#had a thought and had to rant for a while

[bununiii]

funniest thing about dylan’s current plotline is one time i said to my long distance boyfriend that i wished i had a clone of him so i could hug him while i was at uni and he got UNNECESSARILY pissed and ranted about it to his friends who thought it was hilarious how mad he was (later apologised profusely and says it’s one of the most embarrassing things he’s ever done) . and YEARS LATER we are watching this show and i’m like somehow this fucked up dystopian show has made me understand why he would be mad 😭😭

“we shared vessels” is up there but funniest fucking shot of the episode is that cut to the empty MDR work station. dylan busy homewrecking his own marriage. irving wrecking someone else’s. mark and helly in the ninth circle of a four dimensional situationship. Seth out of office for the day on an official paperclip management seminar. Idk why reddit is so pressed about finishing Cold Harbour that shit is NOT getting done

[bittersweet-folder]

□ NERDY ✧･ﾟ:

♤ pairing: Tutor! (& student) Wonwoo and fem student!reader [he's a masters student while reader is in end of third year studying for her bachelor's degree, so both are at the legal age] [established relationship au!]

♤synopsis: just studying and then ranting to your nerdy boyfriend which takes quite a sweet "sweet" turn.

♤ warning: this is a smut fic by the way. mentions of explicit letters, dumb sex jokes (?) , oral (fem receiving, reader gets shy easily), shirtless wonwoo (honestly this needs a warning) , lots of smooching in different places🫶.

♤ word count: 2148 (I went overboard-) ♤ MASTERLIST

♤ tag list: @hongmingoo , @shuabby1994 , @unlikelysublimekryptonite , @asyre , @soobunsbuns , @nishloves , @aaniag , @sikuthealien , @jespecially , @lizza2001 , @zierose-freak , @thepoopdokyeomtouched .

(Scratched out means you either changed your username or I couldn't find your blog)

A/N: This is my first ever smut I've written. I've been inactive asf due to a lotta things, college assignments, viva exams, studying and getting my shit together. Neither my mental health has been soo good. But anyways babyloves I'm back with this postt letting y'all know I'm alive~ love y'all. It is proofread but let me know if there's any mistake 🎀

Sitting on your messy bed with books and copies splayed around you, your eyes go through the words on the page of your book. Exams were around the corner, knocking on door like some unwanted alarm early in the morning. And to state it quite clearly, you were absolutely exhausted. Your boyfriend Wonwoo, who was also your tutor, was there to accompany you in your long study sessions. But in a way he was more like a study partner. He was studying for his masters degree while you were studying for your bachelors in third year. And you both were literature students. And at that very moment Wonwoo wasn't being helpful at all. He was dressed in casual wear, a simple black tee and grey sweatpants. Except his tee was gone a long while ago. He was now walking around in just grey sweatpants, absorbed in reading a book. You take glances every now. Your concentration gets disrupted while your mind gets a little too crowded with more inappropriate thoughts. And your reading material definitely made you question why you are even reading such scandalous things. You noted more points on your draft paper, almost done with the draft work. You let out an exhausted sigh and laid down on the bed as your back was giving out. Wonwoo was going back and forth walking in your room, looked up and asked with a soft smile laced on his lips “tired, love?”.

You stare at the ceiling, mouth slightly parted as a soft sigh leaves. You let yourself wrap in the softness of the bed. You were just, well, frustrated because of the exams and quite turned on by the sight of your studious boyfriend walking around, in your room, half naked. 

“Yeah Wonu I am…” you said you're a bit hoarse from staying quiet for too long.

“You seem quite exhausted. Something's on your mind?” he said as he sat beside you. You feel the mattress rise on the side of your head as he sits on the bed. 

“Yeah.. I'm just so exhausted but there's so much to cover… am I doing enough even?” you muttered, the self doubt reflecting very clearly through your words. 

“Take a break, you heard me. Take a break. Don't doubt yourself so much when you're this tired” 

“But..” 

“No buts,” 

“Any rants you got there while skimming through your reads?” he smirks knowing you must've had something on your mind, something itching your brains out. 

“My brain's blank. I want to sleep but I want to eat, there are just too many wars, too many criticisms and James Joyce was a freak in disguise!!” you exasperated. Wonwoo laughed out loud with you abruptly concluding something scandalous about the author. 

“Well, so was his wife Nora. I mean they were quite in love despite having this sort of letters written to each other and of course there were some problems in their relationship too” Wonwoo stated. 

“Yes of course in love and all but that's not the point. The point is the lecherous lewd letters they exchanged. I felt like I walked into a couple fucking like there's no tomorrow!? Like excuse me, please chill!?” you exclaimed. 

“I know I know” he chuckled while agreeing with you. You sit up beside him. Close to him, your back resting on the headboard of the bed. Your eyes take a quick glance at his bare abdomen. You looked at him, your lips pressed in a thin line. 

“They were freaky. Good for them for having such a raunchy sex life. Anyways I'm hungry.” you stated impassively. He let out a chortle.

“Hungry for what exactly?” his voice rasps clearly through the stillness of the room. You gasp dramatically reading right through the innuendo. 

“How impolite of you to ask me about something this suggestive so crudely” you say in a dramatic tone with a coy look on your face. Your silly dramatic antics were nothing new to him. 

“Oh really but I was just asking what exactly do you want to eat you know?” Wonwoo had a sly look on his face. 

“Oh my. Really? I want coffee and one chocolate pastry. I ain't hungry for your cock, I'm hungry for some real food instead.” you say while your gaze traveled from his eyes to his lips. 

“Well, being brazen with your words as always, hmm? your eyes say otherwise, love” his voice was softer than before. 

“Oh do they? Can't help it when my boyfriend decides to just stay half naked around me, walking in my room, so absorbed in the book”

“Does that turn you on or something?” he teases. 

“Using knowledge for seducing works for me if that's what you're asking. I mean having such an intelligent boyfriend is quite interesting”

He knew how you found knowledgeable people attractive. And he was one of them. And he was your boyfriend for a long time indeed, so he knew exactly what you were talking about. 

“So am I getting a coffee and pastry break? Would you treat me??” you ask. 

“Well sweetheart I certainly would treat you but I want something in return too” his gaze averted down on your lips which were apparently also coated with lip balm. A transparent one which made them look more nourished and glossy. 

“Aren't you being quite obvious about what you want Wonu” you tease. Your heart skipped a beat as he leaned in closer, arms touching, your head turned to the left. The distance between lips several centimeters apart. You turn to face him. A soft breath leaves your lips. His arm slides around your waist pulling you closer on his lap. His bare chest presses against your clothed one as you staddle and settle on his lap. 

“So what if I'm being obvious? I still want to feel your lips on mine” his voice was raspy, words cutting through the tension in the air between. You breathe sharply at the close proximity. 

“You may” I mutter. He smirks and presses his lips on yours in a searing kiss. His pink lips moved in a rhythm against your lips. His tongue darted against your lips tasting the cherry flavor on his tongue. The soft passionate kiss soon turned into a heated one. As your cloth covered body stays flushed against his bare chest his hand slowly makes its way to cup your boob over your tee. His big hand fondles your boob while his thumb rubs over your clothed nipple. A gasp leaves your lips. He makes it an opportunity to deepen the kiss with his tongue. The eagerness to want more in that kiss was maddening enough as you moan into the kiss. He pins you on the bed. Your back laid on the soft sheets of the bed, your cheek flushed as he broke the kiss enough for you both to take a breath. You try to catch your breath.The desire of craving more was tangible as you feel his warm breathing fanning on your flushed cheek.

“Wonu.. want more please” you murmured against his lips. His hand finds their way to your waist grabbing on the right side as he presses sloppy kisses along your jaw. He moves downwards pressing more sloppy kisses on your neck. A trembling sigh leaves your lips. His nose catches the lingering faint smell of your shampoo and body lotion. A scent which was very much ‘you’,soft and homely. 

“Mind if we take a little longer break? You've been studying for a long time now and fuck..I want you now baby” he mutters against the skin of your neck. 

“Please..” 

“Please what, love” he smiled softly. The heat rises in your cheeks. 

“Can you touch me more..?” you murmur to his ear. He nibbles on the skin on your neck, just near the pulse while his hand slipped under your tee slowly pushing it up exposing more of your skin. He lifts you up a little to take off the t-shirt of your body leaving you in your bra. 

“God you're so beautiful” he says under his breath, his eyes admiring your half naked form. The blood rushed through your cheeks and ears as you looked away shyly. 

“Eyes on me, baby”

His fingers held you by the chin, turning  your gaze back to him. The desire in between was palpable. The distance again shortens in between as your chest touches his bare one. He pressed a few bites and sucked on your neck and chest to leave prominent little marks. You felt the heat coursing through your body as he slowly slid his fingers underneath your shorts. He pressed up himself more in between your legs making you feel his evident hardness against your core. His breathing became a bit ragged, getting desperate to remove the restrictions between and eager to get even closer to you. With ease he slid his hand underneath your back and unclasped the bra. He removed your bra and threw it aside on the bed. His face became a bit flushed as he saw your half bare body exposed to him. Just for him. He leans down pressing a few wet kisses before pressing an open mouth kiss on your left nipple. Your breathing quickens as his hand slowly pulls down your shorts. Your fingers ran through his hair as he flicked his tongue on your nipple. His fingers quickly pull down the elastic band of your shorts and then your panties. He discarded those on the other side of the bed leaving you completely bare in front of him.

“Fuck you take my breath away..” He mutters as his gaze trails over your naked form. 

He left a trail of wet kisses while moving lower and lower when he finally settled himself right between your thighs close to your wet core. His hands squeezed the flesh of your thighs. He still had his glasses on, locking eyes with you. Your breathing was uneven, face flushed and with him looking right into your eyes didn't help the situation or the position you both were in either. 

“Yahh! Open your glasses or they'll break!” 

“Oh no sweetheart they stay on when I eat you out the way they always do” He had that smug grin on his which you really wanted to slap away if that was possible. 

He dove right in licking right through your wet folds making you gasp. You feel his wet tongue flicking and swirling at the entrance of your cunt. You moan as he pressed up more with his nose bumping on your clit. He wraps his lips on your clit. He lightly sucks on it while his tongue swirls around it. You squirm under his touch, your breathing grew heavier. He smirks and then pushes his tongue in your slick entrance making your toes curl. 

“Wonuu~ fuck-” you moan as he continue his motions knowing how sensitive you're feeling right now eager to get a release. You grasp his soft hair with your fingers pushing his head just a little more, just so he pushes you closer to the edge. 

“Oh- fuck~��� You mewl. He continues his movements over your clit and then your entrance giving equal attention to both to stimulate you further. Your moans and grasping his hair was definitely not helping him. His pants felt uncomfortably tight given the fact he was turned on. He grinds a little on the bed as he continues his actions with his tongue on your cunt. You kept moaning and gasping under him as you felt getting closer to the edge. 

“Wonu I'm close~” I mutter softly followed by a gasp leaving your lips. You felt him moan against your wetness which was enough to push you to come undone. And you do with your body shuddering as he grips your thighs digging his fingers onto the flesh. He continues his actions with his tongue cleaning you up which follows with him coming. He moans against your cunt. 

“Wonuu- did you-” You asked feeling a little puzzled. He lifts his face, his chin glazed with the slick from eating you out.

“Well yeah I did baby I did come, untouched, I just couldn't help it” He sits up, still positioned in between your thighs as he pulls you by your thighs.You yelp softly as he does that. 

“You taste so good, love”

He hovers on top of you as he presses his wet lips on yours. You feel him smirk against your lips and you taste yourself too. His hand slides around your waist. I pull back just a little to mumble against his lips “you're cocky as hell too Jeon Wonwoo” I grin. “You love it anyways baby, and I'll get your treats after some time too ‘kay?” he mutters against your lips. “mmm okay” you say and smile softly. 

[elsm44]

diet pepsi 🥤 billie eilish

warnings: smut, car sex, public sex kinda, praise

(based off of diet pepsi by addison rae)

as billie drove through the dark streets, she clenched her jaw, frustrated after the long day she had. you sat in the passenger seat of her porsche, crossing your legs. you found her current state shamefully hot, but you’d never say it out loud.

she had just finished ranting to you about her day, and the car’s air was still. her music played at a low volume, and a thousand thoughts were racing through your head.

you felt bad about how bad her day was, but it was getting harder and harder to not saying something—anything—to her.

you look out the window, trying to stop yourself from begging her to pull over right then and there. the moonlight reflected off of her silver chains that you wish were dangling over you.

billie turns the music up a little, driving with one hand. the blush that covers your cheeks is undeniable.

“don’t act like i can’t see you over there.” she chuckles.

“w-what are you talking about?” you ask. her voice catches you by surprise, considering how heated she was just moments before.

“all squirmy and shit. it’s cute.” she shakes her head as if to say that she disapproves, but the dirty thoughts racing through her mind said otherwise.

you scoff. “all squirmy?”

“yes, y/n. crossing your legs, too. seriously, you think i don’t notice it?”

you bite your lip. the roads have been empty for nearly twenty minutes, and you’re surrounded by nothing but darkness and trees. the thought of her pulling over just made you even hornier as you realized what was about to happen.

you notice as she starts to slow down and pull off to the side of the road, as if to suggest she had read your mind.

“c’mon.” she turns the car off, leaving you two sitting in complete darkness and silence.

“a-are you serious? here?” you try to hide your excitement, but she saw right through it.

“yes baby, backseat.”

without a second thought, you quickly exit the car and open the rear door, climbing in the backseat while she does the same.

not wasting a second, she attaches her lips to yours. her pink lips were soft and sweet, leaving no room for error as she slipped her tongue into your mouth.

quietly, you moan into her mouth as she quickly takes control of your kiss, her hand making its way to your hair and grabbing a fistful of it.

she pulls away and under her husky breath, she says something that makes your heat tingle.

“i’m gonna fuck you so good baby,” she kisses you sloppily then adds, “losin’ all your innocence to me.”

she then kisses you even harder, and forcefully pulls you onto her lap, straddling her. your jeans were making it hard to stretch, but she dragged her hands down to your ass and squeezed rough while she kissed you.

“off.” she said simply.

you quickly climbed off of her to take off your jeans and made your way back into her lap, now wearing just your panties and white tank top, your red lacy bra peeking through.

she grabs your ass again and uses your hips to grind down on her thighs. you gasp and grab her by her shoulders, leaning your head back as she bites her lip, watching you with lust-filled eyes.

growing impatient to feel her fingers inside of you, she drags one hand down to your panties and slowly moves them to the side, allowing you to grind against her hand.

she leans up to whisper in your ear. “i love when you’re wet for me, baby.”

you whimper, and she laughs cockily as you desperately grind against her hand harder, trying to gain friction.

“c’mon, you’re not doing all the work, you know that right?” she shakes her head again and slowly circles her two fingers over your clit.

you moan, the quiet car now being filled by pants, moans, and the dirty words coming from your girlfriend.

“what do you want, hm?”

“you..” was all you could get out.

“mm, i know.” she cooed.

without another word, she slowly inserts her finger, gasping at the sensation of your walls closing in on her.

“god, y/n.” her face is now focused, her brows furrowed. everything has become more serious to her, and she’s determined to make you cum all over her fingers.

your whimpers turn into loud moans as she slowly pumps in and out of you, the angle hitting your g-spot perfectly.

