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crescenthistory · 3 months ago

Text

Toe The Line

Pairing: Barty Crouch Junior x Reader

Summary: Barty's relentless flirting with you comes to a head one evening in the Slytherin common room when you confront him.

Words: 4.2k

Warnings: not proofread, let's be clear this is maraudersfandom!barty with part-dyed-acid-green-hair, shy!reader kinda, flirting, insinuations, make-out session, teasing, all that stuff

Note: i do not feel like this does barty my love my life justice, but i have to start pumping out barty fics to get comfortable with him. so! here you go mwah

***

It was one of those icy nights in the Slytherin common room, where the air was sharp but the fire crackled invitingly, casting playful shadows over the lush green velvet couches. You were sprawled on one end of the sofa, leg propped onto Regulus' shoulder as he sat on the floor, flipping through another pretentious novel of his. Barty sat on the other side of the two-seater, watching you as you flipped through your Transfiguration notes like they held the secrets of the universe. The room buzzed with a quiet chatter. You were half-listening to Evan enthusiastically recounting the latest Quidditch practice to Dorcas, who looked thoroughly unimpressed but still indulged him.

Barty, carelessly draped across the cushions, peered over your shoulder and into your notes, as if to check if they were more worthy of your attention. To no one's surprise, he didn't think so. He always managed to hover around you, like a moth drawn to your flame, whether it was leaning over your shoulder to whisper something devilish or positioning himself within your line of sight to make faces at you. Tonight, all it seemed he wanted was your undivided attention – which you were intent on not giving him.

“You’re ignoring me, Treasure,” Barty drawled, the familiar lilt of amusement in his voice. You didn’t need to turn around to envision the lazy, reckless grin that could disarm even the most stubborn of hearts.

“I’m studying,” you replied, still engrossed in your notes. “You should really give it a go sometime.”

He scoffed, swinging one leg over the edge of the couch. “Come off it. You know I don’t need to study.”

Regulus muttered from below you, flipping a page in his book, “You just like to show off.”

Barty tilted his head back, a smug smile stretching across his lips. “It’s not showing off when you just naturally excel at everything.”

Evan erupted into a loud laugh from across the room, cutting his own rant off. “Merlin, if there is anything you've studied, Junior, it's how to be insufferable!”

“You love me,” Barty shot back smoothly, a playful glint in his eye.

No one could in their right mind argue against that.

Dorcas rolled her eyes, exchanging a look with you that was practically screaming he’s ridiculous. You stifled a grin, still pretending to focus on your notes while Barty’s gaze lingered like a heatwave over you.

"Don't you, Treasure?" he teased, his voice dropping to that familiar, sultry tone that always sent a shiver down your spine as you immediately readied another quip to calm it down.

“It is true what they say: you’re delusional,” you said, not even glancing at him.

“Maybe,” he mused, kicking off the arm of the couch to slide closer to your side of the already small couch. You felt the heat radiating from him before you even saw him, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned over, pretending to inspect your notes like he actually cared about Transfiguration.

"But you haven’t denied it," he murmured, his voice soft enough that only you caught it.

Finally, you looked up, meeting his eyes, which sparkled with chaotic energy but held something deeper – a secret simmering just beneath the surface. You opened your mouth to retort, but Regulus tapped your knee still draped over him with his quill.

“If you two are going to flirt,” Regulus interjected, barely glancing up from his book, “take it outside my personal space, would you?”

A soft snort came from Evan, and Dorcas just grinned, clearly more entertained by this than Evan's ramblings.

“Who said we were flirting?” Barty countered, casually slinging an arm around your shoulders as if to make a point. “Treasure here is actually absolutely laser-focused on her studies. She will become a professor if we don't watch out for her.”

You rolled your eyes, giving Barty's body a shove with your own. It was not lost on Regulus, though, that you leaned into his side after the shove, seemingly on instinct.

This was classic Barty – always encroaching on personal space, always testing the boundaries between friendship and something a bit more electric. It never meant anything, though

Evan caught your eye, a mischievous smirk creeping onto his face. “If that’s your definition of studying, I must be doing it all wrong. Dorcas, wanna study with me in my dorm later?”

This led to Evan earning his own shove, though much harsher than the one you had given Barty, and for both Regulus and Dorcas to say ew in unison through their laughter.

“Maybe you should head to your dorm; y'know I like you much better when you focus on your own sodding business, Rosier." Barty barked out a laugh at your comment, unnecessarily loudly, but funny to you all the same.

“Touchy, touchy,” Evan replied, but his teasing was always good-natured in this odd little family of friends.

Barty kept his arm around you as the banter continued, and despite your best efforts to maintain an air of indifference, you couldn’t ignore the way your skin tingled under his touch. If you didn't know better, you could have sworn you heard his breath hitch when your hand settled on his knee, rubbing circles with your fingertips.

As the evening wore on, the common room began to thin out. Regulus was the first to excuse himself, ever the model of discipline when it came to sleep. Your leg was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, earning him an oi! from Barty and a kick from you that he just barely dodged. Evan followed suit, muttering something about needing to “wake up at a decent hour for once.” Dorcas lingered for a moment, chatting about Herbology homework before she too yawned and slipped off to bed, leaving you and Barty alone by the fire.

