever thought seriously about having children one day, she'd either thought that it wasn't likely because she was planning a societal revolution and was likely to die before reproducing or just be too damn busy, or she'd thought that she might pop out a kid or two with whomever was most convenient to marry and do her best not to fuck them up irreparably.

Hearing Sasuke essentially say that he wouldn't consider having children with anyone but her is functionally the same as when she'd thought 'we can have lots of babies' in a sleep-deprived stupor: it's a conclusion that she should have arrived at sooner, but is incredible and stunning in how normal it felt when she stopped and really thought about it.

Mariko takes Yasumi out of her wrap and faces her towards Karin.

"She's super cute," Mariko says solemnly. "We named her Yasumi. She sleeps a ton and is ridiculously snuggly. We want you to be her godmother."

She shifts Yasumi into Karin's arms, who takes her seemingly on autopilot with an expression like she's been hit over the head. Mariko doesn't even have to tell her to support her head.

Karin stares at Yasumi like she's never seen a baby before in her life.

"We were going to ask both of you, actually," says Sasuke. "To be godparents."

"Me?" says Juugo, alarmed.

"You," Sasuke confirms.

"Naruto'll be pissed when he finds out," adds Mariko, "but I basically raised that guy and he shouldn't be allowed around small children unattended for at least another decade. Besides the whole political situation thing."

"If it's really that important, he can be a godparent later," Sasuke says dismissively.

Mariko turns to him with narrowed eyes. "Someone's getting ahead of himself."

Sasuke seems to realize what he's said and looks as close as he ever gets to sheepish. "Sorry."

"Mmhm."

"Of course this is what you do," Karin says dully. "We leave the two of you alone for five months and think, 'Oh, well, the plan is already for them to fuck things up, how bad can it get?' and then we get reminded that it's you two and that when left unattended you'll both take down an international human trafficking market and find a stray baby to adopt."

"They weren't necessarily any better when we were there to try to stop them," Juugo says, smiling crookedly as he stands closer to Karin, peering at Yasumi. "I know you remember starting an entire labor movement with the civilian printer's guild in Grass when we were just there to steal a press."

"Just because I remember doesn't mean I want to be reminded," Karin grouses.

Sasuke apparently is satisfied that the situation is more or less resolved and sets about unpacking, dragging their bags just off the kitchen; Mariko follows suit and sweeps her chakra around the hall's surfaces, and then the kitchen's, and collects all the dust into a single great bunny of allergens, opens the kitchen window, and has it hop outside. Sasuke turns to stare at her for that last bit.

"Gross," he informs her.

She just shrugs. She animates dust into literal bunnies--sue her. It's not her fault that not everyone appreciates a good pun.

[thatdeadaquarius]

THE SAGAU FANFIC ONE-SHOT WINNER IS...

🎊🎉🌿Eldritch! Reader AU🌿🎉🎊

Just a small annoucement for the winner, though I'm sure we all saw the results lol

Have a snippet, hope you enjoy!

*disclaimer: subject to change, this is a draft, no finalized version yet.

At least, you were pretty sure of where you were now. But that didn't mean it made any more sense. You hadn't recognized it at first, but the Irminsul was unmistakable after a minute of looking at it and the surrounding blue. The lights were incredible, with sparkles and stars floating up from the ground. Strange, nearly mechanical patterns flared out from its branches. The only difference between the Irminsul in-game versus the real one you see now is the rapid swelling and filling out of its trunk. As you had woken up more and more, ignoring the strange state of your body for now, it had let out weirdly nostalgic noises. Like a computer booting up, and a million other digital pings or tunes as it grew. As you tentatively reach a hand out to touch the trunk, a familiar book materializes. The dark blue pages flip to the first page instead of to the middle of the book. ...isn't this usually the really obscure "Archives" animation from the Paimon settings page? What's it doing here?? In gold writing that hovers slightly above the pages, your (presumed) stats display. The eerily familiar Genshin Impact font rapidly types itself out from left to right. /gamemode: admin *Executing... *Executing... *Loading... *Loading... *... *...Success! *Your gamemode has been changed. " Player." [ADMIN.] EXP: 1000000#%$+??? DEF: ?%@****+~?? ATTK: ??*!!%^<=+? POWERS: - ??";*&%[]\/%? - &%#@?<_++}] - ~`*(-_+}|\\!!??^& ...you decide to stop looking at your... stats, for now. Because more importantly, as you pull your hand back from the book (letting it float in place in front of the Irminsul trunk again), you notice something even more off. Your hand. It's... wrong. As you trail your eyes up your arm, you choke back a sense of panic. Sure enough, when you bring the right arm over to poke and try to smear the seemingly black paint that drenches your left arm, it too is covered in black. Your arms are pitch black. And as you attempt to touch your forearm for more answers, only to phase through it... you begin to think maybe this is not, in fact, paint. And as you realize you are hovering, instead of standing in place, you begin to think this is, in fact, the very real world of Genshin Impact. ...you decide to lay back down on the weird blue ground (?) and take a nap.

Maybe start today over.

☆

I'll be working on asks in the mean time!

But this'll be higher priority/posted soon bc I'm worried I'll forget abt it otherwise lmao

Idk if anybody cares that much, but I'll go ahead and ask just in case:

I hope you guys are having a great week, wherever you may be!

Safe Travels,

💀♒️

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr

@yomilyy / @0rah-s / @idontknowwhatimdoingbutweball / @blackstar-gazer

(^^^ dw you'll still get tagged when the actual piece is out! :)

[girl-lostconnection]

I like to open my drafts once in a while to add things here and there but it’s so funny, how the lined up things look.

Because that’s an entirely different kind of party happening there, like

Alpha!Kyle x Alpha Reader: *blasting on full volume in not sound proof headphones* I WANNA RUIN OUR FRIENDSHIP WE SHOULD BE LOVER INSTEAD I DONT KNOW HOW TO SAY THIS CAUSE YOU REALLY MY DEAREST FRIEND *gets louder* WE SHOULD BE LOVERS INSTEAD

Beautiful fish AU: so you know it’s hard to feel wanted…when nobody wants you

Communications AU: *singing in the kitchen in nothing but big T-shirt* so let’s just skip the small talk, don’t mean to be a prick. Now let’s get down to business, all I need to taste is your *pause* lips

Animal to Animal AU: our obsessions become our ultimate doom since by putting a person on a pedestal one puts a veil over their eyes and becomes blind to things otherwise obvious

Acceleration AU: *in their entirely separate bubble, warm and comfortable, looking through JUSK website for new bed and blankets*

Dozen unfinished Fruit Bat AU snippets: *enthusiastically dancing Greek sirtaki in a circle around thriving Communications AU*

All my Hybrid AUs: *joining the Communications AU* take your shirt off and spin it around

[lennsart]

Most of the wips I write these days can be summarized by "Legend gets hurt in fucked-up ways, and then he gets hugs" :)

(I'm fine shhh)

But I had this sitting in my drafts, and it's like the comfort part to a hurt/comfort, except I didn't like the hurt part, so posting this probably doesn't make sense, but.. I just wanted the boys to hug

Context + snippet under the cut !

Basically, Legend has been abducted for ransom (I think it was inspired by a whumptober prompt) and he didn't have a stellar time there. The rest of the chain rescues him, but they're worried he'll wake up confused at night, so they decide to watch over him. And they're supposed to take turn, but they all kinda end up sleeping next to him :)

Have this little Four POV that I quite like and feels like it can be posted without context :

Four expected to see two people in the room. One awake, that he would be about to replace, and the other asleep, that he would watch.