“fuck!” you cry to her, the sensation overwhelming you.

keeping your hands on both her shoulders to steady yourself, you slowly ride her hand. she brings her free hand up and pulls you down by her chin to kiss you hungrily, moaning into the kiss.

she pulls back and says, “i wish it wasn’t so dark, i wanna see how pretty you look riding my hand.”

you smile at this and make a weak attempt at a laugh, but it’s made nearly impossible when she adds another finger. your face contorts, and you collapse your forehead on top of hers.

“are you gonna cum for me, mama?” she bites her lip again, completely engulfed in the dirty scene she had displayed in front of her.

you hum in response, signaling that your orgasm was inching closer.

“that’s my girl.” she pumps faster, biting your neck softly as she feels you reach your high.

you allow yourself to take full control, grinding on her fingers.

“that’s right baby, use my hand.”

your moans grow louder and louder, the lust completely taking over.

a few quiet moans escape her mouth too, getting off at the sounds of just your pussy and shaky breaths.

“billie, im so close…”

“cum on my fingers, y/n.”

you lean your head back again, and with one loud and final cry, your climax washes over you, and your release covers her fingers.

“god, you’re so fucking sexy.” was all she could say as she listened to you ride out your high.

a shaky and whimpering mess, you slowly climb off and sit beside her, attempting to catch your breath. not that you could see it, but she looks at you and brings her fingers to her mouth, tasting what she worked so hard for.

“goddamn, my arm is tired,” she blurts out, and you two laugh loudly. “you sound so pretty when you’re like that.”

you playfully slap her arm and begin to put your jeans back on.

“shut up.” you say, excusing her flattery.

“ready to go home?” she asks as you two get into the front seats again. she turns the car on and the lights finally turn on, allowing you two to see your red and tired faces once again.

you smirk and nod, imagining what she has waiting for you at home.

she really did manage to take any and all innocence away from you in that porsche.

[lillaydee]

Shhh!!!

Celebrity!Joel Miller / F Reader

A reluctant celebrity contractor who has closed his heart for love meets a celebrity-hating Cafe on Wheels owner...

She HATES him. Thing is, he couldn't get enough of the coffee she makes...

Tag List:

@kirsteng42 @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @joelalorian @vickie5446 @inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @brittmb115 @peedrow

Let me know if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list.

Dividers by the awesome @saradika

SERIES MASTER LIST

“Come on Joel! It’s not that big a deal! I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m 16!”

“No!”

“Why not? It’s not like I’m asking to get married or anything like that… Ew… even the thought makes me want to puke.”

“You’re still in school. I don’t want you to lose focus. You don’t need a job.”

“I just want to get some experience. And I wanna save up for a car.”

“I’ll buy you a car.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. What did Sarah do when you bought her one instead of letting her work for one?”

Joel sighed. He downed the rest of his coffee. Grimaced at the now cold coffee and went to get a refill – but the pot was cold now, too. “Damn it,” he grumbled. The fucking coffee maker was broken. Again.

“You know, you might be the richest man I know who still drinks coffee from a 20 year old machine you got as a birthday present. You know you can buy a new one for less than 100 bucks? You give me more weekly.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. I’ll just rewire it. Again.”

Ellie banged her head on the breakfast counter. “Quit being such a cheapskate, old man. How are you okay to buy me a car if you won’t spend less than 100 bucks on yourself?”

Ellie regretted her words before she could draw breath after that. She knew he was not a cheapskate, exactly. It wasn’t about the money. It was the coffee maker. What it symbolized.

His late wife had given it to him as a birthday present when Sarah was about one. She died in a car crash a week later. He was suddenly a widowed single father at 22.

He refused to replace that coffee maker, even though the coffee now came out burnt and ridiculously bitter. It had been rewired and fixed so many times neither Ellie nor Sarah wanted to touch the damned thing, worried they’d get shocked by it. Ellie swore she saw the lights flicker when Joel turned it on that morning.

But he didn’t react, just rolled his eyes at her, again, before picking up his keys and pushing her out the door, nowhere near fulfilled, coffee-wise.

Ellie wanted to shake the man who had been taking care of her since she turned 12. She had been Sarah’s mentee at the rec centre, and when her mother disappeared, Joel took her in, no questions asked. Her life took a 180 that day. He made sure she had everything she needed, got her into school, took interest in her progress, listened to her when she needed advice, even listened to her rants, albeit with a grumpy face.

She felt bad for him, he worked ‘til midnight yesterday. Shoot ran long. Ellie was sure he didn’t get home ‘til 2am. And now he’s already up to drive her to her summer art programme. She didn’t want to tell him about the programme at first, knowing it would take time out of his day to drive her back and forth. His schedule was bonkers to begin with. He’d done enough. So she got the bright idea of having a summer job. If she could buy a car, she could drive herself. There would be no need to trouble Joel anymore. Sarah drove her sometimes, but she wouldn’t be back from school for a couple more weeks.

Ellie and Sarah would talk sometimes, worried about Joel. He worked too hard. No social life to speak of, at least, not that they knew about. His life was the two of them, his brother Tommy and his work. They asked each other the last time they remembered him going out on a date, or even a vacation, for that matter, and neither could recall for sure. For a while, they thought he and Angela, his manager slash agent was a thing. But Tommy vehemently denied it, saying they were just business acquaintances. He changed the day his wife died, Tommy said. He became hardened. Stoic. Grumpy. To everyone save for Sarah, and now, Ellie. Not to worry, Tommy had told them, your father had people he could call if he felt… lonely, he said. Neither girls wanted to ask Tommy about their father’s social life, or lack thereof again after that.

Not that they were denying what Tommy suggested. It wasn’t as if he was short of interested parties. Being on a show as big as his and Tommy’s, he didn’t want for screaming ladies, something he was never interested in. He and Tommy started as contractors, renovating houses, their small company doing okay to support their small family, even in an expensive town like LA. They renovated a producer’s kitchen one day, and he offered them a contract as set builders for a show he was producing, and then the next, and then the next, and before they knew it, they had a show of their own, beginning with basic DIY stuff for a morning show, expanding to full on house renovations and builds. Tommy was the handsome, friendly, bubbly face of the show, and Joel the grumpy, reluctant contractor in the background. ‘Build with the Millers’ was a huge hit, and Joel Miller was the grumpy contractor that ladies and men alike swooned over.

Why exactly, neither Ellie nor Sarah understood. He was the same, scruffy man in his 40s that he was at home, just as he was on TV. No make up or overly styled hair for him. Apparently, after an incident involving a broken, aforementioned coffee machine and a late night taking care of a feverish Sarah, no make-up artist on set wanted to go near him again, lest they lose a few fingers trying. So he was on TV, face oily, scruff unkempt, hair unruly and all, dressed in whatever comfy shirt or flannel he managed to grab from his dresser that morning, and still the ladies swooned over him.

Fans approached him all the time, asking for pictures, often ignored. It became a thing at one point, people posting about their disappointing encounters with Joel Miller. He just walked past, hands around Sarah, shielding her face in case people took photos of her. He had relaxed a bit nowadays, but still wouldn’t entertain requests for photos, and still kept his arms around his girls when he noticed people whipping their phones out to take a picture. He left the glamourous part of the job to Tommy, much to Angela’s chagrin. He could make so much more, she had coaxed at one point. He didn’t need any more money than he already had, he said. So he left all the money making dalliances to Tommy.

Sarah once told Ellie that they lived in their old house for quite a while after the show took off, Joel only investing in a bigger place with a yard, only so that he could make sure Sarah’s privacy and safety was under control. He had woken up to a strange woman in his kitchen making breakfast for him and Sarah once and had to get a restraining order against her. He contacted a real estate agent that very day, and he slept better at night knowing that his daughters were safer behind the tall fences and a top notch security system.

Even though he himself was a simple man, he made sure his daughters want for nothing, as long as they remained humble. No designer anything for them. He still drove his beat up truck, so no Ferraris for the girls. He himself didn’t have the opportunity to go to college, so his girls were going, no matter what. That was why he was so against them having a job, he wanted them to focus. But what he didn’t realize was the girls looked up to him and lived by his example, wanting to work hard to enjoy their earnings more. When he bought Sarah a car instead of letting her get a job, she sold the brand new Prius he got her and gave the money to the rec centre she volunteered at, where she met Ellie. She got a job and got a second hand Mini instead.

And Ellie was determined to do the same.

She took out her phone and texted someone, glancing at her yawning adopted father as she did so. “So, can I get a job or not?”

“No.”

“Come on!!! Just for the summer. Not like I have school.”

“You have this class. This art thing. You begged me to get this tutor to teach you for the summer. Focus on that. I thought you wanted to go to art school.”

“Yeah, but we finish at noon. And they are prioritizing those going to colleges for volunteer work right now, so that’s out. What the hell am I supposed to do ‘til the next day? And I have to wait around for you to pick me up and you are not always on time, and you wouldn’t let me take an Uber.”

“So let me buy you a car.”

Ellie gave him the typical Miller girls’ combo of a side-eye and eye roll. “I guess the rec centre could use the money I will get from selling it.”

Joel stopped the truck at the rec centre, taking a deep, deep breath of frustration. He wanted to persist, but he could see he was fighting a losing battle. “Where exactly is this job you’re planning to get?”

Her face lit up, opening the door and jumping out, yelling at him to wait. She disappeared around the corner to the side of the building, coming back out not five minutes later, a massive cup of coffee in her hands. She presented it to him with both hands, complete with a curtsey, head bowed. “Coffee from my new work place, Your Majesty,” she said.

Joel rolled his eyes. If there was one thing he hated more than anything else in the world, it was pretentious fancy coffee, robbing people of their money. He didn’t take it.

“Come on, old man. You know you need this. Go on, I promise you it will be better than the ones you burn every morning.”

“How would you know that? You don’t even like coffee.”

“There’s a long line every day. Must be good. Plus, I need to help my new boss sell coffee now, don’t I?” she smirked.

Joel took yet another deep, impatient breath, took the coffee and had a sip.

Ellie watched as for a split second, his entire body relaxed, eyes closed, and breathing calmed. Just as quickly, though, he opened his eyes and sulked, placed the coffee in his cup holder and passed Ellie her back pack. “Pick you up around the usual time.” Ellie stepped back and waved Joel goodbye.

Huh. The man who swore coffee that didn’t come from his ancient coffee machine or the craft service of his show was crap just had a good reaction to that cup of coffee. Coffee that he would classify as ‘a modern fucking robbery’ just because they took some time to craft and cost more than a dollar. She walked back to the truck she had gotten the coffee from, taking the slotted tray with another cup of coffee and an iced tea placed on the sill.

“I guess I’ll see you after class then, Boss!” she semi shouted.

You dipped your head low to see her from your perch, winking at her, “Counting on it!” you called back, handing your next customer her usual cappuccino.

That first day, you made Ellie watch for an hour. She would mainly be taking the orders for you, handling the payments and cleaning the small fold out tables outside. You made sure she flipped through the booklet to make the teas and other drinks, the easier stuff. When she could stand to stay in the truck for longer than an hour without getting a headache from the smell of coffee, then maybe, just maybe, she could help you clean the machine.

You had taken over the truck from your stepmom Jenny, the woman you called Mom a couple of years before that. The woman had had enough of the glamorous city and decided to leave for her hometown, longing for a quieter life. The two of you started the moving café after your father passed a few years back, moving from one spot to another, going wherever the customers might be. Your father had owned a chain of cafés and sold them all when he decided to retire. You respected his wish to sell, but part of the reason you decided to open a moving café with Jenny was to have a connection with him. You worked for him most of your life, and making coffee made you feel closer to him. Apparently, he gave you a hollow ball with coffee beans inside as a rattle. His nickname for you was coffee related. This was what you loved doing.

Jenny did invite you to move with her, maybe start a business with her there, but you were in love then. So you stayed. Of course, the man you were so besotted with, the one who begged you to stay in LA with him rather than move with the woman who raised you decided that an opportunity to be with his dream actress was too good to pass up. He broke up with you over voicemail when she approached him at a party, drunk off his ass, all excited that she would even look at him. Last you heard, he lost his job as the manager at one of your Dad's old cafes for missing too much work to be with her on set and had become her personal assistant instead.

You went about your life, driving your little café around before deciding you couldn’t be bothered to do that anymore, and paid for a spot at the rec centre food truck centre. On your very first day there, two girls came running to your truck, the older one, Sarah, ordering the biggest iced latte you could offer, the younger one, Ellie, an iced tea, nose all scrunched up from the smell of coffee, which she apparently hated. And now she’s decided she was going to work for you. Go figure.

You didn’t really know much about her per se. You knew that Sarah’s father had adopted her, that he was a contractor, that she spent her evenings after school volunteering at the rec centre, just as Sarah did, and that she was taking personal tutoring from one of the art professors who volunteered at the centre during the summer. She spent her evenings at your truck while waiting for her dad, whom she only ever referred to as the old man to pick her up, yammering in your ears as you cleaned for the day, often running off with a quick see you tomorrow Lil over her shoulder when he called to let her know he had arrived.

You loved her company. To be frank, after Dave dumped you, your life consisted of work and sleeping, having to wake up super early to get the truck ready for business. You even open on the weekends, only taking every other Sundays off to spend some time with your Uncle Bill, Jenny’s only brother. That was it. You open and close at six every day, clean up, wash your truck on your way home, have a quick dinner, do some chores, read, and sleep. You tried to watch some TV at one point after Dave left, but his girlfriend Cleo’s face graced the homepage of your Netflix account, so you cancelled your subscription. You stopped your social media involvement, with the exception of the Insta page for your truck. Everything else would put you at risk seeing your ex with his glamourous sweetheart.

Ellie provided you entertainment, so to speak. She told you about the books she read, the movies she watched, the classes she took, and you found her excitement infectious, even if you had read and watched the movies she was talking about. She had a hard life before, not having the opportunity to enjoy the books and movies most people have at home, so her excitement in learning all these new things was something to celebrate. She started complaining about wanting a car, that her old man had offered to buy her one. But she wanted to get one on her own, just like her big sister. You suggested she get a job, just like you did back when you wanted one for yourself. Yeah, she had groaned, her old man wouldn’t let her get one. But she was going to talk at him until he gave in.

And gave in he did, apparently.

She was a hard worker, very friendly with the customers, cleaning as she went. But at the end of the day, she was exhausted, telling you she was going to sleep well that night. She helped you clean up before running off to use the bathroom.

Her phone started buzzing. ‘Old Man’ blinking on the screen. It went dark. And then buzzed again. After a few missed calls, a tired looking man in flannels came storming around the corner, panic written all over his face, eyes searching for someone amongst the parked trucks and the buzz of the people cleaning the area before dialling and placing the phone on his ear. Ellie’s phone buzzed again. It went dark as soon as the man took his phone away from his ears, dialling one more time.

Okay, it’s possible this was Ellie’s old man.

You walked up to him, the man walking in circles frantically looking for someone. You tapped him on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir, are you…”

He turned to look at you, an exasperated look on his face, “Look, lady, I’m in the middle of something, I don’t have time to take pictures right now, okay?”

Huh?

He saw your confusion, took a deep breath, “I’m looking for someone, so no, now is not a good time for pictures, okay?”

You stood there, still confused. The fuck was he talking about? What pictures?

“What?” he barked at you, annoyed that you couldn’t understand a few simple sentences.

Okay, you’re angry now.

“Well?”

“I was just going to ask, sir, if you are looking for Ellie,” you spat out. Slowly. Deliberately.