It was nothing new for the two of you to be the last ones awake, always having more to talk about together. After midnight, the common room transformed – quieter, more intimate, like it was cocooned away from the rest of the world. You both preferred it that way.

"Finally," Barty sighed, slumping back against the couch, and consequently you, stretching out his legs over the edge of the seat. “I thought Ev would never stop talking.”

You chuckled softly, finally putting your parchment aside. “You could’ve told him to shut it. I know you're not above that."

Barty smirked, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Where’s the fun in that?”

"I remember quite a few times where you have found it hilarious to tell someone to shut the hell up."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm taking a more peaceful path. Your stupid homework-doing righteous self is rubbing off on me." Barty flashed you a smile that you instinctively reciprocated.

"Nah, don't think peaceful and Barty can exist in the same sentence."

He knew it to be true, he thrived on chaos – letting moments unravel just to see what would happen next. It was a double-edged sword; you adored that spark in him, but it often left you exasperated.

Once the others drifted off, the atmosphere shifted palpably. It was always like this between the two of you – lighter, sure, but also heavier in a way that pressed against your chest. The playful banter flowed effortlessly, yet beneath it simmered a tension that had been thickening over the last few months.

"I mean it though," Barty continued. "You’re way too serious these days." His gaze fixed on you with that familiar gleam in his eye, with perhaps a smidge of worry beneath it. No one knew you like Barty, and he could switch between jokingly obnoxious and pointedly observant in seconds.

You arched an eyebrow, fighting the urge to smile. “Me? Serious? You must be mistaking me for someone who doesn’t have a sense of fun.”

“Always with your nose buried in a book, always playing it safe.” He leaned in closer, that lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “You didn’t used to be such a stick in the mud.”

"I also didn't used to be in my last year. Things count now, B."

"Nothing ever really counts though, do they?" He started smiling halfway through his sentence, just knowing you were about to roll your eyes at him in a fashion only Regulus can outdo.

“I’m just not reckless like you,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “There’s a fine line between adventurous and asking for a detention’s worth of trouble.”

Barty’s grin only stretched wider. “You love it when I’m reckless. Admit it.”

There it was again, that playful dare in his tone, like every word was a challenge wrapped in an invitation. You shook your head, trying to keep your voice steady. “One of these days, you are going to drag me into some real trouble, and I won't love you very much then.”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe. But you’ll still be right there beside me, won’t you, Treasure?”

Barty was always pushing boundaries to see how far he could go before you drew the line. But there was something intense and raw in the way he was looking at you now, making your heart race faster than it should.

“I'll always be there with you, don't be stupid," you huffed, wanting to change the subject. You broke eye contact, staring off into the embers left in the fireplace.

"I know." He just smiled, unaffected by your attitude.

"You’re impossible,” you countered.

That Barty wasn’t about to let slide. "If I'm so unbearable, why don't you go up to your dorm, hm?" He raised his eyebrow in a challenge.

“Only because I’m too lazy to walk back to the dorms.” You picked at your nail beds absentmindedly.

“Liar,” he said softly, putting his hand on top of yours to stop the torment of your skin.

You were about to shoot him a glare, but the retort you had in mind faltered when you met his gaze. The playful glimmer had vanished, replaced by something sharper, more intimate. He shifted in his seat to be angled more towards you, leaning in closer, the heat radiating from him making your mind race.

“It's okay to want to spend your nights with me, Treasure. There's nothing I'd like more,” he murmured, the challenge evident in his low tone.

Your heart stuttered. The closeness made it nearly impossible to think straight. You wanted to volley back with a witty comeback, something that would break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat.

Barty’s smirk softened into something more vulnerable, like he was waiting for you to take the plunge. It was an unspoken invitation, daring you to either push him away or draw him in.

You swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing heavily between you. “Stop flirting with me, Barty,” you whispered, barely audible. “I might start believing it.”

For once, he looked confused. It was hard not to revel in it, though the moment had you reeling.

"You think I’m not serious?" he asked, the playful lilt gone, replaced by sincerity. It wasn't necessarily rare for Barty to drop the bravado around you, but it still made your chest clutch when he did. It made everything feel a bit too real.

Your breath caught as you held his gaze, his eyes scanning yours, searching for something.

"Barty..." you began, but the words floundered. What were you really trying to say? That this was risky? That you didn’t want to lose what you had? Or was it possible you were craving this – craving him – in a way that exceeded your playful banter, the lighthearted flirting you knew he shared with most friends of his.

"Yes, love?"

"What happened to Treasure?" you tease, trying to regain some control of the situation.

Barty’s lips curled into the faintest smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You never have minded when I called you Treasure, have you?" he said, his voice dropping lower, softer. “Not when it’s just us. Not even when everyone else is around.”

"It's all just fun. Sweet." You deflect and deflect, both verbally and internally.

He leaned in closer, eyes locked on yours, daring you to say something, anything. His hand travelled from his side to caress your neck. "Is this fun, Treasure? Go on. Tell me to stop."