He hadn't expected three sleeping dudes.

He had to pause and go back to the hallway to laugh, muffling his chuckles in his sleeve. Of course Sky would have wanted to hug Legend and would have fallen asleep. Of course Hyrule would have let them, and promptly fallen asleep as well.

When he came back in and carefully closed behind him, he noticed with fondness that Legend, at least, looked perfectly content. He was sleeping on his back, Sky hugging his right arm, and he held Hyrule's hand with his left.

The traveler was mostly on the ground, head and arms on the mattress. Four winced ; that couldn't be comfortable.

Alright, he gave up (as if he hadn't as soon as he noticed them). He'd watch them three sleep, if only to gush about how cute they were tomorrow.

(He hoped Wind would bring his pictobox for his turn of watch in the morning.)

He got on Hyrule's side, and gently nudged him. This one hummed sleepily.

" - Shh, don't wake them up. " Four whispered. " Hop in.

- What...? " the traveler asked in confusion.

Four bit back a laugh at how asleep he sounded.

" - Get in the bed. " he ordered.

Hyrule may not really understand what was happening, but he didn't need to be told twice. He climbed in, wincing when he moved his legs, and abandoned Legend's hand to hug his waist, resting his head on his stomach.

The veteran softly hummed, but didn't fully wake up.

Four sat on one of the scarce empty spots of the bed, giggling to himself. He was happy that this watch had taken such a sweet turn ; he had expected to get lost in his own mind, trying to understand how they could have let one member of their group go through that. 

...

Instead, he had three sleepyheads cuddling, and he would trade for nothing in the world.

The last free spot on the mattress, above Hyrule and next to Lege, was probably too small for someone to sleep there.

...Well. He was small too, and mostly slept curled up anyway.

But, no ! He had decided he'd stay awake. No matter how comfortable those three looked, no matter how much he'd like to hug the vet, too, he would fulfill his mission.

Legend's hand opened and closed in his sleep, and he extended it further. Four blinked, and reached with his left hand. 

In a second, he was trapped, Legend satisfied with the hand he found and holding tight onto it.

...

Alright, that wouldn't be comfortable to stay sitting in this condition. Plus Legend looked like he wanted the smith to stay, and his goal had always been to watch for him, right ?

He curled up in the little free spot, his hand still in Legend’s, and definitely did not fall asleep in a matter of minutes.

[artficlly]

daughter of the rotsál snippet

hi all, ive been hit with my usual seasonal depression yippe... my goal for this month was to write 50k words. i am currently at 37k on the first draft of the daughter of rotsál. this fic is turning out to be a lot longer than i first anticipated it would be so it's been a bit overwhelming to work on. per usual my imposter syndrome is telling me i'm a bad writer (as is the curse of a creative). thought i'd share a snippet with you all, so here is a full scene where isolde the oc meets bucky for the first time.

in the mean time while i suffer writing this first draft, would you guys be interested in seeing some more snippets or lore bits? i did contemplate writing a one-shot just so i would have something more to post than these ramblings haha. let me know!

Head held high, Isolde strode through the emerging path, ignoring the whispers and stares. 

“Ah, here she is.” Father Dreykov spoke, his hand finding the small of Isolde’s back as he guided her before the Naraki leadership. “Isolde. The bride.”

The Naraki leadership loomed before her, a half-circle of men clad in armour and furs, each radiating authority. The man in the seat was undeniably the Ealdorman Steve of House Rogers. He sat tall, his posture regal yet relaxed, his broad shoulders draped in a wolf fur cloak, his armour battle-worn, streaked with faint scratches and dents. His face was as commanding as the rest of him—a square jaw, strong cheekbones, and a mouth set in a line of quiet contemplation. His golden hair was tied back, though a few strands had escaped to frame his face. His blue eyes settled on Isolde with an unsettling intensity. His wife, Lady Peggy, stood tall and poised, a hand resting lightly on Steve’s shoulder. 

Isolde was sure that if Lord Steve wasn’t already married, she would have been offered as a bride to him instead. Isolde swallowed hard as Peggy’s gaze lingered, her expression unreadable. There was no malice in her eyes, but neither was there comfort. Isolde got the impression that this was not a woman who tolerated weakness—not in herself, not in her husband, and certainly not in anyone who might step into their world.

“She is Idamirian.” Lord Steve spoke, a hint of surprise in his words. 

“Well, yes. She was once before she became a daughter of the Rotsál.” Father Dreykov replied, and Isolde recognised a slight hesitancy in his words, as if he was carefully selecting each that passed his lips. “Do you take issue with this?”

Isolde’s chest tightened.

“No. The opposite.” Lord Steve raised his hand to absentmindedly stroke the stubble across his jaw. “I wasn’t aware that any from Idamir survived.”

They didn’t. Hatred coiled in Isolde’s gut like a mighty serpent, and it took everything in her not to sneer at the Ealdorman. His words were so casual, so dismissive—the anger that roared in her veins was as hot as any molten rock that rained from the sky. Of course the Naraki hadn’t thought of the repercussions; of course, they had thought Idamir extinct except those already married into their bloodlines. 

“I expect most didn’t.” Father Dreykov chuckled in relief. “Isolde was one of the few we managed to save during The Black Dawn.”

“An Idamirian daughter of the Rotsál…” Lord Steve pondered aloud. His pronunciation of Rotsál rolled across his tongue with a rumble, his southern accent thick. “A good choice, priest. I will give you that. There is worth in such a bride. She speaks our language, I presume?”

Yes. Yes, she did. Isolde remembered quite vividly the number of times she had been scolded and beaten for her southern accent slipping through in etiquette classes. The Rotsál aimed to neutralise, ensuring a girl could fit in any and all situations. She had not spoken the language in nearly a decade, so she imagined she would be rusty and stiff in ability, but she had spent the first thirteen years of her life communicating in nearly strictly the southern tongue. 

“No, not that I am aware. The Southclaw is not exactly something we cultivate when raising these girls.”

Isolde held her tongue, but annoyance swept through her. Her knowledge of the language would have to be a surprise for her husband once they were wed. Her husband… she wondered which of the armed thegns positioned around and behind Steve would be him. They all had an equal bulkiness to their stature, pure muscle and strength, lined with scars. She did not dare squint too closely at them nor meet their eye. 

“A shame. She will have to learn.” Steve replied with a sigh, settling further into his seat. “What exactly do you cultivate in a bride, priest? I have only ever known your Rotsálian daughters to be assassins, or they meddle in politics that aren’t their own, dressed up in riches to disguise the fact that below it all, they are just simple whores.”

The casual way in which Steve spoke to Father Dreykov astonished Isolde; it was as if disrespect dripped from his every word. It was a carefully constructed vision of mutual respect between the two; that was for sure. All for the sake of alliances. Yet Steve seemed eager to push the boundaries, prodding at Father Dreykov in the hopes that he may pop. 

Isolde’s eyes shot over to look at Father Dreykov, equal parts shock and equal parts horror seeping through her neutral facade. Father Dreykov, to his credit, had not gone red in the face; rather he puffed out his chest and let out a strained chuckle. “That is why daughters of the Rotsál are so special, you see… they are trained to be anything you need them to be. I would not… doubt their prowess.”