His expression changed. His stance shifted, his body language got softer. “Uh, yeah.”

“She’s in the bathroom,” you snarked, going to your truck to get her backpack and phone, shoving them both into his chest.

He finally saw the name on the truck. Wheely Coffee. That name was on his cup this morning. He closed his eyes, regret clear across his features. “Look, I’m sor…”

You slammed the door of your truck in his face, the door actually hitting his shoulder so hard he staggered backwards. You got in the driver’s seat and drove off, leaving him standing in the street, Ellie running out to meet him, confused as to what had just happened.

He looked at her, snapped out of his shock, handing her the back pack and phone.

Ellie didn’t take them, her arms crossed on her chest, staring at him with laser eyes.

“What the fuck did you do, Joel? What the fuck did you say to my boss?”

Part 2

[empty-like-my-soul]

I feel like I need to add a bit on to this. Normally I Don't do this, but I feel like this concept is so cool that I have to.

So let's talk about the other season with a tiny bit of an economy twist: Season 7.

Now, I'm not gonna talk about how this came to be for reasons, but in season 7 the hermits had to buy space in the shopping district. I think it was 9 diamonds a chunk?

Anyway, they had to put those diamonds into a stack, and later a throne. And unlike the other two, it didn't crash the economy/make it worse.

And that is partially because it didn't mess with the core foundational structure of the Hermitcraft economy. And that structure is abundance. Abundance of diamonds, abundance of suppliers, abundance of supplies.

Yes, sure, it limits some things by the inherent limit of space, and also technically removes some diamonds from the economy, but it encourages that abundance more than it detracts. Albeit less explicitly than other things.

In the scarcity of lots, someone would have to think very hard about what they put on their plot. It needs to be something they really want to put the work into gathering and is generally profitable enough to afford how much they paid for it. If you really want to sell something but it isn't that profitable, just add on another thing to sell of about equal value so you can make the most out of the space! Or, now that the shopping district is full, Sell the extra space on the new real estate market!

More things to sell= more abundance. Plus more likely restocks= more abundance.

The system also encourages variety in two ways: You can either have a lot of small shops with things to sell (more shops=more variety with what they sell+ more competitors for other shops+ more resources to buy) or have a huge shop with lots of variety inside, with possibilities to rent out space. A bigger store generally also means more resources to buy as there is more storage space for them. You also want the prices to be competitive because otherwise nobody will go into your shop and have the possibility of buying other things.

How does it do this? Well, because of the real estate market, you want to get the most bang for your buck! Either way, both of these are very good for abundance.

Finally, it encourages adding more diamonds to the market, what with having so many more things to buy as well as having to pay 1 diamond block for a chunk. You need to mine diamonds to even get started, and you might as well grab some extras while you're at it to buy things with!

More diamonds= more abundance!

Plus there's the other parts about it: the diamond throne never really gets used so it cannot remotely effect the economy. The government that was elected to keep charge of it is a glorified, elected infrastructure company, as that's all that it really does, so it doesn't effect the economy at all. And the limited space encourages the stores to be close together, so people are more likely to shop at multiple because "they're right there".

Effectively, that twist of the Hermitcraft economic system slightly benefited the economy by adding a new market and subtly encouraging people to act in a way that benefits it.

Also, I think it's funny that the real estate market, famously bad, can actually benefit the hermits minorly.

Alright, I think that's the end of my rant. Hopefully this isn't too confusing, and thanks op for reminding me about my thoughts on this. I'm going to be thinking about this for a while now. Sorry for the long addition to the post!

Anyone else thinking about how odd the hermitcraft economy is?

in season 9 they had a minor economic recession after the diamond ore war because there were far too many diamonds in circulation making them (hypothetically) worth less than normal and ren stepped in as the king and did what has been done in the midst of a lot of irl economic depressions; he created a government so they could employ the policy of Keynesian economics (basically more gov't intervention to stabilize the economy, it mostly worked in 1930's japan!), he took control of diamonds and even introduced a new currency, royal emeralds (much like Germany after WW1! they had some hyperinflation because of the war reparations they had to pay and the gov't not understanding that printing more money makes the money worth less resulting in the mark [currency] being so worthless they started burning it because they couldn't afford wood for fires. a new gov't came into power and they replaced the mark with rentenmarks which did a lot of fixificating for the economy). Ren's gov't also introduced a lot of gov't funded projects like the quests (the irl equivalent for this would be Roosevelt's New Deal which introduced policies/projects called the Alphabet Agencies (among other things) such as the AAA, CCC, TVA (do you see why they're called the alphabet agencies?) that would adjust the value of grain so farmers could start earning money for produce again and create work that would support a growing economy, projects like building roads and bridges)

so basically, all the policies ren's government introduced were very logically sound and worked in real life to fix the economy (except that irl the Great Depression only fully ended because WW2 started-), the issue is that hermitcraft is not real life and hermits do not behave like real people, they behave like hermits.

lets start with the hermitcraft economy. unlike the real economy, hermits rarely adjust prices according to how many diamonds are "in circulation". i say this despite the fact grian in a recent-ish episode says that "everything costs more this season because diamonds are more common". that can't be true because the caves and cliffs update literally made diamonds more difficult to acquire. I will circle back to this point made by grian later

hermits not adjusting prices by server-wide abundance of diamonds (because they cant really know how much anyone has, much less the total amount of diamonds in circulation, they just know who has a lot and who is broke) means that more diamonds doesn't make them worth less like it did with German marks, it just means hermits have more expendable currency and can spend more money and less time gathering materials for projects. It is also notable that diamonds are constantly being added and taken out of circulation because they're an actual useful currency rather than real life currencies which are symbolic slips of paper. diamonds can be used for armour and tools and it can be acquired by mining. so because of how hermits spend money, taking diamonds out of the economy in s9 did nothing but make them poor and angry at the government. the hermitcraft economy is actually stronger with more diamonds in circulation and is worsened by gov't intervention.

so already the use of real life strategies is utterly useless in hermitcraft economy but there are a few other reasons as well

the hermits tendency to resist government as well as the flawed and greedy government itself are a couple but also the fact that all the hermits are self employed (in real life but also in universe). they own and stock their own shops meaning all profits are more or less direct; its not passed through hands of big corporations so the person producing the product gets mere cents. the hermits are essentially small business owners (which becomes a bit of a problem come season 10 but we're still talking about season 9). The important part is the self employment. the season 9 gov't introduces the quests which mimic and echo real life government funded projects but because they're all employed and the quests gave small amounts of diamonds back, they did very little for the hermits

I'm sure theres more to say but i think its time to move on to the very interesting season 10 economy

if you've missed it you must be living under a rock but hermits are all using permits this season meaning only one shop in the shopping district is selling any given item/material and as a result of this prices have gone sky high. at one point a single stack of mangrove logs cost 7 diamonds when in previous seasons you could get at least 1 stack of wood for 1 diamond if not more

So what is causing this economic depression and hyperinflation?

well, circling back to the point grian made about resources costing more because of abundance of diamonds, I would think it actually costs more because of the permits.

grian thinks the diamond prices are fair because he has middle of the road permits (and is one of the hermits who designed their shopping district, permit and economic system this season so he's biased), there is enough demand to keep him afloat when he's stocked but its nothing people are clamouring for and buying him out. on the other hand, joel made a lot of shops that no one shops at because his objectively weighted permits have not been selling as well as they anticipated when making the permits (also some people like etho and pearl have additional income from their not as fabulous permits because they've made a pay to play game to go with it) and finally there are hermits like mumbo whose gold, iron and item frame shops were constantly getting bought out so he was frustrated with trying to restock despite getting lots of profit

(another interesting dynamic to think about is permits like cleo's book permit which lost value as the season went on because everyone needed books early on but now that they're all playing late game Minecraft, everyone is pretty stocked up and buying from cleo less often)

Basically, grian is satisfied with the pricing because he's middle class and couldn't afford it if they were more expensive but appreciates not being constantly out of stock, joel is unsatisfied because he is lower class and never has enough expendable currency to fund his projects because materials are too expensive and his permits aren't worth enough to sell them for more, and mumbo is unsatisfied because he is higher class and is constantly out of stock because his materials sell out too often and he wants to sell them for more to stay in stock more (classic supply and demand, he doesn't want to stock them as often making the supply lower and the demand proportionally higher making them worth more and therefore more expensive)

the reason i say the permits are to blame for the high prices is because they cause the responsibility of constantly stocking something to fall on one person (in past seasons, if one persons sandstone shop was out of stock you could go check someone else's sandstone shop). the threat of taking the permit away if they arent stocked along with the difficulty of constantly stocking some of these materials raises the cost.

a great example of this is skizzleman because his mangrove and cherry wood shop was one of the first shops to be built in the shopping district, meaning he somewhat set the prices this season. now, mangrove and cherry are both difficult trees to harvest because of their unconventional shapes and the fact that they are more recent additions (and skizz's stubborn desire to design his own farms...) so because of the time required to gather them the prices already were hitched up. add that to the fact that they are trying to constantly be in stock and therefore low prices that allow hermits to completely buy out the shops are unfavourable, and you get sky rocket-ing prices. (it is also difficult because skizz had no prior experience with hermitcraft pricing)

in conclusion... hermitcraft needs a laissez-faire economy (f. a. hayek) to function and not go into economic depression. Between the nature of the diamond currency, hermits' tendency to rebel against governments, the way they use the concept of supply and demand to price their goods, and the restrictions permits put on supplying products, hermits have proven that extensive structure and government intervention have not improved economic wellbeing the way that it does in real life

thus, hermits do not behave like regular humans, they operate on fae laws of its funny so lets do it and therefore must be governed as such (aka not governed), thank you for coming to my ted talk

[evermoreness]

ok girly I have no idea why but I need angist rn. so

what do you personally think the story would go if barty or regulus had to watch reader be tortured by death eaters (their own family) and what would the final out come be?

— Thank you for the amazing prompt, i loved writing it! Hope you like it! @msfandomsblog

secrets | regulus black - barty crouch jr.

pairing: regulus black x barty crouch jr. x reader

summary: you are working undercover for the order of the phoenix but things take a turn when your boyfriends, proud death eaters, discover how much danger you're in.

warnings: angsty, sad, mentions of blood purity, torture, blood, death and swearing.

obs: feel free to send your request!

masterlist

The first time you, Regulus, and Barty had been seen together, it had sent shockwaves through Hogwarts. The ever-composed, brooding Black heir and the unhinged, sharp-tongued prodigy of the Crouch family—both utterly devoted to you.

It had started as a game of wits. Barty loved a challenge, and Regulus enjoyed the quiet thrill of being underestimated. You had simply walked into their world with a smirk and sharp tongue, meeting their teasing and sarcasm with equal fire. Somehow, that had turned into late-night meetings in the Astronomy Tower, stolen kisses in the library, and whispered confessions between hex duels.

Regulus was the calm in the storm, his fingers always gentle when they brushed against your skin, his words measured and thoughtful. He would read to you on quiet nights, his voice a low murmur against the crackling fire, while Barty lay with his head in your lap, grinning as he plotted mayhem for the next day. Barty, for all his chaos and sharp edges, was fiercely protective, with a gaze that burned whenever someone dared to look at you the wrong way. He had a habit of pulling you against him, smirking down at you like you were the best-kept secret of his life.

The three of you were a paradox that shouldn’t have worked, yet it did.

The years passed, the war was creeping into every part of your lives. It slithered into the quiet moments, the laughter, the stolen kisses. It wrapped itself around your wrists like the Dark Mark, a constant, suffocating reminder of the choices they had made.

Regulus, Barty, and you had all taken the Mark—because what else was there? A refusal meant death, meant dishonor, meant betrayal of the very blood that ran through your veins. And so, you played the part well.

But Regulus was watching you.

At first, it was just a feeling. Something about the way you never seemed comfortable in the meetings. You didn’t speak with the same conviction as Barty, who thrived in the chaos of war. You didn’t look at the Dark Lord with the same reverence as the others. And then there were the small things—the way you flinched when Bellatrix praised a particularly gruesome mission, the way your fingers curled into your palms whenever the word "Mudblood" was thrown around carelessly.

Regulus noticed everything.

But he said nothing. Not yet.

One night, as the three of you sat in your living room, away from the prying eyes of other Death Eaters, Barty was ranting about a recent mission. His eyes were alight with excitement, his hands moving wildly as he spoke.

"And then you should have seen how he begged," Barty said, smirking. "Pathetic, really. I almost felt bad for the poor bastard."

You were staring at the fire, your fingers curled against your palm. "Almost," you murmured.

Barty glanced at you, grinning. "Come on, love, don’t tell me you’re getting all soft on me."

You forced a smirk, playing along like always. "Hardly. Just thinking about how easily that could be any one of us if we weren’t born pure enough."

Barty laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, I love when you get all philosophical on me." He leaned in, brushing a kiss against your temple. "But don’t overthink it, yeah? We’re winning. That’s what matters."

You hummed, nodding. But Regulus saw through you.

Later that night, when Barty had fallen asleep in the armchair across from the fire, Regulus pulled you aside. His grip was gentle but firm as he took your hand, leading you to the farthest corner of the room.

"You don’t believe in this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You froze.

"What?"

Regulus exhaled, his grey eyes searching yours. "You don’t believe in the cause."

Your heart pounded. "Reg, that’s ridiculous. Of course, I—"

"Don’t lie to me," he interrupted, his tone sharper now. He leaned in, his fingers tightening around yours. "I know you, Y/N. I’ve seen the way you look at them. The way you flinch when they talk about—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Why are you here?"

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. "Because we don’t have a choice."

Regulus studied you for a long moment. "No," he said quietly. "Because you’re hiding something."

You didn’t answer. Because what could you say? That he was right? That while he and Barty were blindly loyal to the Dark Lord, you had been sneaking off, feeding the Order information? That every time you put on the mask and followed orders, you felt like you were suffocating?

Regulus’ voice was softer now. "Tell me the truth."

You took a shaky breath. "I can’t."

His jaw tightened. "Then I’ll find it myself."

And with that, he turned, leaving you standing there, heart hammering against your ribs.

Days passed, and Regulus was unraveling.

He knew you were keeping something from him—something big. And whatever it was, it was dangerous.

He could see it in the way your shoulders tensed when certain names were mentioned at meetings, in the way your hands trembled ever so slightly after a mission, in the way you lingered at the edges of conversations instead of throwing yourself into them like Barty did.

Barty didn’t notice, of course. He was too busy basking in the thrill of war, too caught up in the chaos to see what Regulus did.

But Regulus?

He saw everything.

And it was driving him mad.

He didn’t say a word to Barty. Not yet. If he confronted you and was wrong, it could put you in danger. If he was right—which he was sure he was—then he had no idea what the hell he was going to do.

So, he watched. He waited. And the more he saw, the more the truth clawed at his chest, making it harder to breathe.

Then, one night, he’d had enough.

You were alone in the living room, sitting by the fire with a book in your lap, though you weren’t reading it. Your mind was elsewhere. It had to be—you had just returned from a secret meeting with the Order, slipping back into the house under the cover of night, your pulse still racing from the risk of it all.

You should have gone to bed. Should have buried yourself beneath your blankets and pretended—like you always did—that everything was fine.

But you didn’t get the chance.

Because Regulus found you.

"You’re going to get yourself killed," his voice was quiet but sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade.