You could feel his breath against your skin, warm and tantalisingly close. Your mind raced, grasping for the right words to break the tension, but all you could think about was how effortless it would be to close the distance between you.

He smiled at you, and it felt warm.

“You’re different with me,” he mused, his tone thoughtful, like he was just realising the truth of it. "You let me in, even when you pretend you don’t."

You wanted to argue, to throw up your usual walls, but he wasn’t wrong. You were different with him. You allowed him to cross lines that you wouldn’t let anyone else dare to tread. Maybe that’s why you felt so exposed now, his gaze piercing through your defences – like he already knew the answer to a question you hadn’t even formed yet.

You tore your gaze away, focusing on the flames flickering in the hearth. “This is stupid,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

Barty chuckled softly, the sound warm and low, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper that made your heart skip. "Is it, though?" he asked, fingers now ghosting along your wrist, making it impossible to think about anything other than the electricity igniting with each point of contact.

"Yes, it is, Barty," you said again, a little firmer this time, turning back to meet his gaze. “You’re just playing with me. And we shouldn't.” You didn't elaborate, you didn't want to.

He tilted his head, studying you like he always did when you tried to deflect. "I play with everyone,” he said, not missing a beat. “But I’m not playing with you right now. Or ever, really, not with this.”

Your lips parted to respond, but nothing came out. You had expected him to laugh it off, to tease you the way he always did when things got too serious. There was no teasing in his expression now, no playful smirk – just that steady, unblinking gaze that pinned you in place. It was understanding, he looked as if he knew every part of you already.

"You don’t believe me," he stated, as if reading off a fact.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close his face was to yours, how his hand had somehow found its way to your knee, his thumb rubbing small, absentminded circles against the fabric of your trousers.

"I don’t know what to believe," you admitted, the words coming out quieter than you intended.

Barty’s gaze softened, his hovering hand finally making contact with your face, cupping your jaw.

“You think I flirt with you just for fun?” he asked, his voice barely more than a murmur now.

Your throat was tight, your chest constricting as you tried to find the right words. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go with Barty. He was supposed to be the reckless, chaotic one. He wasn’t supposed to be like this – serious and sincere.

“I think you flirt with everyone,” you finally said, though it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Barty didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away, didn’t make some sarcastic quip like you expected him to. Instead, he leaned in even closer, so close now that his nose brushed against yours. His breath was warm against your lips, and your heart pounded so loudly in your chest that you were sure he could hear it.

"Not like this," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "Not with you."

The fire crackled softly behind you, the only sound in the otherwise silent common room, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat and the steady rhythm of Barty’s breathing.

You wanted to say something, to deflect, to joke, to put up some sort of defence. But when you opened your mouth, the only thing that came out was his name. "Barty..."

His hand on your knee squeezed slightly, grounding you in the moment, tethering you to him. You could feel the weight of everything unsaid between you – the years of friendship, the flirting, the tension that had been building and building until it felt like it might burst.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice soft but firm. "I mean it. Every time. Tell me you don’t feel it too."

You swallowed, your heart racing, your mind spinning. You could feel the warmth of his body so close to yours, the heat of his hand still resting on your leg, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. Everything inside you was screaming at you to do something, to make a choice.

"I..." you started, but the words caught in your throat. You wanted to deny it, to laugh it off, to tell him that this was just another one of his games, but the truth was, you couldn’t. Because you did feel it—the pull, the tension, the way your heart stuttered every time he looked at you like that.

"I can't tell you that, Barty."

His eyes flicked down to your lips, and for a second, you thought he might kiss you right then and there. He didn’t move. He just stayed there, inches away, waiting. For you.

"Then what–" he began to ask, but with your heart hammering in your chest, every nerve in your body on edge, eyes looking directly up into his.

"Shut up, Junior."

You leaned in, closing the gap between you, your lips pressing against his in a way that felt deliciously right.

For a split second, you hesitated again, wondering if you’d made a mistake, if Barty would pull back and laugh it off like it was nothing. Any such thought was immediately quieted when his head caught up with your actions and his hand swerved from your cheek to your hair, tangling in it as he pulled you further against him into a deeper kiss.

It was everything you’d expected from him – reckless, intense, like he had been waiting for this just as long as you had. His hand slid up from your knee to your waist, pulling you even closer as his lips moved against yours, firm and insistent.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, holding yours tentatively. You opened your mouth further, taking his lips between yours, dragging forth a breathy moan from him. Your intensity matched the months – maybe years – of tension that had built between you. His fingers curled at the nape of your neck in a way that sent sparks down your spine.

It was messy, frantic, but it was undeniably real. The playful flirtations, the casual touches, the late nights spent with your group of friends, all the little moments that had led to this – it all came flooding back as your lips moved together in a way that felt both unfamiliar and natural at the same time.

Barty kissed you like he had been waiting for it, like he was making up for lost time. Maybe he was. Maybe you both were.