Lord Steve’s curiosity peaked, and he leant forward in his seat. “So this one is a bride, but if required, she can be an assassin? A whore?” 

“If that is what you want from her, then yes.”

Steve leant back in his seat once more with a chuckle, looking over his shoulder at a warrior who stood half-drenched in the shadows. “You hear that, Bucky? An assassin in your mix. Is this to your liking?”

Steve’s words hung in the air, a strange blend of jest and command, and as the name was spoken, the figure in the shadows began to move. Slowly, deliberately, the man called Bucky stepped forward, peeling himself from the darkness like a predator emerging from its den. The flickering firelight from the torches cast sharp, angular shadows across his face, revealing a visage that seemed carved from ice.

The infamous Bucky of House Barnes, the White Wolf, the Vetur Soldat, Thegn and Warlord was every inch the Naraki warrior. His shoulders were broad, his frame tall and imposing, clad in dark leather armour. The left pauldron bore faint, jagged etchings in the Naraki style, designs that marked him as a warrior of high standing, though not overly ornate. Across his shoulders a mantle of white wolf fur, its edges worn and weathered by years of riding beneath ash-laden skies

His face was a harsh masterpiece, handsome in a way that unsettled more than it comforted. A strong jawline was covered with stubble, two days old, Isolde estimated. His cheekbones were sharp, his nose slightly crooked—broken at least once in his past. The most striking feature, however, were his eyes: cold, piercing, and unrelenting. Steel blue, they cut through the dim light. They were the eyes of a man who had seen too much and felt too little, who measured the world and its people with a calculated detachment.

His hair, dark and shoulder-length, was pulled back loosely, a few messy strands falling forward to frame his face. A scar ran from the corner of his jaw up to his cheekbone. His left hand rested on the pommel of his sword, the leather-wrapped hilt worn smooth from use. 

“She looks too weak… too small to do any real damage, don’t you think?” The man replied, his tone callous and cold, though edged with a cruel amusement. A rumble of laughter passed over the tent. His expression barely shifted as he scanned her from head to toe, his lips pressing into a thin line that spoke of disappointment—or disdain. Whatever he was looking for, he did not see it in her. Isolde recognised the undeniable sting of disappointment in his expression. His words, though directed at Steve, were aimed at Isolde, each one sinking into her like a barbed arrow.

“You want a different bride?” Steve queried. Isolde held her breath. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise, even if it felt like her cheeks burned in shame under the scrutiny of so many eyes. She would never hear the end of it when she returned to Rotsál Manor, denied and dismissed. Spoiled goods. The other Sisters would mock her relentlessly, not even good enough for a Naraki Savage. Would she ever be offered another mission? Or would she be cast away, ruined? How could she look Natasha in the face… how could she face Sister June—

“No. She will do.”

Despite the hatred and the disgust, Isolde found herself exhaling sharply in relief. She would do.

She would do.

Father Dreykov gave her a pleased look, the other Father’s bristling in approval.  

Isolde noticed how Lady Peggy subtly twitched, her nails digging into the shoulder of her husband. The blond man tipped his chin up, meeting the eye of his wife. Then, with a gentle elegance, the brunette woman leant over to whisper into her husband's ear.

“My wife wishes to ask a question.” Steve spoke up, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. Bucky, who had begun his retreat back into the shadows, hesitated.

“Of course.” Father Dreykov offered with a slight bow of his head. Isolde wondered if the Father’s skin crawled every time he was forced to show respect to these Horselords. She wondered if rage boiled beneath the surface, knowing he had to treat these inferior men as equals. 

“Does your bride have no tongue?” Lady Peggy’s tone cut through the tent like a knife. The crowd shifted in agreement. “Does she not speak? I would like to hear her speak on this matter of marriage before any finalisation.”

Isolde’s eyes shifted to Father Dreykov. The Father, knowing how many eyes lay upon them, subtly nodded his head in permission. 

“I speak, my lady.” Isolde silently thanked Lord Velka that her voice held steady. 

Lady Peggy’s brow quirked in surprise, a delighted smirk pulling at her lips. Even Lord Bucky, in all his indifference, grew still at the sound of her voice. 

“Idamirian… your mother was a healer, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“And your father a blacksmith?”

“No. He was a hunter.”

Lady Peggy’s head quirked in surprise. 

“And you can ride a horse?” 

“Yes.”

“What about running a household, a village? The duties expected of a thegn's wife?”

“Yes.”

Peggy paused, a small hmph passing her lips. Her fingers trailed a pattern across her husband's shoulder, swirling in thought as she continued to assess Isolde with clever eyes. “And how old were you? The day of the Black Dawn?”

The memories flooded back to her. The earth rocked, the walls shaking so hard that dust fell from the roof. Dishes clattered, clay bowls and plates slipping off shelves and shattering by the hearth. The explosion, the boom of it so loud that she thought her head would be split in two…her mother, her face was blurry now, ushering her from the house as the walls caved in. You must go. You must run. Ash rained from the sky, coating every surface. In the distance, a plume of smoke so large, an indescribable mass—

Isolde swallowed back the bitter taste, relaxing her jaw to ensure the words she spoke did not sound through grit teeth. “Three and ten.”

“Which makes you…”

“Three and twenty.”

The question confused Isolde. What was the Lady looking for, evidence that she was unfit? That she was a child, unfitting of such a position? 

“And do you consent to this marriage?”

A quizzical expression slipped onto her face before she could catch it, her body twisting to glance at Father Dreykov as if asking what he made of the question. She found herself stumped momentarily, consent? Why would she need to consent when it was Lord Velka’s will?

“I do.” Isolde finally replied, spine straightening.

“No, do you truly consent to this marriage? You have not been forced or persuaded into this?”

Maybe her confusion betrayed her, or perhaps her tone was not final enough. Her gaze shifted to Father Dreykov once more, brows knitting together before she spoke up once more, more forcefully this time. “I do—”

“Don’t look at the priest. Look at me.” Lady Peggy cut her off immediately, and Isolde snapped her eyes back to meet hers. There was a fierceness to her tone but an underlying worry Isolde could interpret. “Do you consent? You can say no. Tell me, truthfully.” 

The tent had fallen into a hush. Lord Bucky watched her carefully with narrowed eyes. She only now realised that the lid and waterline were marked with a smudged kohl, adding to the intimidation of his stare. Isolde was consenting, wasn’t she? She had trained her entire life for a mission as important as this—why would her opinion, her decision, ever come into question? She had no reason to question her autonomy; The Order of Rotsál knew what was best for her. This was her mission, her path.

“I consent to this marriage, my lady.” Isolde cut back, words final.

Peggy inhaled sharply, then with a tight nod, she turned to look at her husband. It seemed Isolde’s words had convinced her, or at least for the moment. 

Steve looked up at his wife with a smile, eyes wide with unmistakable love. “Wonderful. Tonight, we will celebrate. Come nightfall tomorrow, they will be wed, and our two clans will be bound by blood.”

[thelongestway]

Very-very tired for many reasons, but I made it with a very rough draft of the next chapter, ahaha. :P (Do not write near 4000 words in one sitting and stop on a tricky moment, that will block you!)

Very rough because I am very sleepy, will see about editing etc tomorrow.