You looked up, heart skipping a beat at the sight of him standing in the dim glow of the fire. His arms were crossed, his jaw tight, his stormy grey eyes locked onto yours with something dangerous brewing behind them.

For a split second, you considered pretending you didn’t know what he was talking about.

But the look on his face told you there was no use in lying.

"Reg—"

He took a step closer, his voice strained. "Do you have any idea how reckless you’re being?"

Your fingers curled around the pages of your book. "I don’t know what—"

"Stop it." His voice wavered, just slightly. "Don’t lie to me."

You sucked in a breath.

He sat down beside you, but there was no warmth between you this time, only tension so thick it was suffocating. His fingers were twitching against his knee, a nervous habit he rarely let anyone see.

"Tell me the truth," he said. "Please."

You looked away. "I can’t."

Regulus let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his dark curls. "I knew it," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "I knew something was wrong, but I thought—" He exhaled shakily, shaking his head. "You don’t believe in any of this, do you?"

You didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

Regulus let out a humorless laugh, leaning back against the couch. "Of course. Of course you don’t." He turned his head toward you, his eyes burning. "Then why are you still here?"

Your throat tightened. "Because I have to be."

"That’s not good enough."

You turned to face him fully, your pulse hammering. "What do you want me to say, Regulus? That I think this war is a nightmare? That I hate every single second of pretending I stand for something I despise? That every time I watch you and Barty throw yourselves into this, I feel like I’m losing you both?" Your voice cracked on the last words, and you bit the inside of your cheek hard.

Regulus flinched.

"You’re—" His voice caught, and he swallowed hard. "You’re working against us."

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

You inhaled sharply. "I’m trying to stop something that I know will destroy us all."

Regulus closed his eyes for a moment, his breathing shallow. "And if the Dark Lord finds out?" His voice was soft now, almost fragile.

You hesitated. "Then I die."

His eyes snapped open, and for the first time since this conversation started, there was something like fear in them.

"You can’t do this," he whispered. "Y/N, if they even suspect—"

"They don’t," you cut in quickly. "No one does."

Regulus stared at you, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful. "I do."

Silence.

A long, unbearable silence.

Then, finally, he spoke again.

"I should turn you in."

You stiffened.

"But you won’t."

Regulus swallowed, his hand flexing at his side. "No," he admitted, voice hoarse. "I won’t."

Your chest ached at the conflict written all over his face.

"You don’t have to believe in this either, you know," you said gently.

He let out a bitter laugh. "It’s not that simple."

"Yes, it is," you whispered.

Regulus turned his face toward you, his gaze flickering to your lips before settling back on your eyes. For a moment, he looked like he might say something—something important, something real—but then, instead, he reached out and cupped your face, his fingers barely trembling.

"You’re a fool," he murmured.

"So are you," you whispered back.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t desperate or hurried—it was slow, lingering, like he was memorizing the feel of you in case this was the last time.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven.

"I’m going to lose you," he said. It was a fact.

You closed your eyes, your fingers curling around the front of his robes. "Not yet."

Regulus exhaled shakily, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling back completely. He looked at you for a long time, as if trying to burn the image of you into his memory.

Then, without another word, he stood up and walked away.

You watched him go, knowing that, after tonight, nothing would ever be the same.

Regulus didn’t sleep that night.

He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor while his mind spun in endless circles.

You were risking everything. Everything.

And the worst part?

He knew you were right.

He had known for a long time that Voldemort wasn’t a leader to be followed—he was a tyrant, a monster. The things he demanded, the cruelty he enjoyed—Regulus had seen enough to know that this was not the future he wanted. But still, he had stayed. Out of fear. Out of duty. Out of some warped sense of inevitability.

And now, you were standing against it.

And he was too much of a coward to do the same.

He clenched his fists, breathing heavily.

He hated himself for it.

But more than anything, he was afraid. Afraid for you. Because if Voldemort ever found out—if even the wrong person suspected—you’d be dead before you had the chance to defend yourself.

And he—God help him—he wouldn’t survive that.

Something had changed.

Barty was growing restless.

He wasn’t stupid—he saw things.

The way you and Regulus had become something else—something charged, something that teetered between love and fury. The whispers, the stolen glances, the tension so thick it made his skin crawl.

He didn’t get it.

You and Regulus had always been close, but now? Now it felt like there was something unspoken between you, something he wasn’t a part of. And Barty hated being left out.

One evening, as the three of you sat in the living room, Barty was watching the two of you like a predator studying prey.

Regulus was seated beside you on the couch, but he wasn’t touching you. That was the first thing Barty noticed. He always touched you, even in the smallest ways—a hand on your knee, fingers tracing your wrist. But now? Nothing. He was sitting stiffly, arms crossed, jaw clenched, like there was a war raging inside of him.

You were no better. You kept sneaking glances at him, your brows knitting together in frustration, your lips parting as if you wanted to say something but didn’t.

Barty leaned back in his chair, tilting his head. "Alright," he drawled, tapping his fingers against the armrest. "What the hell is going on?"

You blinked, turning to him. "What?"

"Don’t play dumb, love," Barty said, his voice almost teasing, but there was something sharp beneath it. "You two have been acting weird. Whispering, staring, fighting without actually fighting—what is it? Did Regulus forget your birthday? Did you finally tell him you like me more?" He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Regulus exhaled through his nose. "Drop it, Barty."

"Oh, I don’t think I will," Barty shot back. His smirk widened, but his eyes glinted dangerously. "Because I’m starting to think you two are keeping secrets from me."

You forced a scoff. "Oh, please. What, do you think we’re plotting against you?"

"Wouldn’t be the first time," he said. "But no, I don’t think it’s that." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "See, I’ve been watching you two. And whatever this is—" he gestured between you and Regulus "—it’s not normal."

Regulus’ jaw clenched. "There’s nothing—"

"Yes, there is," Barty cut in sharply. His gaze flickered between the two of you, and for the first time, there was something like hurt beneath his usual bravado. "When did I become the third wheel?"

You inhaled slowly. "Barty—"

"Don’t," he said, his voice tight. "Just tell me what’s going on."

Silence.

Regulus was looking at the fire, his profile cast in flickering gold. He looked tired.

Barty’s expression darkened. "You know, whatever this thing is, it’s starting to piss me off."

Regulus let out a sharp breath, finally turning to look at him. "Not everything is about you, Barty."

"Oh, fuck off, Reg" Barty snapped. "Don’t pull that on me. If you two are going to keep secrets, at least have the decency to lie to me properly."

Regulus stared at him for a long moment, then stood abruptly. "I’m going to bed."

Barty let out a bitter laugh. "Of course you are."

Regulus ignored him, turning on his heel and stalking toward the dorms.

Barty turned to you. "Well?"

You hesitated. "I… can’t tell you."

Barty’s lips parted slightly, his expression twisting. "Why?"

You swallowed hard. "Because it’s not something you can know."

His jaw ticked. "That’s bullshit, and you know it."

You closed your eyes, inhaling shakily. "I’m sorry, Barty."

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t have a response.

He just stood there, staring at you, his fingers curled into fists at his sides. Then, without another word, he turned and left, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

And just like that, the cracks in your carefully built world grew wider.

Fractured bonds.

The tension between the three of you was unbearable.

Days had passed, but it felt like years. Your relationship was holding on by a thread, fragile and stretched too thin.

It was like walking on broken glass—painful, dangerous, and yet none of you could step away.

One moment, there was anger—shouting, sharp words, accusations that cut too deep. The next, there was longing—a desperate need to hold on, to kiss, to pretend that none of this was happening. It was a cycle, a vicious one, but one none of you had the strength to break.

You knew Regulus was still watching you, studying you with that sharp, knowing gaze. And Barty? Barty was unpredictable. One second, he was angry, bitter, pushing you and Regulus away—then the next, he was pulling you both back in, acting as if nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

And tonight, it all came crashing down.

The three of you were in your room.

A storm raged outside, rattling the windows, but the storm inside the room was far worse.

"You’re lying to us," Barty snapped, his voice laced with frustration as he paced the room. His fingers twitched at his sides, the way they always did when he was on edge. "You’re both lying to me."

"Barty—" you started, but he cut you off with a sharp glare.

"Don’t," he hissed. "I don’t want more excuses, I don’t want more half-truths. I want the fucking truth."

Regulus was standing by the fireplace, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. But you could see the way his jaw was clenched, the way his fingers dug into his own arms like he was holding himself back.

"There’s nothing to tell," Regulus finally said, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

Barty let out a bitter laugh. "Right. Because you two sneaking around, whispering behind my back, looking at each other like you’re going to shatter any second—that’s normal?"

"Barty, please," you tried, stepping toward him, but he stepped back.

His eyes burned into yours. "Don’t do that," he said lowly. "Don’t act like I’m the problem here."

Regulus exhaled sharply. "You’re not."

"Then tell me what’s going on," Barty snapped, turning on him.

Regulus hesitated. Just for a moment.

And that was enough.

Barty let out another sharp laugh, shaking his head. "You don’t trust me," he said, voice quieter this time. "After everything. You don’t trust me."

Your chest ached. "It’s not about trust—"

Barty scoffed. "Of course it is," he said bitterly. "Regulus barely looks at me anymore, you only talk to me when you have to, and I’m supposed to believe that everything is fine?" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I’m not stupid."

"Then why are you making this harder than it already is?" Regulus said suddenly, voice tight.

Barty’s head snapped toward him. "I’m making it harder?" he repeated, incredulous.

Regulus let out a sharp breath. "You think I don’t know what this is doing to us? You think I don’t know that everything is falling apart?" His voice cracked slightly at the end, and that alone made your stomach twist. "I don’t need you to remind me."

Silence filled the room.

Barty’s expression flickered—just for a second. Then, just as quickly, he covered it with anger.

"Then fix it," he said. His voice wasn’t loud anymore. It was quiet, almost pleading. "Fix it before we lose this."

Regulus inhaled shakily, but he didn’t answer.

And neither did you.

Because deep down, you both knew—this wasn’t something that could be fixed.

Not when you were still lying to them.

Not when the war was getting closer, tearing you in different directions.

Not when you were all breaking apart and couldn’t find a way to hold on.

But despite it all—despite the anger, the pain, the lies—Barty still stepped closer.

The silence stretched between the three of you, thick and suffocating.

Regulus wasn’t looking at Barty anymore. He was staring into the fire, his jaw tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself, and then—"I’m working against him."

Barty’s entire body went still.

His breathing slowed. His fingers twitched at his sides.

"What," he said, voice eerily calm.

You swallowed hard. "I’ve been helping the Order. Gathering information, passing it to them." You hesitated, glancing at Regulus. "He figured it out days ago."

Barty didn’t even blink. His eyes flicked to Regulus, and his voice was dangerously quiet when he spoke.

"And you didn’t tell me?"

Regulus turned then, his face tense. "No."

"You knew she was working against the Dark Lord, and you didn’t say a word?" Barty’s voice rose, sharp with disbelief. He took a step forward, fury rolling off him in waves. "You knew she was walking straight into death and you just—what? Let her do it?"

Regulus’s jaw clenched. "It’s not that simple."

Barty let out a short, humorless laugh. "Oh, no, it is that simple, Reg." He turned to you, his eyes burning with something almost wild. "You—do you have any idea what he’ll do to you if he finds out?"

You met his gaze steadily. "I do."

"And you still—" His voice broke off as he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He looked like he wanted to throw something, break something. "You—fuck."

Regulus took a step forward, voice low. "Barty—"

"No." Barty shook his head. "No, don’t ‘Barty’ me right now. I—I don’t even know what to—you’re both fucking insane."

Regulus stayed silent.

You, however, took another step forward. "I knew you’d be mad, but I didn’t think it’d be because of this."

Barty turned to you so fast it made your breath hitch. "Are you joking?" His voice was rough, strained. "I’m not mad because you don’t believe in him. I’m mad because you—" He let out a harsh breath, shaking his head. "Because I thought I’d have a lifetime with you, and now I don’t even know if you’ll make it to next week."

Your chest tightened.

"You can’t—" His voice cracked. "You can’t just throw yourself into this war like you’re untouchable. You know what he does to traitors."

"I know," you whispered.

Barty let out another breath, and before you could react, his hands were on your face. His grip was firm, almost desperate, his thumbs tracing over your cheekbones like he was trying to memorize you. His forehead pressed against yours, and for the first time in days, he wasn’t pushing you away.

"You’re going to get yourself killed," he murmured. "And I—I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens."

Your hands came up to rest over his, your fingers curling against his wrists.

Regulus was watching, his expression unreadable. But then, finally, he stepped forward too. His arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you into him.

Barty’s breathing was ragged against your skin, and you felt Regulus sigh against the top of your head.

For a moment, just a moment, none of it mattered.

Not the war.

Not the danger.

Just the three of you, holding onto each other like you were the only thing left in the world.

The world outside seemed to disappear.

For a few moments, the only thing that mattered was the feel of Barty’s hands gently cupping your face, the heat of Regulus’s body pressing against your back, his arms around you, both of them surrounding you like a fragile lifeline.

Barty’s breath was still uneven, but there was a tenderness in the way he held you now. His fingers traced over your jaw, soft, as if he were trying to memorize you. He pressed his forehead against yours again, his lips hovering so close you could feel his every breath.

"I can’t lose you," he whispered, voice breaking, as though the admission hurt. "You can’t just—" He shook his head, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "You can’t keep doing this. I can’t—"

"Then stop me," you said softly, your voice trembling.

Barty’s eyes met yours, and for a second, he just stared, his gaze dark, conflicted. He didn’t know what to say to that. His hand moved down to your neck, fingertips brushing lightly over your skin. "I’m trying," he murmured. "But I’m losing you. Every time you walk out, every time you’re not with me..." His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard, as if the words were too much for him to say.

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath, but the weight of it all felt heavier than it ever had. You could feel the pull between you and Barty, the tension of unspoken feelings, but also the love—the ache that had been there since this all started.

Regulus’s arms tightened around you, and he leaned down, his voice softer, quieter. "We’re here," he said gently. "We’re not leaving you. Not now, not ever."

His words, spoken in that calm, steady tone, did something to you. The tears you had been holding back threatened to spill over, but you fought them. You couldn’t break down now. Not when they were both holding you together.

"I can’t keep doing this," you whispered. "I can’t keep lying to both of you, to myself."

"You don’t have to lie," Regulus said, his voice full of quiet understanding. "You’re doing what you think is right. But you don’t have to do it alone. You’re not alone."

Your breath hitched at his words. It was like something inside you was unraveling, something you had been holding onto so tightly, afraid of losing control. But now, with them here, with them holding you, maybe it was time to stop pretending.

You turned to face Regulus, letting your fingers curl into his arm, pressing your cheek against his chest. "I’m scared," you whispered, the words coming out in a rush. "I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I’m so afraid of what might happen. Of what’ll happen if he finds out."

Barty’s grip on you tightened, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, "Then let us help you. We’ll keep you safe." His voice was rough with the desperation that mirrored your own. "I’m not going to let you walk into this mess without me. I’m not going to let you face it alone."

Regulus’s voice was firm, unwavering. "Neither of us are."

The three of you stood there, pressed together in the dim light of the room, the weight of everything that was happening in the world outside pressing in on you, but somehow, for a moment, it didn’t matter. The war felt so far away when they were holding you like this.

But the truth was, you couldn’t keep this secret much longer. The lies, the deception, the danger—it was all closing in, and you knew it. Yet, here they were, both of them, offering you their trust, their protection, and their love.