Your fingers found purchase on the front of his shirt and you used the momentum to throw your leg over his lap, sitting down on top of him. His hand not currently occupying your hair immediately came down to your hip, stabilising you with an iron grip. He pulled you closer with it, chest flush against chest. The kiss was growing more desperate, more demanding, and you could feel the heat of his body against yours, the smell of his cologne mixing with the faint scent of the fire still barely alive behind you.

When you finally pulled apart, it was only because you both needed air. Your forehead rested against his, noses still brushing against each other, Barty even nuzzling his into yours. Your breaths coming in shallow, uneven pants. Barty’s fingers remained tangled in your hair, his other hand still gripping your waist like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

Neither of you spoke. The only sound in the room was the soft crackling of the fire and the heavy rhythm of your breathing. Barty kept his eyes closed, eyebrows scrunched, and you studied his face with fondness sitting heavily in your heart. You could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, attempting to match his with your own. Momentarily, your mind flashed back to when he coached you through your first panic attack when you were younger, fingers tightening on his chest as you were flooded with overwhelming emotion for him. What you knew to be overwhelming love.

His eyes fluttered open, dark, intense, and focused entirely on you. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he whispered, his voice rough and still a little breathless.

"I might," you countered, your smile brushing his.

Barty let out a soft laugh, but there was nothing teasing about it. He sounded almost relieved, like a weight had been lifted off his chest. "I swear I am not playing with you, Treasure," he murmured, as if it was of the utmost importance to him that you understood that

“I didn’t know,” you said quietly, your fingers loosening their grip on his shirt, though you didn’t let go completely. “I didn’t think–”

“You didn’t think I could be serious?” he finished for you, his lips quirking up in that familiar half-smile, though there was still a rawness to his expression that made your chest tighten.

You shook your head, struggling to find the right words. “I didn’t think you wanted to be serious with me.”

Barty’s smile softened even more if possible, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “I always want to be serious with you,” he said bashfully, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But you’re always trying to push me away."

You blinked, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his words. He wasn’t wrong. You had pushed him away. Every time he flirted, every time he got too close, you deflected, afraid of what it would mean if you let him in like that. Traumabonding was one thing, it was discussing the past and how it still affected you – but to open up about your emotions now? It had seemed impossible. But, sitting here with him – on top of him, really – his forehead resting against yours, his lips still tingling from the kiss you had just shared, you couldn’t pretend anymore.

“You're right," you admitted softly, having to resist rolling your eyes at his sudden grin at those words. "I didn’t want to ruin things. We’re friends. If this… if we–”

“It's more than that,” Barty said, cutting you off. "It's about want. You have to let me want you, because trust me, Treasure, I will."

You bit your lip, the weight of his words sinking in. Now that the invisible line you drew in your head had been crossed, now that you’d felt his lips on yours, there was no going back.

"How do I do that?" Your voice wavered, but your gaze didn't. Only Barty would you trust with that kind of question.

He gave you a smile you were afraid to call lovesick. His hands both slid to cup your cheeks, thumbs tracing the curve of your jaw in a way that made your heart race all over again. "You tell me what you want. What do you want, Treasure?" he asked, his voice low and rough, his eyes searching yours.

You hesitated, your breath catching in your throat as you looked at him. This was the moment, the moment where you could pull back, laugh it off, pretend it hadn’t happened. Or you could take the leap, cross the line completely, and see where it led you.

“I want…” You swallowed, your voice faltering for a moment before you met his gaze head-on. “I want you.”

“Then I am all yours, my love.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, softer this time, slower. There was no urgency, no desperation. Just the two of you, finally giving in to something that had been simmering between you for so long.

As his lips moved against yours, and you melted into him, all the tension from before fading away. It was simple and real in a way that made you wonder why you would ever shy away from this. Kissing Barty felt like clarity.

The smile that spread across your face when you pulled apart would go on to fuel Barty for days on end.

“See?” he joked quietly, his voice light but full of meaning. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

You pretended to scoff, though your smile didn't waver. “You really are impossible.”

Barty grinned, one hand slipping from your face to rest casually on your thigh. “Yeah, but you love it.”

You didn’t respond right away, but you didn’t need to. The look in your eyes said everything.

You let him want you.

565 notes · View notes

crescenthistory · 2 months ago

Note

hey my love 💓💓 i just wanted to say that i am so infautuated with the way you write and the way you think, i can't seem to get enough. your characterizations hit for me 🤧 i don't know if this request is going to make any sense, but i was wondering if you could share some general headcanons you have for the slytherin gang? like, i want to see more of how your mind works and how you view them. it can be things about them you already actively include in your fics or things you think about but maybe haven't gotten to explore yet? idk, go crazy, we will eat it up regardless 💘

this. this is exactly the kind of ask writers want to get – you've basically just asked me to yap away about my favourite characters, don't mind if i do love<33 and i appreciate your sweet words so much, know that i deeply appreciate and love you mwah

characters: barty, evan, regulus, dorcas, pandora

cw: discussion of abuse (crouch sr., walburga black, students), foster care system, taxidermy/animal death, violence, mental illness, fire, mentions of canon-compliance (though not based around it)

the holy bible of crescenthistory canon for the slytherin skittles !