Edit: Well, it took two days, but I basically added another half-chapter here in the beginning, and will need to quit fiddling with this by now - I'm growing pretty blind to the damn thing! I think I'll leave this one for the edits afterwards and move on.

Chapter 30: Preparations

Preparing for the war game was sort of like preparing for the hacker's game, except I wouldn't have ART with me, and I didn't have the option of just waiting out the opposition until they gave up. (Though letting the humans wear themselves out and then just walking past them would probably have made for a really effective tactic. But we were on a time limit.)

Instead, I waited for the humans to finish their preparations and answered the occasional polite tap from Dandelion, who was helping Aspen weave my outputs into their simulation system and wanted me to test if something was working or not. (Dandelion probably didn't need to help them. She did anyway.)

Aspen was standing next to me, hands folded on their chest, looking at the entrance to their old body and lost in thought. When they noticed my drone pausing next to them, they looked up and gave it a quizzical glance.

"Is everyone in your family out of the simulation area?" I asked.

"Yes, all out safely. Which wasn't hard--it's not like anyone's home much during a Meet anyway. But we'll need to make sure people aren't underfoot during the actual transfer, so this is good practice."

"Yeah. A hostage situation is the last thing this scenario needs."

They nodded. "It's a lot harder for four people to attack a massive gathering watched over by a station than just take someone isolated in their quarters. We can't link Note in to keep track of everyone with main systems down. But they can keep watch over a specific area."

We waited. I stood still (there weren't any chairs in the access corridor we were in), and Aspen paced--two steps forward, two steps back. Then they stopped in front of the old Courageous' wall and leaned back on it, frowning and looking up. Like they were talking to themselves.

"It sucks, though," they finally said, familiar bitterness in their voice. "This entire thing. I wish this wasn't how I had to say goodbye to them."

"What do you mean? Your cluster isn't coming with you?"

"They can't come. You'd be surprised how small of a cutting and stimulus you need to regrow the same synnerve patterns. I know my cluster too well. Having them with me would defeat the entire point of trying to retrain me on a whole new synnerve system."

I had a brief mental image of ART having to leave its humans behind if it wanted to be a station. (For some reason. I backburnered the thought too quickly to figure out exactly what reason.)

"How long is that going to take?"

"It's anyone's guess at this point. But we're looking at months or years. Maybe decades," they looked away, chewing on their lip. I wasn't monitoring their performance reliability or emotional instability or whatever, but I could bet it took a hit.

Stop borrowing grief from the future, Aspen, Dandelion said matter-of-factly, sending us her latest piece of code, designed to register fake outputs from my energy weapons.

"That's my entire job," they grumbled as they double-checked the code and implemented it on their end.

Dandelion retorted: No, your entire job right now is to get through the transfer intact. The rest is for others to handle.

Aspen snorted quietly, but I could see them smiling again as they refocused on their work. (They were also working on their own code, which Dandelion checked.) Both ships didn't talk much about it. They just sent each other snippets, picking up where the other left off seamlessly.

(Seeing them work together like that gave me a weird emotion. I backburnered it before I accidentally started bothering Aspen about it.)

Instead, I implemented my part, then tapped Dandelion's feed. Threat assessment on the transfer? Not on the security end, on the medical end.

It's complicated, she replied. Aspen being the first experimental node ship has made their synnerve system very convoluted, and trying to prune it without damaging them isn't an easy task. We're probably not going to lose them, but quality of life outcomes are variable.

Are you worried?

Dandelion sent me a snapshot of her performance reliability. It was hovering at the 95% mark.

No, she said. But I will be busy during the transfer, Note will have their processes full with two stations' worth of critical operations and all of the humans, and Blaze has space-side monitoring. With respect to your part of the job, the security teams will have to pull through on their own.

Then we'd better start practicing, I said.

She gave me a grateful tap, neatly caught the piece of code Aspen sent back to her, and implemented it.

---

Nike's and Aspen's humans were better at this than I thought humans who only had tactical simulation experience would be. They managed to get a few hits on me in the first scenario, where I infiltrated the Courageous as quietly as possible, and in the second scenario, where I imitated standard corporate tactics, they actually took me down. But that was after I killed 27 out of 36 human defenders, which was not what they were expecting either. Hiram and Basil (Nike's and Aspen's respective security chiefs, and jointly in charge of the simulation and upcoming defense) looked pretty rattled afterwards, but they really were a lot like my Preservation humans, which meant that despite being rattled, they immediately began updating their plans for the defense.

Their plans didn't involve me.

Tell them you're available for a contract, ART said second thing after it finally tapped my feed.

(First thing it did was send me a record of the ships' discussions, with commentary. It was weird. Looking at Dandelion, Aspen and Note in comparison to Nike and Blaze was sort of like looking at my Preservation humans in comparison to other Preservation humans, the ones who'd never encountered the Rim directly before. Except they were all ships like ART.)

They know that.

ART sent me one of its versions of the eyeroll emoji. (This one had five eyes).

I have had ample time to observe Aspen's humans. They will not engage a member of another node ship's crew of their own initiative.

It would be pretty rude to do that, yeah, Aspen said somewhere to my side, and I nearly jumped. I knew they hadn't just snuck up on me to sit on an overturned crate which their humans had used as part of a barricade, leaning forward a little, but try telling my fucking organics that! But I can inform them myself, provided you're interested?

Hiram and Basil both saw my face change and looked where my drones went. (Right now they looked like they were hovering over a random crate.)

"I'm just talking to Aspen," I said, "You can keep asking questions."

"You can do that at the same time?" Hiram said, looking surprised.

"And watch media. And code. And fight. And other things, too." I executed a little complicated maneuver with my drones at the same time as I tapped their handheld communicators.

To Aspen, I said: I can tell them. We're already talking anyway. Also, you didn't answer me during the referee call: why the fuck do you have carbon monoxide in your fucking ventilation systems?

Because the Courageous did, which was really fucking creepy. I mean, any ship AI could kill people if it wanted, but this wasn't ART's repurposed pathfinders. Carbon monoxide wired into the ventilation was a weapon that couldn't be used for anything except killing people.

Early corporate failsafe, Aspen said, shrugging. Antarctica wanted a way to kill the colonists if their plans didn't pan out. We repurposed the infrastructure later, but it was easy enough to put the weapons back now that we need them.

And your family doesn't mind?

Aspen's face twisted, and they folded their hands, looking guarded. They suggested it.

"Hell and high water," Hiram said, exchanging looks with Basil. "Nike said you were a node ship in human form, but I don't think I realized until now just how true that was."

"Even when I kicked your asses?"

"We have no real combat experience," Basil said. "You do. We expected to get our asses kicked at least a little, just not quite so thoroughly."

"You have better threat assessments than your ships," I said, and ART sent me a clip of Nike's outraged Hey! in the feed.

(To my left, Aspen gave a short laugh and said, Nobody who gets far enough to be a node ship ever has good threat assessments.)

(I agreed.)

"Let's hope they've improved enough to help us against our hostiles. They may not be little nodes, but they do have combat experience," Hiram said. "Thank you for the games, SecUnit. We'll make good use of the lessons."

He offered me a hand again.

I said, "I don't touch people unless I need to rescue them."

"Ah. I apologize," Hiram withdrew his hand. "Then thank you again, and do not let us keep you."

"Wait."

"Yes?"

"I'm available for further collaboration. And for the day of the transfer."