And somehow, for a split second, you let yourself believe that maybe it would be enough.

Barty pulled back slightly, his gaze searching yours. "Promise me you’ll tell me next time," he whispered, his voice softer now. "I need to know. I need you to trust me."

You nodded slowly, looking at him. "I promise."

Regulus’s arms tightened around you again, his chin resting gently on the top of your head. "I’ll be here, too," he said quietly. "Don’t think for a second you’re alone in this."

The room was so still, the storm outside distant and almost irrelevant now. You could feel their hearts, both of them, beating against you in sync. For a moment, it was as if time had stopped, as if nothing else existed except the three of you.

"I’m sorry," you whispered. "I never wanted to hurt either of you."

Barty’s thumb stroked over your cheek, wiping away the tear you hadn’t even noticed had fallen. "You haven’t hurt us," he said softly. "But you will if you keep doing this alone."

Regulus’s hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair. "We’re not asking you to fight this battle for us," he said, his voice low but steady. "But we can’t lose you."

The room felt heavier than ever, but it also felt strangely comforting. The love, the unspoken understanding between the three of you—no matter how much the world outside seemed to be falling apart, right now, here, this moment was everything.

"I don’t want to lose you either," you whispered, finally letting go of the fear that had been consuming you for so long.

And in that moment, for all the turmoil and pain and uncertainty, you knew that you wouldn’t face it alone. They were there, both of them, and as long as they were by your side, maybe—just maybe—you had a chance to survive this. Together.

His favourite.

The dark chamber was cold, the air thick with something suffocating—fear, anticipation, devotion. The Death Eaters stood in a circle, their black robes blending into the shadows, the eerie flicker of candlelight casting long, twisting silhouettes along the stone walls.

You stood between Regulus and Barty, their presence anchoring you, though it did little to quell the sickening dread curling in your stomach. Every meeting was unbearable, but tonight felt different.

The Dark Lord sat at the head of the room, his pale fingers drumming lightly against the armrest of his throne-like chair. His red eyes flickered over the gathered figures before settling on you, a slow, satisfied smirk pulling at his lips.

"Ah," he murmured, voice smooth as silk. "My most promising ones."

You fought to keep your expression neutral as he rose from his seat, gliding toward the three of you with that effortless, inhuman grace.

"You never fail to impress me," Voldemort continued, his gaze lingering on you for far too long. "So young, yet so skilled. A rare combination."

Regulus shifted beside you, subtle but protective, his fingers twitching at his side. Barty, on your other side, clenched his jaw so tightly you could almost hear his teeth grind.

"My Lord," you said, lowering your head slightly, feigning deference as best you could.

His lips curled as he took a step closer, just near enough that you could feel the cold presence of his magic brushing against your skin.

"Tell me," Voldemort mused, reaching out a single, skeletal finger to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, "do you understand how valuable you are to me?"

Your stomach turned.

"I only serve where I am needed, my Lord," you answered carefully, lowering your gaze just slightly, playing the part he expected of you.

His lips curled in something akin to a smile. "Humble as ever."

Barty stiffened beside you. You could feel the way his entire body was wound tight, the anger radiating off him in waves.

Regulus, ever composed, subtly shifted closer to you, his fingers brushing against yours, a silent reminder that he was there. That neither of them would let this go too far.

Voldemort, of course, noticed.

His amusement grew. "Ah," he mused, voice smooth as silk. "You boys are always so protective of her. As if she needs it."

Barty’s jaw clenched. "She is ours, my Lord." His voice was unwavering, firm, but careful. He knew better than to openly challenge him.

Voldemort’s head tilted ever so slightly, amusement flickering in his red eyes. "Oh?"

Regulus’s voice was calm, carefully measured. "We are bound to each other, My Lord. Devoted. She is ours as much as we are hers."

There was a long silence. The tension in the room crackled like static.

Then Voldemort chuckled.

You hated this. The way he looked at you. The way he spoke to you as if you were his.

"Fascinating," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over the three of you with something almost like amusement. "How devoted you are to each other. It is rare to find such unwavering loyalty."

You swallowed, resisting the urge to step back. You knew better than to show weakness here.

Voldemort exhaled through his nose, seemingly satisfied for now, and turned away, his robes billowing as he strode back toward his seat.

"But," he continued, lowering himself into his chair once more, "loyalty is not always absolute, is it?"

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay still.

Voldemort’s eyes flickered over the room, sharp and calculating. "I have reason to believe there is a traitor among us," he said, his tone casual, but the weight of his words made the air feel even heavier.

Your fingers curled into your robe.

Regulus, beside you, barely moved, but you could feel how tense he was, every muscle in his body coiled tight. Barty, too, was unnaturally still, but you could tell his mind was already racing.

Voldemort’s gaze lingered on different Death Eaters, as if searching for any sign of guilt. "Someone has been leaking information to the Order of the Phoenix," he said, his voice almost lazy. "They think they can deceive me."

The chamber was utterly silent.

You could feel your heart pounding against your ribs, but you kept your breathing steady, your expression carefully blank.

"Whoever it is," Voldemort mused, his fingers tapping lightly against his armrest, "will be found. And when they are…" His smile was razor-sharp, chilling. "Well. You all know what happens to traitors."

Your stomach twisted violently.

Regulus’s hand brushed against yours—so briefly, so subtly, that no one else would have noticed, but the message was clear.

Barty, too, shifted just slightly, moving closer, his body half-angled toward you in an instinctive stance of protection.

Voldemort watched the three of you again, his expression unreadable. "Tell me," he said, "do any of you have thoughts on this… traitor?"

You knew what he was doing.

He wanted you to speak. He wanted to hear you condemn someone, to prove your allegiance.

You forced a small frown, tilting your head slightly, as if deep in thought. "If someone has betrayed you, My Lord," you said carefully, "they have made their choice, and it will be their downfall."

Voldemort regarded him for a long moment before his gaze slid back to you.

"Yes," he murmured. "I trust you will handle it."

Your throat felt dry. "Of course, my Lord."

His lips curled again, but this time there was something calculating in his eyes.

Then, without warning, he reached forward.

His cold, skeletal fingers barely grazed the side of your face before—

Barty stepped in.

Regulus moved at the same time.

"My Lord," Barty said smoothly, though his voice was tight, almost shaking with the restraint it took to keep his anger in check. "She is ours." He said again, as to remember what he just said mere minutes ago.

Regulus was more measured but no less firm. "We have always been loyal to you, my Lord. And we remain loyal to each other."

For a moment, Voldemort merely watched them.

Then he laughed.

Low and cruel.

"Fascinating," he mused. "Such devotion. Such love." His voice curled around the word as if it was something vile. "And yet, love has always been a weakness, hasn’t it?"

Regulus didn’t flinch. "Love is what makes us fight harder, my Lord. We would die for you."

Barty nodded sharply. "And we would kill for her."

Voldemort exhaled through his nose, as if weighing their words. Then, finally, he leaned back in his seat, his amusement still evident.

"Very well," he said, his voice smooth once more. "You may keep your prize."

Your stomach churned.

Your mind was racing, your body still thrumming with the aftershock of his scrutiny.

The meeting dragged on, each passing second heavy with tension. Voldemort had moved on from his initial speech, now discussing upcoming attacks, new strategies, and those who had been caught opposing him. Every word out of his mouth was a reminder of how deep they were in this war, of how much blood was on everyone’s hands.

You kept your expression neutral, nodding when appropriate, keeping your breathing steady. Barty was standing stiffly beside you, arms crossed, barely keeping himself in check. Regulus, ever composed, listened carefully, but his hands were curled into fists at his sides.

Then, as the meeting was beginning to wind down, Voldemort spoke again.

“Before you all leave,” he said smoothly, his red eyes sweeping over the gathered Death Eaters, “I will require a few moments with each of you. Privately.”

A few people shifted uneasily.

You felt a cold wave wash over you, but you didn’t let it show.

Voldemort leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression unreadable. “There is a traitor among us,” he repeated, voice silk-soft, yet carrying an undeniable weight. “And I will not be made a fool of.”

The air in the chamber thickened.

“You will come to me, one by one,” he continued. “There is no need to fear. If you are loyal, you have nothing to hide.”

A lie.

No one spoke.

Then Voldemort’s gaze flicked to Barty. “We will begin with you, Crouch.”

Barty stiffened, then exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders back. You could tell he was biting back something sharp, something reckless, but he held his tongue.

Voldemort stood, gesturing toward a door at the back of the chamber. “Come.”

Barty turned to you for half a second—just enough for you to catch the flicker of fire in his eyes. He wasn’t afraid. He was furious.

Then, without another glance, he followed Voldemort into the private room, the door clicking shut behind them.

The room was dimly lit, a single candle on the desk casting elongated shadows along the walls. Barty stepped inside, keeping his head held high, his expression carefully blank.

Voldemort took his time, moving to the other side of the desk, settling into a high-backed chair.

“Sit.”

Barty hesitated, then dropped into the chair across from him, his movements casual, but his muscles coiled tight.

Voldemort studied him for a long moment, red eyes gleaming. “You have always been a fascinating one, Barty,” he murmured. “So eager. So loyal. Unlike your father.”

Barty clenched his jaw. His father. That was the entire reason he had joined this war in the first place—to rebel, to ruin his father’s perfect reputation, to show him that he would never be the son he wanted. But the more he had thrown himself into the Death Eaters, the more he had begun to realize just how much he hated being under someone else’s control.

Especially when that someone was Voldemort.

Voldemort reached into a drawer, pulling out a small vial of clear liquid. “You know what this is, of course.”

Veritaserum.

Barty schooled his expression into one of mild interest, watching as Voldemort poured a few drops into a goblet of water.

“You will drink,” Voldemort said smoothly, pushing the goblet forward. “And then we will talk.”

Barty didn’t even blink. He took the goblet, swirling the liquid absently, as if he had nothing to fear. Then he tipped his head back and drank.

The potion slid down his throat, cool and tasteless. A normal person would already be feeling its effects, their mind opening like an unlocked door.

But Barty had poisoned himself with Veritaserum long ago. The resistance had built slowly, painfully, over time, but now it was absolute.

Voldemort sat back, watching him with keen eyes. “Good,” he murmured. Then, after a pause— “Tell me, Barty… have you noticed anything unusual within our ranks?”

Barty raised an eyebrow. “Aside from the obvious paranoia?”

Voldemort’s lips curled ever so slightly. “Clever,” he said. “But not an answer.”

Barty exhaled through his nose, tilting his head as if in thought. “If there is a traitor,” he said lazily, “then they’re damn good at hiding it. No one seems particularly suspicious to me.”

A lie, spoken with absolute ease.

Voldemort’s gaze was unwavering. “You are close to her,” he said, voice soft, but pointed. “Your little love affair is no secret.”

Barty’s hands curled into fists beneath the table. He forced a smirk. “Jealous, My Lord?”

A sharp, ringing silence.

Then—Voldemort laughed. A slow, cold sound, more amused than offended. “Ah, Barty,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. “Your loyalty is not in question. Your temper, however… is intriguing.”

Barty said nothing.

Voldemort watched him carefully, then took a step closer. "Tell me, Barty," he said, his voice a whisper of silk and steel. "Have you ever doubted me?"

Barty tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question. Then, smoothly, he said, "No, my Lord."

It was a performance. The perfect lie.

Voldemort’s gaze bore into his, sharp and probing. Barty felt the magic press against his mind, slithering, seeking. He focused, let his occlumency build walls of ice, let his thoughts scatter like mist. He had trained for this moment, had carved his mind into a fortress that no one—not even the Dark Lord—could break into.

After a moment, Voldemort made a small sound. Amused. Intrigued.

"You are not so easily read," he mused.

Barty allowed himself a small, careful smirk. "I’ve always valued my privacy."

Voldemort chuckled, a low, cold sound. "Indeed."

He turned slightly, circling him like a predator sizing up its prey. Then, almost lazily, he asked, "Do you trust your… companions?"

Barty knew exactly who he meant. He forced his body to remain relaxed. "Regulus and her?" he said, as if the question was absurd. "Of course. We trust each other with our lives."

Voldemort hummed. "And yet, trust is so often misplaced."

Barty’s fingers twitched at his sides. He hated this. Hated the way Voldemort spoke about them, hated the way his gaze darkened with something possessive whenever he mentioned her.

Voldemort leaned forward slightly, his red eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “She is… captivating, isn’t she?”

Barty’s blood ran cold.

The way Voldemort said it, the way he let the words roll off his tongue like a slow poison, made his skin crawl.

“I have seen the way you look at her,” Voldemort continued, watching him closely. “The way both of you do.”

Barty gritted his teeth. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to do something reckless, something stupid.

“I have no objections to… loyalty,” Voldemort said. “But tell me, Barty—would you be so loyal if she were to betray you?”

Barty inhaled sharply, forcing himself to meet Voldemort’s gaze with unwavering eyes. “She would never betray me,” he said, voice steady, but laced with something dangerous.

Voldemort studied him for a moment longer, as if searching for something in his expression. Then he hummed. “We shall see.”

He leaned back again, fingers tapping against the desk. “You may go.”

Barty didn’t hesitate. He stood, turned, and strode toward the door, his every movement sharp and controlled.

But as he reached for the handle, Voldemort’s voice stopped him.

“Oh, and Barty?”

He clenched his jaw before slowly glancing over his shoulder.

Voldemort’s smirk was barely there, but it was there nonetheless. “She is quite lucky to have you.”

Barty said nothing.

Then he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

The moment Barty stepped out of the room, Regulus knew something was wrong.

Barty had always been good at masking his emotions, but right now, his shoulders were too stiff, his fists clenched too tight. His usually smug expression was gone, replaced by something dark, something furious.

Regulus didn't ask. He didn't need to. He simply met Barty's gaze for a fraction of a second before Voldemort’s voice called his name.

"Regulus."

Regulus inhaled slowly, steadying himself before stepping forward. The air in the room was thick with something unseen, something suffocating. He kept his posture straight, his expression blank.

Voldemort gestured toward the same goblet, still laced with Veritaserum.

"Drink."

Regulus took the cup and swallowed it with the same practiced ease as Barty. He felt nothing. The years of slow poisoning had paid off.

Voldemort studied him carefully before speaking. "You are an interesting one, Regulus," he said, pacing around him. "So quiet. So… calculating."

Regulus said nothing.

Voldemort tilted his head. "Do you doubt me?"

Regulus met his gaze, eyes as cold and unreadable as ever. "No, my Lord."

A lie. Smooth, effortless.

Voldemort hummed, stepping closer. "Your mind is quiet," he mused, his tone amused. "Most people cannot silence their thoughts so well."

Regulus remained still, his Occlumency shields firmly in place. He had learned early on that emotions were weaknesses, that showing anything more than cold obedience would only draw suspicion.

Voldemort circled him like a predator. "You are devoted to the cause, are you not?"

Regulus nodded once. "Of course."

Another lie.

Voldemort chuckled, seemingly entertained. "And yet," he murmured, "I wonder… what is it that you truly believe in, Regulus?"

Regulus held his gaze. "I believe in what you have taught us, my Lord," he said smoothly. "That power is meant for those who can wield it. That weakness must be eradicated."

Voldemort smiled, pleased.

Regulus had always been good at telling people exactly what they wanted to hear.

Voldemort’s gaze darkened slightly, his next words slow, deliberate. "And what of her?"

Regulus’ jaw tightened, barely perceptible.