barty

this is something i haven't touched upon in any of my writings, but am eager to bring to fruition -> i view barty as eastern european

you give me a dark-haired, thick-browed, chaotic, loud, incredibly welcoming and loyal to those he loves, avid drinker and smoker, i will tell you he is eastern-european

i am not necessarily particular about which eastern-european country, but personally i am partial to romanian

this is partly because it's the nationality that fits best with the rest of my hcs (as it's a romantic language in eastern-europe, surrounded by slavic nations), because i think the stereotypes work well for barty's characterisation while also not putting him too much in a box (unlike for example russian) and i can just see it

romanian pet-names i think he'd use: Dragă (dear), Inimă (heart), Buburuză (ladybug), Frumoasă (beautiful), Soare (sun), Pisicuță (kitten), mami (lol)

i will also accept polish (known in europe for being high-energy and off the rockers), moldavian (alcohol is part of their blood) and bosnian (good-hearted, explosive temper)

specifically, i think his mother was eastern-european and his father was english; his mother tongue was romanian but they primarily lived in england because of his father, thus he went to hogwarts instead of durmstrang

because he is so fond of his mother, i believe barty feels a rather strong connection to his eastern-european culture and it's definitely something he brings up/jokes about a lot

this all ties into another important hc i have for barty, which is that he is The Polyglot TM -> and provides the reasoning for why (apart from the fact that he is freakishly intelligent)

growing up, his father was neglectful and rarely spoke to barty unless it was to scold him. romanian became barty's native language because he was only ever truly raised by his mother.

thus, i think he struggled with english quite a bit in the start, because he was not exposed to it to the same degree

when crouch senior used barty's lack of fluency in english against him, taunting him, barty experienced his first act of rebellion/spite by ensuring he became so fucking good at english

it was not enough for him to become fluent, he needed to be a master of it, even learning many different accents (which he often pull out for a joke or a party trick btw. suddenly he's just speaking with a heavy derry accent)

both to a) show off and 2) prove his father wrong

as he grew a bit older (all still pre-hogwarts), the thought of being so connected to his father's language kind of soured for him, and to counter act that, he decided to pick up as many eastern-european languages as he possibly could

barty is nothing if not petty, fuelled by spite for his father

thus, he learned russian (very common language in eastern-europe), moldovan (neighbouring country to romania), hungarian (neighbour) and serbian (neighbour)

most of the slavic languages are fairly similar, so once you learn one, it is "easier" to learn the others, especially at a young age

by the time barty started hogwarts, i think he was fluent in 6 languages already, toying with a few others

when he befriended regulus in his first year and found out he was french, his reaction was immediately "oh guess i've gotta learn french now too!"

both to know what regulus was saying and so that the two of them could talk shit together

as a romance language, it was fairly easy for barty as a romanian to adapt to it, which is also how he throughout his time at hogwarts also learned spanish and italian. maybe latin?

barty is intelligent, out-of-pocket, spiteful and loyal; thus he is the epitome of an eastern-european polyglot

i think it's also canon that barty received 12 owls? that is a piece of canon i am 100% compliant with. he is just wired like that, he is the type who does not need to study for it and loves to flaunt that in others' faces

lastly, while i often depict barty as aloof and careless, i view this as the persona/facade he is putting on for protection. i genuinely believe barty is so terribly vulnerable and has some grade A meltdowns during his time at hogwarts

i don't want to say outright that i hc him as someone with borderline, but i will say that my partner has borderline and kins him for that exact reason so. do with that what you will

the only people who truly get to see this is the skittles, you, his mother and james potter on one unfortunate evening (which led to him understanding and respecting barty like never before)

evan

first and most obvious: twins with pandora

he was born 12 minutes after her, though i don't view them as the type to argue about "oldest"

visually, i have always imagined them to be almost identical (sometimes one of them are hc-ed as trans and they are identical twins, but i think regardless that they have the same face, height and size)

absolutely angelic, ethereal creatures -> all sharp angles (in their faces, sharp teeth, almost fox-like) and large contrasts (dark skin, blonde dreadlocks & very white teeth, big noses and thin eyebrows)

the twins have hetereochromia -> one green eye and one brown and yellow (again with the contrasts)

evan is also a very contrasting figure between his looks and personality; i see him as an incredibly beautiful, almost feminine person who has a primal, stoic personality

the type of face that makes others' jaws go slack while his tightens painfully at their reactions

i have seen others hc that evan is called a "doll" by everyone because of his looks and i think that does something to him mentally over time

it sent him to a quiet, dark place before he found true comfort and belonging with the skittles -> by seventh year, i think they had made it into an inside joke

stoic in the sense that he does not speak before he has thought over his words extensively and his face is in a constant deadpan, not letting anything slip

incredibly observant, finds comfort and joy in watching others. it can be studying human behaviour and social cues, or watching others squirm under his watchful eye, relishing in their discomfort

i believe he was selectively mute for a period of his life and pandora spoke for him (twin telepathy is real with these two)

with the skittles, he was treated as a person of interest for the first time in his life, with particularly dorcas and barty prodding to find out who he is and what he thinks

this is how he grew comfortable with them; he tested the waters and when they liked him even more for all his weird, he let go with them

humour wise, i believe him to be the type that snickers and barks laughters when he is with his select circle

crude, direct, unapologetic, clinical, curiosity-driven, loyal, animalistic

he is not the type to snap, but rather to sit back with his emotions and let them simmer until he channels them into something dark

however, if one of His People TM snaps, he is loyal to a dangerous degree and will be right there with them, going for blood