Basil and Hiram exchanged looks. Basil said, "Really? You're not busy with your clusters?" (Ke sounded surprised. Not in a "fuck off" way, but genuinely surprised.)

"Yes, I'm part of ART's crew. No, that doesn't mean I don't want to help defend the station. My humans are all going to be here during the transfer. The earlier the hostiles are neutralized, the safer they'll be."

"Well, then. Welcome on board, SecUnit," Hiram said, nodding, and his tone suddenly became a lot less formal. "We've got plans to discuss. D'you eat?"

"No."

"Mind if we do?"

"No."

"Then c'mon," Hiram turned and waved for me to follow him. "The Courageous cluster promised us dinner. Let's go get what food they left for us, settle into a spot and have ourselves a chat."

After about an hour of conversation in one of the Courageous' lounges and some literal napkin planning (with Aspen, Nike and ART providing occasional commentary through the speakers), I finally had a role in the Trellians' plan.

Both Nike and Aspen's security team agreed that the hostiles must want one of the hearts. ("Makes no sense otherwise," Tabby--Nike's hacker who'd killed her team by shutting down my grenade drone--said, "Caldera figured out the ships' intelligence pretty early, it figures they'd want in on it. And without the heart, the old Courageous is a bunch of scrap metal--no offense, Aspen!"

"None taken," Aspen said through their speakers. Their illusion spoke the words, too, and looked like they meant it.)

Note's security would be handling most of the civilians at the festival (where no one really expected any trouble, but Hiram sort of hoped the festival would keep civilians busy enough not to accidentally run into the corporate team), while Nike and Aspen's security would be handling the respective hearts. Hiram and Basil both thought there was also a chance that the Calderan team might go for Nike as the ship with newer neural architecture, and then the old Courageous was either a distraction or a mistake on the hostile's part. The old Courageous would still be empty, since Aspen's cluster had a role to play in the ceremony, same as Nike's cluster. Only the specialist cluster members would be doing the transfer, and they would be guarded at all times.

"If the target is Aspen, then we think the most probable moment of attack won't be on the Courageous' center, but at one of the corridor junctions, so the heart pod is already loaded and ready to move, and also close to Magma. That's the point we'll be monitoring the most heavily, and our teams will also be moving along with the hearts," Basil said. "But just in case, we've transferred most of the sensitive data off the old Courageous' systems. If Caldera miscalculates, all they will find is an empty old ship."

This didn't look too bad. Getting their house hit would suck for Aspen's family, but nobody would be dead.

Hiram said, "Considering your sheer speed and firepower, SecUnit, we want you to be our first response team if we've misread Caldera and they wind up hitting something we haven't considered--or the reinforcements to any team to make enemy contact. We'd like you to do as much monitoring as you can, and if a priority threat makes itself known, to go in and neutralize it. To that end, I think we'd be stationing you near the civilans, with Note. That's easy access to the Courageous' main body, which can work as a tunnel through half the station and is one of the priority targets, and only slightly harder access to Nike's new station."

"Who do I respond to?"

"Not respond, coordinate," Basil said, "You're basically Perihelion's chief of security, right? We'll treat you as one. You have autonomy in your sphere, but if one of us two--plus Note's chief--sends you a stand down code, you do. Conversely, you can send us a stand down code, and we'll do that, too."

"Or at least reassess. No guarantee that anyone will be be standing down until the end of the situation, but it will give the others a heads-up something isn't right," Hiram added. "Sound like a plan?"

ART's chief of security. I liked that. (I wondered what Senior Indah would have thought of me being treated like a security chief.)

"Yeah." I said. "Let's do that."

[crepes-suzette-373]

In chapter 1066, Shaka explained this story about the Void Century. It was a big dramatic reveal scene, and most of the chapter was about Ohara and their research efforts on the Void Century. In the cover, sensei chose to depict a zoomed out view of the Germa castle, with all its "66" banners.

Is this a coincidence or a hint?

Based on the fragmentary snippets that we've heard of Germa's history, it sounded almost like... Germa's destruction is a "smaller scale" version of what happened to the ancient kingdom. They were able to continue to exist somehow, but their history was so obscured that barely anyone know the truth about them.

Even someone like Brook was only able to vaguely know that "they conquered North Blue".

Previously I assumed that World Government destroyed the empire, but I now consider the possibility that the other North Blue kingdoms just allied together to defeat it. A mirror of the Void century history, but localised in the North Blue instead of the whole world.

Judge had said he wanted revenge against the North Blue kings. It would stand to reason that he might have wanted to do that because the other kings banded together to take down Germa 300 years ago.

Germa might have been allowed to continue to exist as a smaller kingdom because WG is not involved in the destruction. They just turned a blind eye towards its destruction.

That being said, though, I have been suspecting for a while that Germa is hiding knowledge related to the old Void Century kingdom.

Germa has been a kingdom of science for generations, but lineage factor and cloning was Vegapunk's discovery. So what was Germa doing before?

Very likely, it's something more similar to what we would call "engineering" in our world. Back in MADS, Judge was seen building that spear that would eventually become his main weapon.

Not to mention that even in the drafts, sensei had planned for Judge to be titled "Earl of Mechanisms". Both of those, plus the snail ships and the raid suits, they all seem to suggest that Germa's main scientific endeavours before were machinery and gadgets.

So, when did Germa develop the snail ships and why? If these were newer, then I would be wondering "What did the Germa kingdom look like before they made the snails? Just normal ships?".

However, if these ships have been around since their land's destruction 300 years ago, then was the Germa empire's eventual goal to conquer the entire world? Why else would they need the snail ships that can climb the Red Line otherwise? Did maybe the old empire had wanted to make All Blue? Perhaps due to their knowledge of the Void Century?

This assuming that All Blue here is not a specific location, but just "the open sea" in general, not blocked by the Red Line.

Something about all this is just so weird.

I had the vague idea that Sanji is going to ironically be the one to "fulfil the goals of the old Germa empire", which was originally not evil whatsoever. I just don't know what the hell that "goal" is. But if their goal was in fact "All Blue", then it's an even more insane irony. It also fits the samurai conspiracy I had (TL;DR, basically "unification").

Another thing related to the machinery.

Is it possible that Germa had been the one to send the ancient robot up to the Red Line? Nobody knew who sent this robot, and it just died midway because it ran out of power.

It's possible that it was done by some other unknown entity. For example, from the same island as Professor Tsukimi who built the small automatons, since that shows that there's someone knowledgeable in robotics. Or maybe the robot just woke up on its own and started moving around. Especially with the revelation in chapter 1111 where it woke up apologising to Joy Boy.

But if Germa is a nation with very advanced ability in mechanics, it could be that they found the ancient robot and reactivated it. They just might not have known how to refuel/charge it up, so it collapsed midway.

It's rather unlikely, but it's not impossible.

This is also somewhat related to how the snail ships were able to climb the Red Line. If the old Germa's ambition was something to do with the Red Line (like, perhaps destroying it), then it's not unreasonable to think that they would try to send this powerful looking robot to do the job.

[redtippedfox]

All characters in this AU are aged up and are adults

Water power up accident part 1/3

Or

Alternatively “What if the Aqua power up turned them into mermaids?”

———————————————————————————————

“I don’t think we should use the water power up” Marinette states as she fumbles with the vial quickly taking it from Nino’s hands.

Nino looks confused and curious, extremely curious. The boy’s curiosity peaks as he tries to reach for the glowing blue vial.