Voldemort’s smirk widened. "You, Barty, and her… it is amusing, really. You act as though she belongs to you."

Regulus remained silent.

"But you forget," Voldemort continued, stepping closer, "that I am the one who chooses whom she belongs to."

His voice was soft, almost thoughtful, but the weight of the words sent something cold and sharp crawling up Regulus' spine.

Regulus forced his expression to remain blank, but his blood was burning beneath his skin. He wanted nothing more than to lash out, to put an end to the way Voldemort’s gaze lingered on her. But that would be reckless. Stupid.

Instead, he inhaled slowly, masking his fury behind a carefully controlled voice. "She is loyal, my Lord," he said smoothly. "That is all that matters."

Voldemort chuckled. "Is it?"

He studied Regulus for a long moment, searching. Trying to push past the wall of ice that Regulus had spent years perfecting.

But he found nothing.

After a moment, Voldemort let out a quiet sigh, as if slightly disappointed. "You may go," he said finally.

Regulus didn’t hesitate. He turned and walked out of the room, his steps controlled, his breathing even.

But the moment the door shut behind him, his fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms so hard it hurt.

Barty was waiting for him in the corridor, his expression just as stormy.

Regulus exhaled slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I hate him."

Barty’s lips curled into something dark, something sharp. "That makes two of us."

Just some moments ago, it was your turn to be interrogated by the dark lord.

The door creaked as you stepped inside, your heartbeat steady but your stomach twisting. You had always known this moment would come. The moment where you had to sit across from him, knowing the web of lies you had carefully woven could crumble with a single misplaced word, a single crack in your composure.

Voldemort’s crimson eyes locked onto you, and a slow, knowing smile stretched across his pale lips.

"Finally," he murmured. "I saved the best for last."

You forced a small smile, polite but distant, before stepping forward and taking the goblet from his outstretched hand. You tilted it back, letting the liquid slip down your throat. It tasted bitter, like metal and rot, but you didn’t flinch.

Voldemort watched your closely, his head tilting slightly.

"Tell me," he said, voice smooth as silk. "Do you know who has been leaking information to the Order?"

You met his gaze without hesitation. "No, my Lord."

Truth spilled effortlessly from her lips—just not the whole truth.

Voldemort hummed, tapping his long fingers against the arm of his chair. "Curious. I was sure someone of your intelligence would have some idea."

You shook your head. "If I did, I would tell you."

Another lie, clean and sharp.

Voldemort leaned back, watching your in consideration. Then, without warning, he reached forward, long fingers pressing against your temple.

You didn’t flinch. You had expected this.

The moment his magic touched your mind, you strengthened your Occlumency shields, keeping your thoughts blank and your emotions steady. You had practiced for years, had learned from the best.

The fact was that Regulus was the one to teach you and Barty the secrets of occlumency. It was Regulus who slowly poisoned the three of you until you were resistant to veritaserum. Regulus was always thinking three steps ahead.

Nothing.

Voldemort’s frown deepened.

"You are difficult to read," he murmured, almost fascinated. "Like Regulus. I wonder… have you been learning from him?"

"I learn from those who are worth learning from, my Lord," you answered smoothly.

Voldemort chuckled. "Clever girl."

You held still as his fingers traced lightly down your cheek, the cold, skeletal touch sending revulsion curling in your stomach. But you remained impassive, empty. Just like Regulus. Just like Barty.

"You are so obedient," Voldemort praised, his tone almost… fond. "So loyal."

You didn’t respond.

Voldemort let his fingers drift lower, brushing against her jaw. "Unlike the others, you understand true power, don’t you?"

You swallowed back the bile rising in your throat and answered, your voice steady. "Yes, my Lord."

His eyes gleamed, and his thumb ghosted over your lower lip.

"You could be greater than them," Voldemort mused, his tone light, almost indulgent. "Why waste your time with children when you could stand beside someone truly powerful?"

Your stomach twisted.

"I am where I wish to be, my Lord" you said flatly.

Voldemort chuckled again, as if your words were amusing rather than a rejection.

"Are you?" he asked, tilting his head. "I see how they cling to you. How they think you belong to them." His fingers trailed down your arm, slow, deliberate. "But you are not theirs."

You kept your breath even, forcing yourself not to recoil.

"You deserve more," he continued. "Someone who can give you more. I could give you more."

The disgust was a wildfire in your chest, but you did not let it show. You met his gaze, cold and impassive. "I am honored, my Lord," you said carefully. "But I am loyal."

Voldemort searched your face, as if trying to find a crack in your perfect mask.

Then, after a long silence, he sighed. "A shame," he murmured, his fingers finally drawing away.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, your skin still crawling.

Voldemort leaned back, watching you with something close to amusement. "You may go," he said finally. "And do not let those boys keep you from reaching your true potential."

You gave a short nod and turned on your heel, leaving the room without haste but without hesitation.

The moment the door shut behind you, you sucked in a breath, your hands shaking slightly before you clenched them into fists.

Barty and Regulus were already waiting for you.

And the moment you saw them, the disgust, the revulsion, the lingering phantom touch of Voldemort’s hands—it all became unbearable.

Barty noticed first. His eyes darkened. "What the hell did he do?"

Regulus stepped forward, his jaw tight. His hand brushed against yours, grounding, steady. "Did he—?"

"I’m fine," you said quickly, but your voice was strained, your mask cracking.

Barty’s fists clenched. "I’ll kill him."

Regulus said nothing, but his eyes were filled with something dark, something murderous.

You shook your head, swallowing hard. "Not here. Not now."

Barty let out a sharp breath, still furious, but he stepped closer, his hand curling around the back of your neck. "That bastard," he muttered, his voice low, deadly.

Regulus placed a hand on your waist, grounding you. "You’re trembling," he murmured.

You exhaled shakily. "I just need to leave."

They didn’t argue.

Regulus slipped an arm around your shoulders, and Barty took your hand, squeezing it tightly.

And together, you walked away, leaving the darkness behind you.

The moment you were outside, far from prying eyes and listening ears, the weight of what had just happened crashed down on you.

You felt filthy. Like Voldemort’s touch had left something rotting on your skin, something you couldn’t shake off no matter how hard you tried. Your stomach twisted, nausea rising, and you could feel your hands shaking. But you kept walking, head high, expression cold and unreadable. You knew better than to let anyone see you like this.

But Barty and Regulus saw.

They always saw.

Barty was practically vibrating with rage beside you, his hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles had turned white. Regulus was walking with tense, controlled movements, his jaw locked, his eyes dark.

As soon as you were far enough from the meeting place, in the secluded forest where they had Apparated in, you stopped. And then—you broke.

A sob wrenched its way out of your throat before you could stop it. Your knees buckled, and you covered your mouth with your hands, trying to quiet the sound, but it was useless.

Barty was at your side in an instant. "Fuck," he muttered, voice tight. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—come here." He pulled your into his arms, crushing you against his chest.

You clung to him, fists curling into his robes as the sobs wracked your body. "I hate him," you choked out. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him—"

Regulus placed a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles. "It’s over," he murmured, his voice low, controlled. But you could hear the restrained fury underneath it. "He can’t touch you now."

Barty’s breathing was ragged, and you could feel the way his whole body was shaking with barely restrained anger. "Where did he touch you?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

You hesitated for half a second before whispering, "My face. My jaw. My arm. My—my lip."

Barty made a sound so vicious it barely sounded human. "I’m going back there," he growled. "I swear to fucking Merlin, I’ll—"

"No, you won’t," Regulus said sharply, his grip on you tightening as if to remind Barty of what truly mattered right now. "She needs us. Not a fight you won’t win."

Barty let out a sharp breath, his whole body still shaking with fury, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he pressed a fierce, lingering kiss to your temple, his fingers curling protectively around the nape of your neck. "I swear to you, if he ever does that again—"

"He won’t," Regulus interrupted, his voice filled with quiet, deadly certainty. "We won’t let him."

You sniffled, finally pulling back enough to wipe your tears away. "I just—I just want to go home," you whispered.

Regulus nodded. "Let’s go."

Barty took your hand, squeezing it tightly. "And then you’re taking the longest shower of your fucking life, and we’re going to make sure you forget every second of what just happened."

You exhaled shakily, nodding. "Please."

The moment you Apparated back to the Black estate, the suffocating weight in your chest barely lifted. The grand, dark halls of the house were cold, eerie, but you were safe. Safe from him. Safe from the way his fingers had burned into your skin like something rotten, something vile you couldn’t scrub away.

You barely made it past the threshold before your legs gave out again, but this time, Barty caught you before you could fall. His arms wrapped around you, strong and grounding, holding you up even when you felt like crumbling.

Regulus shut the door behind you, locking it with a flick of his wand. Then he turned to you, his gaze sharp, analyzing. His mind was already working, calculating, planning—what to do next, how to stop this from happening again.

But Barty? Barty was all fire.

"You’re shaking," he muttered, voice raw with barely contained fury. He pressed his forehead against yours, his grip tightening around you. "You’re fucking shaking."

Of course, you were. You could still feel Voldemort’s touch like something etched into your skin. You hated it. Hated it so much you wanted to rip yourself apart just to make it go away.

Regulus took your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up so he could look at you. His touch was nothing like Voldemort’s—it was steady, firm, but careful. His thumb brushed over your jaw, where Voldemort had dared to trace. His eyes darkened. "I should kill him," he murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

You let out a shaky breath. "You can’t."

Regulus’ jaw clenched. "Doesn’t mean I won’t find another way to make him suffer."

Barty growled under his breath, still vibrating with rage. "Why didn’t you slap his fucking hand away?"

You closed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion creeping in. "Because he’s Voldemort, Barty."

Barty’s grip on you tightened. "I don’t care," he hissed. "If he ever—if he ever fucking touches you again—"

Regulus cut him off, voice sharper than usual. "He won’t."

Barty turned to him, expression still twisted in fury. "How can you be so sure?"

Regulus met his gaze without hesitation. "Because next time, I’ll kill him myself."

You let out a broken sound, something between a laugh and a sob. "I love you both," you murmured, shaking your head. "But you can’t just kill Voldemort."

Barty scoffed, running a hand through his hair, eyes wild. "Watch me."

Regulus exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing against yours before he took your hand. "Right now, we need to take care of you." His voice was softer now, but there was no mistaking the steel underneath it. "Shower. Fresh clothes. Something warm to drink. And then sleep."

You hesitated. "I don’t want to be alone."

Barty scoffed. "Like we’d let that happen."

Regulus’ grip tightened. "We’ll be with you the whole time."

A lump formed in your throat, and you exhaled, nodding. "Okay."

Barty pulled away first, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the bathroom. "Come on. We’re scrubbing every trace of that bastard off you."

Regulus followed, quiet, watchful, protective.

And for the first time since the meeting, since Voldemort’s hands had dared to touch you, you felt like you could breathe again.

The bathroom was warm, steam curling around the air as the enchanted taps filled the bathtub. The scent of lavender and cedarwood filled the space—Regulus’ doing, no doubt, since he always had a way of making things feel softer, safer.

Barty sat on the edge of the tub, sleeves rolled up, watching the water rise. His knee bounced impatiently, hands still clenched into fists, but his eyes kept flickering back to you. Regulus stood behind you, fingers at the clasp of your cloak, carefully undoing it before sliding it off your shoulders.

Regulus sighed, stepping closer. "You don’t have to do anything," he murmured. "We’ll take care of you."

You swallowed, exhaustion pressing into your bones. "I feel disgusting."

Barty’s jaw tightened. "That’s because he is disgusting." His hands curled over yours, his grip firm but warm. "We’re fixing this. Now."

Regulus reached up, brushing his fingers against your jaw—the same spot Voldemort had touched. His touch was a whisper against your skin, gentle, reverent, as if trying to erase the phantom feeling of someone else’s hands on you.

"Let us," he said simply.

Your throat tightened, but you nodded. "Okay."

Regulus undid the buttons of your robes, slow, deliberate, giving you time to stop him if you wanted to. When you didn’t, he slid the fabric down your arms, leaving you in only your underwear. Barty stood, pressing a kiss to your temple before whispering, "Get in."

You stepped into the tub, the hot water enveloping you instantly, and let out a shuddering breath. It was comforting, but the unease in your chest hadn’t left yet.

Barty knelt beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves even more, grabbing a washcloth. "Close your eyes," he murmured.

You did.

The cloth was warm, soft against your skin as Barty ran it over your arm, wiping away the invisible filth you still felt clinging to you. His touch was uncharacteristically gentle, slow and careful. "It’s just me," he murmured, as if reassuring you. "Just us."

Regulus kneeled behind you, gathering your wet hair in his hands, his fingers brushing against your scalp. "Tilt your head back," he instructed softly.

You did as he asked, and a moment later, water poured over your hair, washing away the remnants of the night.

They worked in quiet synchrony—Regulus washing your hair with slow, practiced fingers, Barty scrubbing your arms and shoulders, tracing patterns into your skin that felt like protection, like a vow.

"I hate him," Barty muttered under his breath.

Regulus hummed in agreement, fingers still in your hair. "He doesn’t own you," he said quietly. "No matter what he thinks."

Barty’s fingers curled around your wrist, his lips brushing against your knuckles. "You’re ours," he murmured. "Not his."

Your breath hitched. The weight of their words, the warmth of their hands—it was all too much and yet not enough. You turned your head slightly, opening your eyes, meeting Regulus’ gaze.

"Stay with me," you whispered.

Regulus’ thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a droplet of water. "Always."

Barty grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You’re not getting rid of us that easily, love."

You exhaled shakily, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. "Good."

Regulus rinsed the last of the shampoo from your hair, his hands lingering on your shoulders. "You’re clean now," he murmured. "Inside and out."

Barty kissed your wrist again before reaching for a towel. "Time to dry off, sweetheart. We’ve got a bed waiting for you."

You let them pull you up, wrapping you in the warmth of the towel and their hands. Every touch, every whispered reassurance, every kiss against your skin was a promise—of protection, of devotion, of something bigger than the war, bigger than the darkness that loomed over all of you.

Because tonight, for just a little while, you weren’t a soldier.

You were just theirs.

Regulus carried you out of the bathroom, his grip firm but careful, like he was holding something precious. Barty was right behind, still fussing, rubbing the towel over your arms and legs, making sure you were completely dry before you got into bed.

"You’re treating me like I’m made of glass," you mumbled, your voice still hoarse from earlier.

Barty scoffed, tossing the towel aside. "Yeah? Well, you bloody shattered back there, didn’t you?"

Regulus shot him a look. "Not helping."

Barty groaned, raking a hand through his damp hair. "I’m not trying to be an arse, alright? I just—" His voice wavered, and for the first time that night, you saw something else behind his anger. Fear.

He had been scared.

You reached for him, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. "I’m okay," you whispered.

Barty let out a sharp breath, looking down at you, his hands settling on your hips. "No, you’re not," he murmured. "But you will be."

Regulus, ever the silent force of control, gently nudged Barty aside and guided you toward the bed. "Lie down," he instructed softly.

You obeyed, sinking into the mattress with a sigh. It smelled like them—clean linen, a hint of Barty’s cologne, and something darker, something that always reminded you of Regulus.

They crawled in beside you, one on each side, their warmth seeping into your skin. Barty was always restless, so it didn’t surprise you when he pulled you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear. His fingers trailed along your spine, drawing lazy, distracted patterns.