(which is how he and barty always ends up in fist fights)

barty gave him his first piercings in third year (perhaps to offset the whole "doll" thing at the time) and ever since, evan has been getting more and more

if his body is an angelic vessel, he wants to decorate it as he fucking pleases

oh and i think he curses like a sailor. again with the contrasts between looks and personality

anything unorthodox or "unacceptable" catches his attention -> his mind almost gets hung up on certain concepts or thoughts like a scratched plate

it can vary vastly from things considered "immoral" to things people just look down upon -> e.g. taxidermy vs skating

fascination with creatures (human or animal or fantastical), their bodies (blood, bone, veins, etc.) and behaviour (social interactions, hierarchies, relationships, etc.)

the point is that evan himself has lived as an oddity his whole life, so he pursues oddities in all forms. a sense of belonging and understanding.

preferably does it all with pandora

in a muggle au, evan would either be a tattoo artist specialising in occultist imagery or a biologist within a super niche field of a species he became obsessed with -> same same but different

regulus

i apply the generally accepted headcanon that the black family has french roots and thus french was his mother tongue; he slips into it when deeply emotive (in either end of the spectrum) and he borrows his favourite words that he feels does not have a sufficient equivalent in english

for instance, he calls his love amour instead of just "love" because he feels like the word holds more meaning in his native language

personally, i don't necessarily view regulus as a polyglot -> i think he could learn spanish and italian if he felt like it, but he would rather pursue poetry and music

(though i do believe he has taught himself latin to be That Bitch)

i recently touched upon this, but i believe that regulus is the most exquisite violinist

all sacred 28 children are raised almost as royals with all the "traditional" upper class teachings of learning classical instruments, reciting sonnets, horseback riding (though perhaps a magical creature instead? thestrals?)

both regulus and sirius were taught the piano to begin with, but regulus excelled much quicker than sirius, and mastered the piano incredibly early on

(the boys were heavily pitted against each other and made to compete, and due to their age difference, this was one of the few areas regulus outdid him. i believe regulus always did better than sirius had at his age, he felt as if he was behind because sirius was better than him in the moment. so he absolutely cherished it, and thus made musical instruments a large part of his personality for the first half of his childhood.)

to continue im(proving) himself, regulus decided to try out the violin, and i believe this is the instrument he truly fell for

the violin is a more physically engaging instrument than piano (at least for regulus, pianists don't kill me) -> he has to move his whole body to make the sounds he chases after, he can hold his fingers down on the sharp strings until they bleed, he can clutch the violin in between his chin and shoulder until it bruises

it becomes a much-needed physical outlet for him as well as an artistic one

if we want to get very sad, i picture sirius unable to listen to any music with violins in them in the parts of his life he spends without regulus (for whatever reason)

generally, i view regulus as someone who appreciates the arts as an escape

i believe he also reads and writes poetry -> originally he mostly consumed and replicated the sonnets he had forced down his throat (shakespeare was probably a wizard, right?) but as he grew older and continued, he developed his own style

i think he primarily discusses different manifestations of pain and generational trauma in his works; these are the pieces he is proud of and considers publishing under a pseudonym

but when regulus falls in love, he falls hard and i think it would be impossible for him not to write sappy love poems; these are the pieces he stows away and vows to never share with the world, until he is old and married and healed and finds them once more and walks into the living room to show his partner as they laugh and cry together

i think his most emotive pieces are written in french, his most secretive ones are written in latin and the ones about healing and developing are written in english

i don't feel like i need to dive deep into it, but i obviously believe regulus is a cat animagus

(i think he either did it young simply because he could, or he found out that sirius was an animagus and refused to be upstaged once more, so he did it over the summer after he discovered it)

(because regulus black is what? petty as fuck)

(it's part of what bonded him and barty early on)

i also want to touch upon the fact that i often (though not always, and rarely explicitly) view regulus as transmasc

i might delve more into it one day, but for now i'll just say i think he would use he/they pronouns if given the opportunity

LAST thing i promise: crop tops. slutty waist. thank you!

dorcas

without a doubt, i view dorcas as the strongest of the group, maybe even the strongest of all marauders era characters.

this is referring primarily to her magic but also her will power.

her spells have an explosive force to the point where she prefers not to cast healing spells or casual spells, because her magic is too "rough" for it to be suitable. she's a strategist in that sense, often delegating such spells to others. she works on more permanent/solid spells, e.g. putting up wards, hexing objects, any and all battle spells, potions.

she is a proper scholar and a good student who gets top marks, but that is not where her talent or aspirations stem from. she knows her power and she wants to use it effectively and pragmatically.

that goes for her willpower as well. say it with me: dorcas "debate team champion" meadowes. she is blunt and direct and unapologetic about it. she believes there is such a thing as a "correct" opinion and she will tell you as much in a so devastating manner you cannot formulate a response.