“Why? If it’s something that can help against the corrupted holders then we should use it!” besides Nino wanted to see what the water power up looked like! He bet it was so cool! Seeing Future Marinette use those other Miraculouses was cool but a water power up sounded even cooler!

“Well, as you know I was trapped here in the past for a whole year and I was able to create the Ice power up perfectly since I was able to find the winter ingredients during December…there was some mistakes and a lot of missing ingredients for the water up though and that led to accident power ups and well…” Marinette looks down at the vial nervously, Tikki stares at it as well with a comforting smile.

“Let’s just say that some of the ingredients are really important in making sure that the suit part of the power up stays but since I don’t have those ingredients…if I use the power up…” Marinette trails off, her eyes darting away from Ninos as he narrows his eyes at her. Marinette twiddles her fingers and sighs with an embarrassed blush on her face.

“…I don’t get to keep my human legs or my suit.”

Nino blinks and then it clicks

“YOU BECOME A MERMAID?!”

———————————————————————————-

Here is part 1 of 3! Hopefully the small little snippet helped with understanding why the power up is in a mermaid form instead of their regular power up forms. Speaking of normal power up forms here is their concept art that I did, it’s the very first draft for the water power up.

Pls ignore how ugly Chat Noir is

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

New One-Shot: Loose Threads

Hello! So. This was SUPPOSED to be for the Buddie Week prompt "sharing clothes" but I got overwhelmed planning all the one shots plus my longer projects and decided to call it off and post this now instead. So, accept my defeat, Buddie Week. Looking forward to everyone else's fics!

For now, enjoy this absolute tomfoolery.

Summary:

New to dating and keeping it quiet, Buck and Eddie get a little carried away on a slower shift at the firehouse. But when the alarm eventually sounds, a spur of the moment mistake leaves them a little mixed up.

Snippet:

Buck looks like his tee shirt is trying to suffocate him, just slightly. It’s very tight around the shoulders and rides up a bit more than normal around his midriff, coming loose from where it's been tucked into his pants, revealing skin. Buck, with a hazy, half-asleep look in his eyes, does not seem to fucking notice. Perhaps if this man wasn’t so used to wearing too-small shirts, he’d have felt a draft on his skin. Surely he’s in a much less comfortable situation than Eddie, who has recently developed quite the preference for wearing Buck’s shirts around the house, anyway.

Eddie tries to make quiet but frantic eye contact with Buck before Hen and Chim notice and put two and two together, but Buck’s eyes are heavy-lidded and drooping. He’s practically falling asleep standing up.

Shit.

“Wow, your dryer really did a number on this, huh?” Hen says, reaching to poke the navy fabric at Buck’s shoulder. 

“Hmm?” Buck asks groggily, looking down at himself. It takes a full second before his eyes widen with recognition. 

“Oh,” he says quickly. “Uh oh.”

Yeah. That.

“Wait,” Chim says, looking quickly between Eddie and Buck. “Buck, are you wearing-”

“I sleep shirtless!” Eddie blurts. 

[mageofquandrix]

@thedissonantverses challenged people to put up word counts or snippets, and I did the word count, but I’ve never posted a snippet! I figured I should do that.

The scene is Lucien Ingellvar, my Rook, with Emmrich and briefly Manfred. It has some of Nevarran food culture, which is a mix of bits I’ve gleaned from canon, then expanded on with headcanon.

Context needed: Rook asked Emmrich to go by the market after his staff meeting to pick up mezze to go with the flatbreads Rook was going to cook.

Remember: first draft worst draft! This is completely unedited, so keep that in mind.

—————

Emmrich expected the dining hall to be full of people, so he was surprised when the door, propped open to see Rook standing by the stove with Manfred in an otherwise empty room.

He stood at the doorway taking in the scene for a moment. Lucien’s sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and the collar to his shirt hung open. He was barefoot in trousers that had been neatly hemmed. He was demonstrating something at the stove for Manfred, who was hissing happily.

“Pardon my lateness,” he said, and he joined them by the stove, setting the little basket of side dishes on the work bench. “Or am I early?”

“You're right on time,” Lucien said, greeting him with an easy smile. “Everyone had plans tonight, so I taught Manfred how to make flatbread, like a proper Navarran.” Manfred made a happy trill, and held up a plate of misshapen, singed little breads.

“Oh, excellent work, Manfred,” Emmrich cooed, clearly thrilled. I can't wait to try them!”

“Manfred, you've been working so hard. Why don't you take a break and see if the wisps want play?”

Manfred agreed with a nod, and took one of his flatbreads before tottering out to do maker only knew what with it. Lucien grinned to Emmrich and pulled a far more expertly made flatbread off the pan, offering it out to Emmrich. “Hungry? I know you just had dinner…”

“I actually ate lightly, knowing this would be waiting.” Emmrich took the flatbread, making a satisfied sound as he split the bread and steam came out. “I had no idea you cooked, Rook!”

“I had to feed myself somehow,” he laughed, looking through the little pots from the basket with barely contained enthusiasm. He produced the baba ganoush with a small sound of triumph, and in seconds it was torn open and he’d swiped his flatbread through.

“Lucien!” Emmrich scolded despite his laughter, and he fetched a small spoon, even as Rook popped the bite into his mouth. His eyes instantly closed and he moaned softly, slowly chewing with a quiet sigh. Emmrich stared at him, spoon offered out but forgotten as he watched, only to clear his throat and laugh again when Lucien swallowed and opened his eyes.

“Had I any idea you were so hungry, I would have hurried.”

Lucien took the offered spoon sheepishly and began piling more of the aubergine spread on the bread. “No, no, I just-” he put another piece in his mouth and made another small, though more subdued, sound of happiness. “I haven’t been home for quite some time,” he continued, looking away with a hand over his mouth as he finished his sentence around his food.

“I’m sorry, I swear I have manners.” He laughed, forcing himself to put the food down while he spoke, instead busying himself by spreading the mezze out on the table

[brynnmclean]

WIP Wednesday

It comes every week and yet I am always a bit surprised by it. I'm currently in that frustrating little space where I've recently finished a chapter draft and now have to coax my brain into coming back on track instead of resting on some laurels. I don't have anything substantial yet to share from chapter nine, so here is some from chapter eight. I'm not tagging anyone specific this week, so if you're seeing this and want to play along, consider yourself tagged (and tag me back so I can read your stuff!)

Usual links here: this is from my Hellblade long fic and links to other snippets can be found here, etc. etc.

Alliances are compromises, give and take on both sides. It is not lost on Thórgestr that he still doesn’t have a clear idea of Solveig’s price. “What is it that you get out of this? What is your aim? What do you hope to get from Senua, from me?” Solveig seems to bite back a smile. “Am I not one of the Björg who chafed under your father’s rule? Is it so unbelievable that I have a vested interest in the future and that I want to help guide my home and my people to peace and prosperity? With the giants defeated—with Áleifr gone—we can rebuild. I do believe that.” She taps her forefinger against the runes inked into her throat, bindrunes for wisdom, eloquence. Her wry amusement clouds over. “I have my own regrets. I made my voice small when your father became a tyrant for fear of him silencing me forever. I do not want to ever be in that position again.” “You want power,” Thórgestr pushes, still uncertain but testing her guard. She shakes her head. “No, I want influence. The ear of the next ruler and a guarantee that my voice will listened to. You were at sea the last time I argued with your father, so you did not see how close I came to being put to death. My luck-spirit did not desert me then. There was still a tendril of fear in his heart for the stories that would spill out from my death.” Stories and the influence over them. Thórgestr clenches his jaw and gives himself a sliver of a second to long for less complicated matters. Gods, how he wishes for the familiar dance of sword and axe, the clarity of purpose—fight or fall. He is not suited for this murky battlefield of words, all these twists and turns of conversation, the winding words and unsolved riddles. “What story is there now?” he asks the skáld, trying to find his footing again. “What tale will you tell of our people?” And then, hating himself for asking, but unable to stop himself: “Of me?”