"You still feel it?" he asked after a moment.

You knew what he meant. The ghost of Voldemort’s touch, the suffocating presence of him, the way your skin had burned under his fingers like a brand you couldn’t wash away.

You swallowed hard. "A little."

Barty made an irritated noise in the back of his throat, his grip tightening. "I’d kill him if I could," he muttered.

"You’d die trying," Regulus pointed out, his voice quiet. He was lying on his side, watching you, his hand resting just above your knee. "And she wouldn’t want that."

Barty sighed, pressing his forehead against your hair. "Yeah, well. It’s the thought that counts."

Regulus gave a small, almost amused exhale, but his fingers traced small, soothing circles against your skin. "Close your eyes," he murmured.

You did.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, Barty’s lips brushed against your temple, and he whispered, "Mine."

Regulus leaned in, pressing a kiss just below your jaw, his voice a ghost against your skin. "Ours."

A shiver ran down your spine—not from fear, not from disgust, but from something else entirely. Something safe.

Something that felt like home.

And for the first time that night, you felt clean.

Trying to understand.

The three of you sat in the dimly lit bedroom, an unspoken tension thick in the air. Days had passed since the last Death Eater meeting, and the weight of everything was pressing down on you. You knew this conversation was inevitable. You had kept your secrets long enough.

Regulus sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded, looking calm—too calm. It was the kind of stillness he carried when he was deep in thought, when his mind was running faster than he’d ever let on. Barty, on the other hand, was sprawled across the chair near the fireplace, one leg bouncing up and down in irritation. He wasn’t good at keeping still when he was frustrated.

"You’re going to have to explain," Barty said, voice sharp. He wasn’t yelling, but his frustration was evident. "Because I get that you hate the Dark Lord. I get that you hate everything he stands for. But what I don’t get is why you’re still doing this. You know it’s suicide, right?"

Regulus finally looked at you, his cold grey eyes searching, studying. "Barty’s right," he said, and Barty let out an incredulous scoff at Regulus agreeing with him. "If anyone finds out what you’re doing, you’ll be dead before you can even pull your wand. And we won’t be able to stop it."

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. "I know the risks," you said.

"Then why?" Barty demanded. "Why the fuck are you doing this?"

You looked at both of them, really looked at them. They were your boys—angry and protective and scared in their own ways. But you had to make them understand.

"Because someone has to," you said simply.

Barty groaned, running a hand through his hair. "That’s not a real answer. Try again."

You exhaled slowly. "You want the truth? Fine. I never believed in this cause. Not for one second. I never thought blood purity meant anything. I never thought Voldemort was some great leader destined to change the world. I never thought any of this was right."

Regulus tilted his head slightly, something unreadable flashing in his expression. Barty, however, leaned forward, his jaw tight. "So why the hell did you join in the first place?"

"Because I had no choice," you admitted. "Just like you."

Barty flinched. You knew you hit a nerve.

"You did it because of your father," you continued, voice softer now. "You wanted to spite him. You wanted to prove something. But you never really believed in it either, did you?"

Barty clenched his jaw. "I believe in blood purity," he shot back, though there was something defensive in his tone, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

You gave him a sad smile. "Do you?"

His fingers twitched. "I—" He stopped, huffing. "Fuck. I don’t know."

Regulus finally spoke. "You joined the Order, didn’t you?"

You nodded. "Not officially. But I’ve been feeding them information. Helping them from the inside."

Regulus didn’t even look surprised. He just let out a long breath, rubbing his hands over his face.

Barty, on the other hand, looked like he was going to explode. "And what, you thought you’d just keep this up forever? That no one would ever figure it out? That the Dark Lord wouldn’t eventually start questioning why one of his most trusted followers is always one step behind the Order?"

"I know it won’t last forever," you admitted. "I know eventually I’ll get caught. But until then, I can make a difference. I can save people."

Barty scoffed. "Save people? And who’s gonna save you?"

You swallowed hard. "I’m not asking to be saved."

"Well, too fucking bad," Barty snapped. "Because we’re not just going to sit here and watch you get yourself killed."

Regulus was quiet, but you could see the way his hands clenched into fists. "You should have told us sooner," he murmured.

You looked down. "Would you have helped me?"

Regulus didn’t answer immediately. But then—"Yes."

Your head snapped up. Even Barty looked startled. "What?" you asked.

Regulus met your gaze, something resolute in his expression. "I said yes. I would’ve helped you."

Barty let out a frustrated groan, slumping back in his chair. "Oh, for fuck’s sake, not you too."

Regulus ignored him, keeping his focus on you. "I never wanted this life either. I was born into it, like you. Like Barty. But I never wanted it."

For the first time, Barty looked genuinely thrown off. "Are you saying you’re going to join her?"

Regulus didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you. And in that moment, you realized—he already had. Maybe not officially, maybe not yet, but in his mind, he had already chosen.

"I’m saying I can’t just keep pretending," he said simply.

Barty groaned again, rubbing his temples. "This is insanity. You know that, right?"

"You don’t have to make a choice right now," you told him softly.

Barty glanced at you, his eyes burning with something unreadable. "You’re my choice," he said. "You and him. That’s it. That’s all I fucking care about."

Regulus’s expression softened, just slightly.

You exhaled. "Then let’s figure this out. Together."

Regulus shook his head, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. "We won’t die."

Barty snorted. "You say that like you actually believe it."

Regulus met your eyes again, and his hand found yours, fingers lacing together.

"I do."

Not alone.

The room was silent, the air thick with the warmth of sleep. The steady rise and fall of Barty and Regulus’ breathing filled the dimly lit space, the only sound breaking through the stillness. You moved carefully, inching out from beneath the covers, making sure not to shift too much weight onto the creaky floorboards. Every muscle in your body was tense, every movement calculated.

You had done this before—sneaking out while they slept, slipping away into the night. But tonight was different. You barely made it two steps from the bed before—

"Where the fuck do you think you’re going?"

Barty’s voice, thick with sleep but sharp as a knife, cut through the air.

You froze, cursing internally.

Then, another voice—low, cold, but not groggy. Regulus. "You weren’t seriously about to go alone, were you?"

Your stomach twisted. Of course they woke up. Of course they did.

You turned slowly, your expression schooled into neutrality. "I have something to do."

Barty let out a humorless laugh, sitting up in bed, rubbing his hands down his face. "Oh yeah? And let me guess, it involves you sneaking out like a fucking idiot in the middle of the night?"

Regulus was already sitting up too, his sharp grey eyes locked onto you like he was reading every thought in your head. "You’re going to them," he stated. Not a question. A fact.

You sighed. "I need to—"

"No, you don’t," Barty snapped. "You don’t need to do shit. What you need to do is stay here, where it’s safe, and not get yourself killed."

You crossed your arms. "I can take care of myself."

"Yeah? Then what? You come back bleeding?"

Regulus was already moving, already reaching for his wand, his shoes, his cloak. "If you’re going, I’m going."

You frowned. "Regulus—"

"Don’t start," he said, cold and final. "You’re not doing this alone."

Barty groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair. "Oh, for fuck’s sake—both of you are insane."

Regulus didn’t even glance at him as he pulled on his coat. "Someone has to make sure she doesn’t die on the way there."

Barty stared at him like he was the dumbest person alive. "Or—and hear me out—we could just not go."

You turned to Barty. "I have to do this, Barty."

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Why?" His voice was quieter now, less rage, more frustration. More worry. "Why do you always have to be the one risking everything?"

You softened, stepping closer to him, resting a hand on his arm. "Because I can help."

Barty closed his eyes briefly, exhaling hard through his nose. "I hate you," he muttered.

You smirked. "No, you don’t."

He shot you a glare before looking at Regulus, who was already fastening his cloak like he had accepted his fate. "And you. You’re supposed to be the smart one. What the hell are you doing?"

Regulus raised a brow. "Making sure she doesn’t do something reckless and die."

Barty scoffed. "That’s my job."

"Then get dressed."

Barty groaned, throwing his head back dramatically before grumbling, "I swear to Merlin, you two are going to be the death of me." But despite his complaints, he was already pulling on his cloak, grabbing his wand.

Regulus smirked slightly. "Then we’ll make sure you die in good company."

Barty shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. "Shut up, Black."

You smiled despite yourself, your heart swelling at the sight of them. They would never let you do this alone. Even when they were furious at you, even when they thought you were making the worst decision possible, they were with you.

"Alright," you said, exhaling. "Let’s go."

Barty shook his head, muttering under his breath as he stepped closer to you and Regulus. "If we die, I’m haunting you both for eternity."

Regulus smirked again. "Noted."

And with that, the three of you disappeared into the night.

Working for the order.

The weeks bled into each other, every day more dangerous than the last.

You were in too deep now, tangled in something that could kill you at any moment. Regulus had started helping, slipping into the shadows with you, covering your tracks, whispering secrets in dark corners when no one was listening. And Barty—Barty never agreed, never wanted any of this, but he came anyway, because as much as he bitched and groaned about your "stupid, reckless decisions," he refused to let you and Regulus run into the fire alone.

Tonight was no different.

The three of you crouched behind an old stone wall, hidden in the ruins of what used to be a manor before Death Eaters had burned it to the ground. It was your meeting spot with one of the Order members, but something felt off. The air was too still.

Barty shifted beside you, whispering, "This is a fucking stupid idea. Just so we’re all aware."

Regulus didn’t even glance at him. "Noted."

Barty scowled. "You keep saying that, and yet we keep doing these stupid things."

You smirked slightly, despite the tension crackling in the air. "And yet you keep coming."

Barty groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Because you two have a death wish, and apparently, I’m the only one who gives a shit."

Regulus’ voice was calm, quiet. "You give a shit because you care."

Barty scoffed. "Shut up, Black."

Before Regulus could respond, you stiffened. Footsteps. Three of them. You immediately pressed yourself lower against the stone, heart hammering. Regulus was still, calculating. Barty’s hand was already on his wand.

Then, a voice: "It’s me."

You exhaled, recognizing the voice of the Order member. Slowly, you stood, stepping out of your hiding place, Regulus and Barty moving with you.

"You’re late," you whispered.

The man—tall, broad-shouldered, his face lined with exhaustion—nodded grimly. "Ran into some trouble. Had to take a longer route." His gaze flickered to the two boys beside you. "I see you brought company."

"They’re with me," you said firmly.

The man studied them both for a long moment. "Black," he said, looking at Regulus. "Didn’t think I’d ever see you working against them."

Regulus didn’t blink. "You still haven’t."

The man raised a brow. "You’re here."

"To protect her," Regulus said smoothly.

Barty let out a scoff. "Yeah, well, same. I don’t give a shit about your little rebellion, mate."

The man didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he handed you a small, folded piece of parchment. "There’s going to be a raid. Tomorrow night. You know where."

Your stomach twisted. You knew exactly where.

Regulus was reading your expression like a book. "You’re not going."

You looked at him sharply. "I have to."

Barty let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, of course you do. Because throwing yourself into a fucking raid is such a brilliant plan."

You turned fully to them, your hands clenched into fists. "I don’t have a choice."

Barty stepped closer, anger flashing in his eyes. "There’s always a choice."

"Not for me."

Regulus exhaled, his voice calmer but just as firm. "We’ll go with you."

You hesitated. "Reg—"

"We’re going," he interrupted, voice final.

Barty groaned. "I hate you both. I really do."

Regulus smirked slightly. "No, you don’t."

Barty scowled. "I do. I hate you both so fucking much."

You sighed, exhaustion creeping into your bones. "We should go before someone finds us."

The Order member gave you a nod before disappearing into the night.

As soon as he was gone, Barty let out another dramatic groan. "I swear to Merlin, I should just let you both die one of these days."

Regulus hummed. "You won’t."

Barty shot him a glare. "I’m actually going to kill you, Black."

You rolled your eyes. "Can we go home now?"

Barty let out a breath, looking at you, his frustration melting into something softer. "Yeah. Let’s go home."

And with that, the three of you vanished into the darkness once more.

The next day came quickly.

The raid was chaos. Spells flew in every direction, lighting up the darkened alleyways in flashes of green, red, and white. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and blood, the screams of both fighters and innocent people caught in the crossfire.

You moved quickly, ducking behind debris, sending hexes at Death Eaters while trying to get civilians to safety. Regulus was somewhere nearby, casting silent curses with deadly precision, and Barty—Barty was fighting like a man possessed, reckless and furious.

Everything was going to plan. Until it wasn’t.

You turned a corner, trying to get to the last group of civilians, when a hand grabbed your wrist. Before you could react, a Disillusionment Charm was lifted, revealing a group of masked Death Eaters waiting in the shadows.

It was a trap.

Cold fear shot down your spine as a wand was pressed against your throat. "Look at what we have here," a voice sneered. "The little rat."

Your stomach twisted.

They knew.

You struggled, trying to reach for your wand, but someone yanked it from your grasp, shoving you hard against the wall. The impact stole the breath from your lungs.

"Thought you could betray the Dark Lord and get away with it?" another voice hissed.

You tried to think, tried to find a way out, but there were too many of them. Your mind was racing, but before you could even attempt to escape, someone hit you with a spell—

"Crucio."

Pain exploded through your body, white-hot and unbearable. A scream tore from your throat as you collapsed, the ground cold and unforgiving beneath you. Your nerves were on fire, your body convulsing against the relentless torture.

The spell lifted for a moment, just long enough for you to gasp for breath, before another Death Eater crouched beside you, yanking your hair back so you were forced to look at them.

"How long?" they demanded. "How long have you been feeding them information?"

You gritted your teeth, blood dripping from your lip where you had bitten down to keep from screaming again.

"Fuck. You," you spat.

A hard slap cracked across your face.

"Wrong answer," the Death Eater growled.

Another curse slammed into you, sending fresh waves of agony coursing through your body. Your vision blurred, black spots dancing in your sight, but you refused to break.

You couldn’t.

Not too far away from where you were, your boys were having a heated argument.

Regulus was fuming. "You’re going to get yourself killed, Crouch."

Barty scoffed, wiping blood from his cheek. "And what the fuck do you call what we’re doing right now? A lovely evening stroll?"

"You’re reckless," Regulus snapped. "You don’t think. You act on impulse, and one day, it’s going to get you caught."

"Funny," Barty shot back, eyes narrowing. "Because I could say the same about you, Black. At least I know what I stand for. What the fuck do you believe in?"

Regulus stiffened, his expression unreadable.

"That’s what I thought," Barty muttered.

Before Regulus could respond, something changed. A shift in the air.

It took him a moment to realize what was wrong.

"You hear that?" he asked suddenly.

Barty frowned. "What?"

Regulus’ heartbeat picked up. "Exactly."

The sounds of battle were still loud, but something was missing.

You.

Regulus turned sharply, scanning the wreckage, the bodies, the flashes of spells, but you weren’t there. His chest tightened.

Barty must have realized it too, because his face paled.

"Where the fuck is she?"

Neither of them hesitated.

They ran.

Running but not fast enough.

Cold stone bit into your knees as you were thrown onto the dungeon floor. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth, your body aching from the curses that had already been cast upon you. The Death Eaters loomed above, their masks concealing their faces, but you didn’t need to see them to know who they were.

You could hear Bellatrix’s delighted laughter before you even looked up.

"Oh, this is simply delicious," she cooed, stepping forward, her wand twirling lazily between her fingers. "The Dark Lord’s favorite little pet… a filthy traitor all along."