(canon-compliant: this is why she was killed by voldemort himself. she went straight from the mckinnons' home to where she knew she would find as many death eaters as possible, and then she just unleashed everything she had. knowing it would kill her, a form of suicide mission. she could not live without marlene, could not take the grief, but she wanted her death to be worthwhile; thus, she let go and single-handedly caused the largest amount of casualties for the death eaters had had in one battle. it was voldemort himself because no one else could.)

most of this stems from a pathological need to prove herself.

unlike the other four skittles who all grew up in abusive homes (although in varying forms), i believe dorcas grew up in the foster care system. which in the uk 70s was not a pleasant experience.

i don't think she experienced many caretakers who were angry/violent, but i don't think they were involved or engaged with her at all. they were just there, she was just there, and that was that.

from her fellow children in the system, she learned both what love and hatred was. the first girl she kissed was a roommate at one of the houses she spent some weeks at. but in the orphanage she spent most time at, she was caught in a severely psychologically harmful environment among the children. there was bullying, there were fights, there was instability.

dorcas was a blurred face in a massive crowd, moving at full speed. she needed to stand out, she yearned to be someone.

so; she began proving herself and she never stopped. academically, socially, capability-wise. which is how she harnessed such massive power. she had to establish a strong sense of self and make it seem to others like she stood with her head held high at all times, even when she was feeling fragile or scared.

i don't think she had a temper like barty's though, nor was she so wrung-tight like regulus. she was not one to snap or shake. she fake-it-till-you-make-it-ed her self assuredness and honestly believes it herself until she is alone.

when she crumbles it is through exhaustion and maybe a few tears that lead to silent sobs. if you don't know to look for it, you would never be able to notice it when she's in bed.

"i'll keep everything bottled up right here thank you" and does so successfully until she is held gently and then she melts

from northern england in my mind. favourite curse word is "bloody" and she overuses it.

because she is confrontational and not afraid to ask the tough question, she is the ideal person to come to when you need to get some real advice. in that sense, she serves the same purpose in the skittles as lily does with the gryffindors. i think the two would bond a lot.

dorcas is really proud of her name. i think she feels a real connection with it and identifies with it – it's beautiful. despite this, she likes the nickname "cas" because it signals a closeness she has yearned for her whole life. as i already have written about a lot, she can and will kill you if you call her "dorc" (the skittles still do ("but it's with a c!").

i would not go as far as to call her a pyromaniac, but she has a fascination for flames. i think she identifies with them a lot, too. she would have many candles lit around her at all time, and plays with the wick and the wax when she's bored.

she likes to read kind of niche, disturbing literature. she likes tropes like "cannibalism as a metaphor for love", "transforming into a bug", "a relationship between a voodoo doll and its maker"

i always believed dorcas' features and voice to be rather soft. i think her voice especially was naturally quite airy and light, which she tried to fight against for years to make it louder and match the power she knows she harnesses and wants to exude. as she heals, she knows she does not need to. she can still command a room with her soft voice and can still lead an army with a soft face.

i feel like maybe one of the most disputed aspects of dorcas is her style? and i'll tell you right now, in my mind dorcas has a light academia meets princess mermaid style. and it is significant. she dresses like she is the president of the debate team and would be the best person to bring on a beach date at the same time. with potentially some witchy/whimsygoth undertones.

in a muggle au i picture dorcas as either being in the un or a professional volleyball player. i don't think i will elaborate.

pandora

nicknames "dora"

everything said for evan regarding looks of course also applies for pandora as his twin -> ethereal, angelic, "doll-like" looks, heavy contrasts in colours and features (including heterochromia and blonde dreads)

i occasionally view pandora as transfem (making her and evan identical twins) and i think their features are quite androgynous, though femme-leaning

when i view her as trans, i think it was evan who picked her name out with a reference to pandora's box

in general, "pandora's box" is a running joke within the friend group. there are no ends to how the term is used; it can refer to her mind, her room, her partner, her bag, etc.

she has had the same wide cloth shoulder bag throughout all her time at hogwarts, that she always patches up by hand using natural elements, and she has hexed it so many times (to have more storage, to not let anyone with ill intentions in, etc.) that it radiates this magical energy you can feel when your hand hovers above it.

pandora's oddities are just as severe as evan's, but partly because she's a girl they're more often brushed off as "whimsical" -> i argue this is a mistake on their part

she is not the flora to evans' fauna; they are both fauna, they are both primal and wild

the reason evan is more violent than pandora is largely because he does it out of loyalty to barty and because he has been shunned in a more aggressive manner due to gender roles. pandora instead can be mentally and magically violent, creating new jinxes that crush someone's psyche in ways previously unheard of, should need be.

she is also primal in the sense that she is a very tactile person -> she touches to understand and learn. she can randomly grab someone's chin mid-conversation or rub at their eyebrows. her friends are not fussed over this whatsoever anymore, carrying on their sentence without any disruption. others, not quite as much.