[drowxiv]

WIP WEDNESDAY

I've agonized over this for like 6 hours. I tried to find the "least dark" thing that was in a shareable state. Every WIP I have is only a first draft.

Beneath the cut I've hidden: extremely light mention of spice. Light combat. Swords. One mention of a very small and superficial wound with zero descriptors.

I likely won't participate in this often but I've mentioned my writing enough in tags that I should probably share a snippet-

In the Underdark there was no sun to mark the passing of a day, only an eternal night flecked with the colorful lights of bioluminescence and magic. The Drow city was densely packed into a large cavern, with eight noble houses rising like giant stalagmites, reaching towards misty clouds that formed and fell in a never ending cycle. There were certain hours when activity dwindled and the world felt quiet and the magical glow dimmed, but it never went out.

During such an hour, when the off duty guards were in the barracks beginning to reverie, Viedyn took advantage of an empty training hall. As captain of the guard he was expected to be the best of them and he kept his skills honed accordingly. In the absence of a proper sparring partner at such an odd hour he put himself through a series of drills instead. He enjoyed the familiarity of the repetition and the weight of his sword and shield in hand. The air itself whined as his blade skillfully cut through it. He threw his power behind every practiced thrust and slash, relishing the way it made his muscles burn. The wicked black armor he wore moved fluently with his body, the metal plates sliding over one another smoothly while his long black velvet cloak whipped behind him.

The sound of footsteps that were not his own halted his sword mid air. He diverted the momentum into a flourish and brought the weapon to rest at his side, turning to see that two guards had entered the hall. His chest tightened when he realized they both wore the crimson cloak of the Matron's personal guard. Neither wore a red crested helmet or carried the large black spear they would've had if they were on duty, but that did little to ease his concern. He held no authority over them, they only answered to the Matron. They had their own training halls and barracks so there were few reasons for them to be in his, especially at that hour.

The shorter of the two guards was unfamiliar to him, but he instantly recognized the taller one as Savri. She was as powerful as she was cunning. Weeks prior, she’d ambushed him in a dark corridor, slamming his back into a wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him before he could even draw his sword. He'd been uncertain of her intentions until her lips graced the edge of his ear and she told him exactly what she wanted from him. Her words were only accentuated by the press of her hand against the armor between his legs, catching his breath in his throat. It had almost unraveled him.

Now, facing the prospect of dealing two armored Matron's guards, he wished it had.

Drow society placed heavy expectations on him, especially as a noble born male, to oblige such requests. But in a society which values power above all else, there was nothing more intimate or dangerous than relinquishing that power.

Savri's previous attempt to claim him ended with his sword against her throat and the point of her dagger nestled between his ribs just beneath the side buckle of his armor. Equally matched. They stood in the corridor, breathless, locked in a deadly embrace and traded barbs so closely that they could feel each other's breath with every word. If she'd closed the distance between them and sealed her lips against his, he would have surrendered. Instead, she vowed to take him and he'd smiled wickedly and invited her to try.

Power and pride bound them both.

Viedyn watched impassively as the unknown guard barred the door, making it clear that his invitation had been accepted. The two approached him side by side, each resting a hand upon the hilt of their sword. They had worn their hair up, Savri's in a neat braid and the other's in a low bun, which told him they anticipated a fight. Against two he would be at a severe disadvantage. The training hall was wide enough that they'd be able to maneuver around him easily. Even with his skills and training he wouldn't last long once they managed to flank him.

He rolled his shoulders beneath his armor as they approached and clicked his tongue condescendingly. “My disposition must really gall you if you're reducing yourself to relying on assistance to take me, Savri.”

A dark smile graced her sharp features. “On the contrary, Viedyn, I enjoy difficult males like you because it makes overpowering them more satisfying.”

“Enough that you're willing to share?” He teased.

“If it achieves my goal." Savri replied with a hint of annoyance seeping into her tone.

Viedyn inclined his head in a mockery of a bow. “I'm flattered you would make such a concession.”

“Then drop your weapon and surrender yourself, I would prefer to take you unscathed.”

“No.” He wasn't intrigued enough to obey. As the first son of his house and the Captain of the guard, his obedience wasn't given freely. He was, however, intrigued enough to stay even in the face of certain defeat.

“You're outmatched.”

“I am.” Viedyn admitted coolly, raising his shield and sliding his foot back into a ready position. “But I would be remiss if I deprived you of the challenge you enjoy.”

“Fine.”

Viedyn lunged before either of them drew, slamming his shield into Savri, sending her stumbling back and buying him a few precious seconds to focus on the guard she'd brought with her. She was shorter and slighter in build than him but she was still highly trained. He swung hard and she drew just in time to block his blade. Steel screeched against steel as he pressed the attack. He had her in an awkward position with her blade still angled downwards from the draw and her arms trembled beneath the effort to hold him off. Up close he was able to study her face, it was one he'd seen before but he had no name to match it. Her dark lips were drawn back in a fierce snarl which bared her teeth and her bright red eyes seethed. He couldn't tell if she wanted him, or if she simply wanted the satisfaction of laying him out. Given her position and his, both were strong possibilities.

Footsteps to his left drew his focus and he saw the attack in time to raise his shield. There was a satisfying clang of metal and he felt the power of the strike reverberate through his arm. In the same instant he hooked the other guard's ankle with his foot and yanked hard, sending her stumbling backwards, granting him the opportunity to throw his weight into shoving Savri back with his shield before she could strike again.

“I thought you wanted me unscathed, Savri.” Viedyn taunted as he took up a ready position once more. Raising his sword and shield defensively.

“I said I would prefer it.” She corrected him.

They closed in on him in unison, Savri aiming low while the other went high, playing to his disadvantage. Viedyn dropped to one knee, slamming the bottom of his tall kite shield into the ground as he did so, ducking easily beneath it to deprive Savri of a target while he raised his sword and caught the second attack on the downswing. He sprung to his feet and used the momentum to force them back once more. It wasn't something he would've tried on a battlefield. In the training hall it was just risky and unexpected enough to be advantageous once, he wouldn't get away with it a second time.

He could tell Savri was pulling her strikes to avoid maiming him. A deflection off the top of his shield which could've sliced his cheek open stopped short, and a brief opportunity to skewer his thigh went ignored. The other guard was far bolder and he had to watch himself more carefully when she went on the offensive.

Savri went low and he smirked even though he was forced to jump out of the way to avoid her. She was likely trying to bait him into taking his shield to the ground again. The second guard took advantage of his abrupt change in position and pressed another series of attacks. One sent his sword wide and he was forced to take another hit against his shield. When he dropped the shield to engage her third attack he realized he'd lost sight of Savri.