pandora collects bones and uses them with everything from her magic to jewelry or decor. she has a habit of giving the prettiest bone of whatever creature she is pilfering from to whoever she is happiest with at the moment, kind of like a crow.

she has a deep respect for all fauna and their way of life; she often finds it to be more logical than humans'

pandora thinks on a plane above most other people.

i believe her to be a seer, though not always in the traditional sense. she doesn't necessarily know everything that is going to happen (some of it, sure), but she sees thoughts and feelings that are about to form in the air around her. she sees auras and sounds too.

in fifth year, her and barty make a business out of her giving relationship advice based on the fact that she is a seer. unfortunately, she actually said it as it was, leading to some unhappy customers, leading to barty beating them up. not good for business (but hilarious stories at parties)

she enjoys crystals, tarots, sage and other things we usually associate with spirituality. she enjoys them both for the concept of occultism or otherness, and as actual tools for her more unorthodox approaches to magic. many of her friends don't quite believe it, but it always works when she uses it all on them, so they don't say anything. i think dorcas quite enjoys learning tarot from pandora, while barty makes up fake stories for the cards.

her seer-abilities leads to a lot of miscommunication and is in large part why she talks the way she does. on her own plane, she often misses certain social cues or sarcasms, while others aren't privy to what she bases her worldview on, because they cannot see it.

i have always thought her voice and way of speaking to be very similar to luna's (that's where she got it from). it's airy and light, like she is addressing more than just the people present in the room.

in my fics, i usually make her quidditch commentator for that reason -> people find it entertaining (some in good nature, some in taunting) and her insights in players' mindsets and actions is beneficial

incredibly kind and patient with her friends

i think she has a fascination with mirrors -> both the concept of reflecting back, the idea of distorted mirrors, using mirrors in her magic, etc. her house is full of them.

i often view her as on the aroace spectrum ("i have greater concerns"), but if she is not i think she either:

a) views relationships and situationships in an almost clinical sense; experimenting with quite a bit of detachment, maybe even taking notes of it, yet somehow in an innocent-ish way

b) mates for life. finds one person and goes oh yes this one'll do and stays with them forever. (which i suppose is what she did with lovegood?)

in muggle aus, i think she would work at a funeral home and be that soft, celestial presence that sticks with a grieving 8 year old for the rest of their lives like a loving ghost reminding you that death is natural and grief is loved persevering

on that note, given the option i fully believe she would have become a ghost. the only reason she isn't in canon is because she missed evan and regulus.

the whole gang

everyone has made out with each other at some point -> have you heard of the term queer platonic? yeah that's them

overprotective in every form of the word. supporting each other in their maniacalisms. a cohesive group to the core.

pandora and regulus are best friends who can talk about the real shit and understand each other on an almost cosmic level

regulus and barty are best friends who are back to back in any situation, ready to be with each other through the worst -> the type who have been close for almost too long and bicker like an old married couple because of it

barty and dorcas are best friends who "will do it if you do it" and end up in the most nidicolous situations together just for the laughs

if barty goes through a breakup, it's dorcas he calls. if regulus goes through a breakup, it's pandora he calls. if evan goes through a breakup, the group splits in half where regulus and pandora stay with him while dorcas and barty goes to kill the breakup-er

regulus is the mum friend of the group, the kind of exasperated mum who sprays her kids with a spray bottle and put them on leashes. when regulus is out of commission, big sister dorcas picks up the mantle in the most chaotic manner you have ever seen (swap the spray bottles for bug smackers and the tired sighs with screeching). pandora is constantly the aloof auntie. evan and barty are babies with no regard for safety (their own or others').

their interests loop together into funny weird little systems

for example: barty finds the dead animal (maybe kills it if we're being honest), evan experiments on its carcass and dissects it, pandora retrieves its bones afterwards and makes jewelry with it

another example: pandora likes creating paint from natural elements, evan likes using it for his skateboard, dorcas likes using it for her paintings and clothes, and barty likes huffing it

on graduation day, pandora handed them all little dolls of each of them that she made herself -> in reference to the "rosier dolls", showing that they were all dolls because they were all family. they looked like a combination of voodoo dolls and babushka dolls, painted, sown and bedazzled with button eyes. they treasured them.

when i write fics where the skittles never got involved with the death eaters at all (which is most of the time), i usually hc dorcas as half-blood and the discrimination she faced is a large part of the reason why they were turned away.

they will vocal stim at the same time together, particularly barty and pandora. it drives regulus mad, while dorcas and evan don't even notice it.

when barty got in fights, evan backed him up and eventually threw him over his shoulder when it was time to stop. if they were fighting someone who deserved it, regulus and dorcas would stand on either side and throw healing spells on the perpetrator/victim, so that the punishment could be prolonged without actually killing someone.

pandora is the only one with veto rights in the group. whether it is to stop an argument, decide who is right, decide what to do or any such thing, it is only her word that is final. it's not always it comes to that, but when pandora's soft voice says "stop" or "yes", that is the end all be all.

many of them were each other's first real hug.

i love them, your honour

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