The sting of a sword nicking the back of his leg let him know exactly where she was, and that she wanted him to know where she was. Her subtle way of taunting him.

With renewed urgency he pressed his own attack against the second guard, driving her back with a powerful strike, buying himself precious time. He twisted and caught the glint of Savri's blade out of the corner of his eye. Out of instinct he raised his shield and the strike glanced off but he didn't have time to answer her with an attack of his own before he had to turn once more. They were wearing him down quickly and his muscles burned from the exertion.

The second guard was already charging when he turned and he ducked behind his shield just in time to catch her blade against the top of it. In desperation he threw his shield arm wide, forcing her blade to follow and slashed at the same time, sending her backpedaling. He started to turn and froze when he felt the cold kiss of a blade against his throat. His cold blue eyes instantly flicked to the wielder and Savri greeted him with a satisfied smile.

She had him.

He remained still, closing his eyes for one long steady breath. When he opened them again his right hand followed suit, allowing his sword to drop to the ground with a loud clatter, acknowledging his surrender.

“There, that wasn't so difficult.” Savri purred in a dark and condescending tone. The edge of her sword ghosted over his skin with careful precision, sending chills throughout his body as she lifted it to the underside of his chin and pressed upwards. With regal grace, he rose to his full height and lowered his shield to his side, never taking his eyes off her as he did so.

[jellyvibes710]

2024 has approached and has smacked me in the face, where the hell the new year come from??

Anyways, my drawings this year 😎

The first three are from an eddsworld comic I'm working on, I decided to pick up a pencil after about two years without drawing and it became a side project, it's hard to believe that a small (well, not very small) project lead me to all this 👀💙💜❤️🧡

I can't believe the improvement over a year, that's insane.

I just wanted to thank you guys for helping me find the motivation to start drawing again, I never thought I'd come so far and honestly I can't thank you guys enough, I'm awful with words but thank you thank you thank you.

Especially special thanks to @abbeyofcyn @skylabrea @wandering-ghost @the-fluidiest-gender @ilivelikeimtrying (I really hope I didn't forget anybody, I'm bad with names ahhhh) you all helped me in more ways than I can count and I'm grateful to have you guys in my life 🫂

For once in a long time I'm looking forward to what's ahead, admittedly bad start but I'm still looking forward to what's to come, so to start off a new year I figured I'll show you all what's to come after little baby blue is complete

Spoilers ;]

The first drawings of this year too

Originally I wanted to do a future au that focused on Casey Jr and his life in the apocalypse, but little baby blue was created instead and being honest, I thought about it for like two days then jumped right in because I got excited, so the first few parts up till recently have been completely off the top of my head, I have everything planned, every detail, I got scripts and future parts sketched out as rough drafts, I have Playlists for future animations, I planned everything but the very very beginning, so oops.

But LAST HOPE AU will be a prequel to little baby blue, everything in little baby blue will link back and connect with last hope and vice versa, there has already been hints and foreshadowing in little baby blue that tie in with last hope, events that have happened in Casey's timeliness have already started to appear, just not in the way it had in his time. Everything will tie together in a neat little bow hehe.

We do get small snippets of Casey's past in Little Baby Blue but the story mainly focuses on leo and his brothers. Last Hope is dedicated to Casey Jr and his story that lead to the events of LBB.

A small bit of detail of the characters Casey mainly interacts with

Donnie makes more than just guns with his ninpo as you can see, he saves close combat weapons for his most bloodlust of days, especially when his family gets hurt. His hands are scarred from building the best tech he can with what little he's got, all his family wears this specially designed tech because out of everybody he wants to keep his dum dum brother's, April and Cassandra alive the most. He has the base in heavy lockdown and has strict system when it comes to missions that him and leo enforced to ensure maximum survival, donnie is cold blooded and fierce and only allows his family into his tech room that's heavily secured. When Casey Jr is born Donnies "emotionally unavailable" image gets turned to dust and genuinely gets excited when it's his turn to watch Jr, it's the only time he's actively away from his tech and security systems is to watch Casey Jr but he doesn't worry about it because if he's not there S.H.E.L.D.O.N. is on watch and notifies donnie when it's an emergency or something important, once Jr is old enough he allows Casey into his tech room and teaches Casey about how his tech works and how it operates.

Mikey never reaches his old man stage, only being 40 when the events of the movie take place. This is mainly due to the fact that he never learned how to cure kraang infected survivors, once someone is infected they couldn't be saved. He's at his most powerful protecting those closest to him and is still the main cook, him and donnie are the last line of defense if the base is ever attacked. He's the most connected to their family ninpo, him and leo work together to try and reawaken Leo's powers and were actually successful until leo lost his arm, he could never find out what had Leo's ninpo in a chokehold. Him and Casey have an entire room dedicated to wall art and often when mikey watches Casey they need to bathe all the paint off him afterwards, It's the only room full of color and is open to everyone to sit and enjoy the colors.

Raph is big, angry, intimating and powerful, but he is the kindest heart you'll find in the turtle group. Him and Cassandra go on missions together most of the times and he took her passing the hardest, he was a father figure to Casey Jr and despite being the biggest turtle he was the most gentle with Jr. He passed suddenly but died protecting those he loved most. Mikey talks with raph A lot after his death and donnie chimes in from time to time but unfortunately leo is unable to reach raph but knows he's there.

Leo is the leader of the resistance, he's looked up too as much as he's looked down upon, he doesn't take kindly to insults about his family and will put you in your place if one is threatened. He bugs Donnie a lot and try to do their traditional twin night as often as they can, along with being leader of the resistance he also helps Mikey cook, he helps Raph make clothes, and helps Donnie with security, he doesn't have time to watch Casey but always keeps an eye on him, sometimes when dee and Leo have twin nights they bring Casey with, after Leo loses his arm Casey is attached to his hip and after Raphs death Leo takes Casey under his wing and teaches him everything he needs to know to survive.

Cassandra is the mother of Casey Jr, she’s crazy fearless and insanely strong for being human. Even when she was pregnant she was trying to kick kraang butts, after Jr was born she settled down for a few months with April at her side who was teaching her how to properly handle an infant. After those few months though she was right back to her crazed energy and fighting spirit, she took it upon herself to teach the other mothers how to fight off kraang while protecting their kids, one example is kicking kraang face while burping child. Multitasking at its finest. She was in her sons life till he was 3 1/2 years old and she tragically lost her life, we will witness how she lost her life in little baby blue through one of the flashbacks Casey has and it’ll also be in last hope, sadly Casey was there to witness his mother’s final moments.

The one, the only, April O’Neal! Commander and right hand lady of the resistance, she’s always around the base trying her best to help lessen the load on Leo’s shoulders while still trying to be her bubbly self. She’s mostly helping her mother out in the medbay though and was there to help save Leo’s life multiple times, always followed by treating the soft shells wounds shortly after his freak outs. She’s not very well trained in medicine but her mother and Leo have taught her most of the basics knowledge for when she’s in battle and is needed. She is one of the few that survives till the events of the movie

I look forward to what's coming in little baby blue, and for what's to come in LAST HOPE. I hope you all are as excited as I am hehehe

There is WAY, W A Y more details and story but I don't want to spoil the whole thing ;]

Also as a bonus, if anyone is interested or just curious, l'll answer any questions either regarding little baby blue or last hope. Though depending on the question you may get spoilers, you've been warned 🫡