You swallowed hard, refusing to let her see your fear. You wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

Bellatrix crouched in front of you, tilting her head as she examined your bruised face. "Where are they?" she asked sweetly.

You blinked, confused.

"Your little lovers." Her lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Where are they now, hm? Surely they would’ve come storming in to save you by now, if they cared so much."

You clenched your jaw. "They’ll come," you rasped.

Bellatrix’s laughter echoed through the chamber. "Oh, darling," she purred. "No, they won’t. You’re alone. Just like you always were."

You glared up at her, forcing yourself to meet her wild, dark eyes. "Do whatever you want to me," you spat. "I’m not telling you anything."

Bellatrix let out a delighted gasp. "Oh, I was hoping you’d say that."

And then—

"Crucio."

Pain, unbearable and all-consuming, shot through your body. Your back arched violently as a scream tore from your throat. It felt like fire in your veins, like your bones were breaking from the inside out. Every nerve burned, every muscle spasmed, and the agony was endless.

Bellatrix giggled, letting the curse linger before finally releasing it. "My, my," she mused, watching as you gasped for air. "You’re strong. I like that."

You panted, sweat dripping down your forehead. "Go to hell," you croaked.

Bellatrix feigned offense. "Now, that’s not very nice, is it?" She reached forward, running her fingers along your jaw mockingly. You wanted to recoil, but your body was too weak to move.

"You’re going to tell me everything," she whispered, her voice sickeningly sweet. "How long have you been betraying the Dark Lord? Who else is involved?"

You lifted your head slightly, your lips curling into a bloodied smirk. "You’re not as smart as you think you are," you murmured.

Bellatrix’s face twisted in rage. "Crucio!"

The pain returned, worse than before. Your vision blurred, black spots dancing before your eyes. You knew this could kill you if it went on long enough.

And maybe that would be better.

Maybe it would be easier than giving them the chance to break you.

But you weren’t broken yet.

Not yet.

Meanwhile, Regulus and Barty were losing their minds.

"She was right there!" Barty snapped, his eyes wild with panic and fury. "How the fuck did we let this happen?"

Regulus didn’t answer. His hands were shaking.

They had searched every corner of the battlefield, but you were gone. Vanished. Taken.

"We need to think," Regulus muttered, trying to suppress the sheer terror clawing at his chest. "They wouldn’t kill her immediately. They’d want information first."

Barty ran a hand through his hair, his breath ragged. "They’ll torture her," he whispered.

Regulus swallowed hard. "I know."

Barty turned on him, grabbing his collar. "She’s not like us, Reg," he hissed. "She’s strong, but she’s not like us. We grew up with this. She didn’t. They’re going to break her."

Regulus stared at him, eyes dark and unreadable. "No, they won’t."

Barty let go of him, pacing. "We have to find her. We have to—"

"We will," Regulus interrupted. His voice was eerily calm, but Barty could see the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. "We’re getting her back."

Barty met his eyes.

"Whatever it takes," Regulus added.

Barty nodded. "Whatever it takes."

Saving each other.

Your body was barely holding on. Your wrists ached from where they had been bound, your head was spinning from the sheer pain coursing through every inch of your body, and you could feel the warmth of blood dripping from your temple, your lip, your ribs. Everything hurt.

And then, suddenly, you heard them.

A scuffle, the sound of struggling, and then—

"Barty—Regulus—?" Your voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

They were here.

But it didn’t matter.

Because they had been captured too.

Your heart twisted violently as you watched them being dragged into the room, their wands ripped from their hands, their arms forced behind their backs as Death Eaters shoved them to their knees.

"Ah, now this is a sight," Bellatrix mused, her lips curling into a wicked grin. "The Dark Lord’s three little favorites, reduced to this. Isn’t it just tragic?"

Regulus’ eyes snapped to you, and the second he saw the state you were in, something in him shifted. His normally cold, unreadable expression cracked—just for a second. Just long enough for you to see the sheer, unfiltered rage and fear burning beneath the surface.

Barty, on the other hand, was already losing it. "You fucking bitch!" he roared, trying to lunge at Bellatrix, but the Death Eater behind him yanked him back harshly. "I swear to Merlin, I will rip you apart with my bare hands—"

Bellatrix only laughed, delighted by his fury. "Oh, how precious," she cooed. "Look at him, so protective of his little pet."

She turned back to you, crouching down so she was at eye level. "I wonder," she mused, dragging her wand along your bruised cheek. "Would you be more willing to talk now that your lovers are here? Or should I make them watch a little longer?"

You spat at her.

Bellatrix’s smile disappeared.

And then she backhanded you across the face so hard your head snapped to the side, a fresh burst of pain blooming across your cheekbone.

"You fucking touch her again, and I’ll kill you!" Barty snarled, his voice raw, desperate. He was thrashing against his restraints now, barely being held back by the Death Eaters pinning him down.

Regulus’ voice was quieter, but no less deadly. "You’ll regret this," he said, his tone eerily even. "Every single one of you."

Bellatrix chuckled. "Oh, will I? And what exactly are you going to do, little Black? You don’t even have your wand."

Regulus didn’t respond. He only stared at her, his silver eyes glinting with something cold.

Bellatrix smirked. "Well, in that case, let’s continue, shall we?"

And then—

"Crucio."

Your screams tore through the chamber once again.

Barty’s entire body tensed like he had been physically struck, his breathing erratic. "Stop—STOP!" he shouted, his voice breaking. "PLEASE!"

Regulus wasn’t speaking. He was staring at you, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful, his entire body trembling with restrained fury.

Bellatrix lifted the curse, smiling. "Oh, did that upset you, boys?" she taunted. "Are you feeling… helpless?"

Barty was panting, his entire body shaking. "I swear to fucking Merlin," he rasped, "I will kill you. I will fucking kill you, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix only laughed again, twirling her wand between her fingers. "Now, now, that’s not a very nice way to talk to a lovely woman like me, is it?"

She turned back to you, running her wand along your collarbone. "Now, love," she purred, "are you ready to talk?"

You lifted your head slowly, meeting her gaze despite the agony radiating through your body. And then, through cracked lips and bloodied teeth, you smiled.

"Go to hell."

Bellatrix sighed dramatically. "Wrong answer."

And then the pain came again.

This time, you heard Barty scream your name.

And then—

Then you heard Regulus.

Not screaming.

Not begging.

His voice was calm. Cold.

"Let us go," he said simply.

Bellatrix looked at him in amusement. "Oh? And why would I do that?"

Regulus didn’t blink. "Because if you don’t," he said, "you’re going to wish you had killed me when you had the chance."

There was something terrifying in the way he said it.

Something that made even Bellatrix pause for half a second.

But then she smirked. "Oh, I do love empty threats."

She turned her wand back on you.

And this time, when the pain came, it didn’t stop.

Bellatrix finally lifted the curse, and your body collapsed onto the cold, stone floor, chest heaving, every nerve still screaming from the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse. Sweat and blood mixed on your skin, your limbs trembling violently, but you didn’t let out another sound. You wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Regulus and Barty had gone deathly silent.

The second the curse lifted, Regulus’ expression hardened into something terrifying—something unshakable. His silver eyes burned with pure hatred, and yet, his face remained eerily calm, like a frozen lake hiding something deadly beneath the surface.

Barty, on the other hand, was still breathing heavily, his body straining against the Death Eaters holding him back. His entire face was flushed with rage, his eyes wild. He was ready to kill.

Bellatrix tilted her head, examining you with an almost lazy curiosity. "My, my," she mused. "Still so stubborn, aren’t you?" She crouched beside you again, running her wand along the side of your face as if she were admiring a piece of art. "I must admit, I’m impressed. Not many last this long without breaking."

Your breath was shaky, but you still managed to glare at her, your lip curling despite the pain. "You talk too much," you rasped.

Bellatrix let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, I do like you," she said, almost fondly. Then, she glanced over her shoulder at the two boys. "What about you, dear cousin?" she purred, locking eyes with Regulus. "Is it painful? Watching your little girlfriend suffer?"

Regulus didn’t react. His face remained a perfect mask of indifference. "You’re pathetic," he said quietly.

Bellatrix’s smirk twitched.

"Really, Bella?" he continued, voice smooth as silk, laced with venom. "Using me against her? That’s the best you can do?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

"You think I care about you?" Regulus scoffed, tilting his head. "You think I’ve ever cared about any of you?" He leaned forward slightly, his tone dropping lower. "You are nothing to me."

Something flickered in Bellatrix’s expression.

"Aw, is the little Black boy finally growing a spine?" she cooed, but there was a slight edge to her voice now. "Careful, Regulus. That sounds a lot like treason."

Regulus smirked. "So kill me."

Bellatrix’s jaw clenched.

And then, before she could say another word—

"You fucking touch him, and I will burn this entire place to the ground," Barty growled.

Bellatrix turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? And how exactly do you plan to do that, Crouch? Without your wand?"

Barty’s eyes were wild with fury. "I don’t need a wand to rip you apart."

Bellatrix let out a breathy chuckle, clearly amused, and turned fully toward him, slowly walking closer. "You’re quite the feral little thing, aren’t you?" she mused, circling him like a predator. "It’s a wonder the Dark Lord keeps you around."

Barty bared his teeth. "He keeps me around because I’m useful," he sneered. "Unlike you."

Bellatrix’s expression darkened.

In an instant, she lashed out, backhanding Barty across the face. His head snapped to the side, a thin trail of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Regulus’ entire body tensed.

You could barely lift your head, but when you saw the way Barty slowly turned back to face her, his eyes burning with something dark, something terrifying—you knew she had made a mistake.

Barty licked the blood off his lip and smiled. "You hit like a fucking coward," he muttered.

Bellatrix’s grip on her wand tightened.

"Enough," a voice commanded.

One of the older Death Eaters stepped forward, his voice heavy with authority. "The Dark Lord wants them alive. We still need answers." He turned to Bellatrix. "Torturing the girl further might kill her. And we need her conscious."

Bellatrix sighed dramatically, but she stepped back, twirling her wand between her fingers. "Fine," she drawled. "Then let’s see if the boys are more willing to talk."

Two Death Eaters grabbed Regulus, dragging him forward.

"Get your fucking hands off him!" Barty snarled, but another fist slammed into his stomach, making him double over, coughing violently.

Regulus didn’t resist. He didn’t fight.

He just looked at you.

And in that single glance, you knew—he wasn’t afraid.

Bellatrix leaned down in front of him, gripping his chin tightly, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Tell me, cousin," she purred. "Do you know what she’s been up to?"

Regulus didn’t even blink. "No."

Bellatrix smiled. "Liar."

She nodded at one of the men. A fist slammed into Regulus’ ribs, but he didn’t even flinch.

Bellatrix clicked her tongue. "You always were the quieter one," she mused. "The good boy. Mother’s favorite." She leaned in closer. "Tell me, Regulus, does it kill you to know that Sirius abandoned you?"

Regulus’ face remained unreadable. "You don’t know anything about me."

Bellatrix chuckled. "Oh, but I do," she whispered. "I know that no matter how much you pretend otherwise, you’re still the scared little boy who always did what he was told." She smiled sweetly. "You never had a choice, did you?"

Regulus’ fingers twitched, as if itching for a wand he no longer had.

"Tell me the truth," Bellatrix murmured. "And I’ll let her go."

Regulus finally spoke. "Go fuck yourself."

Bellatrix’s smirk faltered.

Another punch.

Another.

Regulus took each one in silence, his jaw locked, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

Then it was Barty’s turn.

"Last chance, Crouch," one of the Death Eaters sneered. "Tell us what you know."

Barty spat blood onto the floor, grinning through crimson-stained teeth. "Kiss my ass."

A boot slammed into his stomach.

Then another.

And still, neither of them spoke.

Neither of them broke.

You tried to move, tried to reach for them, but your body wouldn’t obey.

You could only watch.

And pray that this wouldn’t be the end.

—— ☄️ ——

A note from the author:

Hello beautiful people!

I was NOT expecting for this to have two parts.

I had to stop writing because somehow Tumblr has a limit? I didn't even know about it.

So here's part two.

This story was a challenge for me to write, but i hope you all liked it as much as i did.

See you soon!

[writingwisterias]

omgomg I had this idea, about eras Leon with an absolute nerd smartass reader. I'm talking about reader not being able to stop themselves from saying "ehm actually🤓☝🏻" at every single chance they get, but the fact is that they don't even do it on purpose, it's just the way they are- even with strangers.

okay kinda asking this because I AM the annoying smartass "ehm actually" kind of nerd. and ppl hate me for it 😭 lol I wonder if Leon hates that kind of ppl or not

DW! I'm the same if it's something i'm passionate about LMAO, like how dare you say something wrong about the thing I love.

Sorry it's so late, work has destroyed me but I'm back on the grind again with requests. They are closed so bear with!

Warnings: Fluff, Gn!Reader

RE2:

Depending on the subject he 100% does the same

Find it's cute that you are passionate about something enough to know all of this information

Allows the rant to ensure when you are explaining why it's wrong and even referening different things to prove your point.

RE4R:

Is taken a back at first, not in a bad way he just genuinely thought he was right

Probably the type to force you to Google it because he doesn't believe you are right

Eventually as you grow closer into the relationship he barely notices that you do it unless it's to someone else

At that point it's their deaths sentence and he'll just back and watch you correct them with an amused smile

Infinite Darkness:

Definitely gets things wrong just to hear you over analyze and talk about the actual fact

He does it on purpose

Admires your commitment to proving him wrong and thinks it's adorable

But he will pro long the conversation just to see you get worked up

Don't worry he'll apologize later one with some cuddles

Damnation:

He's pretty grumpy at this point in his life so just normal interactions will sour his mood

If you try to correct him and explain in depth he will begin to find it annoying but it just depends on his mood

I'd say that if he's already irritated the likelihood of you adding to it is high.

He won't stop you, yell at you or anything like that. He knows it's not your fault

Infact deep down he knows it's just because you are passionate over whatever the topic is and finds it cute

His bluntness just might portray the wrong effect

RE6:

Much like ID Leon he would do the same thing.

He finds it's cute and will optionally chose to say things wrong just so you'll ramble and distract his thoughts for a while

I feel like he comes across as a harder egg to crack but once you start and you get that cute frustrated pinch in your eyebrows.

You've melted him

I feel like he's also the type of guy to look up trivia and he doesn't need to when you are around because you'll just spit facts about the movie.

Vendetta:

Again like damnation his mood is a big fragile and easy to change if he's been drinking

I also think the argument he would create around refusing to be wrong he would use as a coping mechanism instead of drinking

It doesn't fully work, he will go back to the drink eventually

But it does actually help him get worked up about something else or just seeing you ramble away spitting all kinds of facts at him

Death Island:

Loves watching you do it with strangers,friends and family

Like it's the most amusing entertainment for him. Seeing these people stumble over their words as you prove them wrong again and again

If however you do it for him,

Google is out straight away and he will scour the internet for like an hour until he admits defeat

[dmhayle]

Oh man they were so happy in the first 2 gifs at the beginning of the date.

In 3 &4, when Seulgi interrupts Jaeyi’s father’s rant w a burb, Jaeyi has a look of astonishment and wonder. She falls deeper eveyy try minute she is with this girl I stg.

In 5 &6 after the trio in that ball pit, I really thought Jaeyi was gonna go for it. She’s so far gone for Seulgi it wouldn’t have surprised me. But this girl is so good at reeling herself back in. The amount of control she has when she deems it necessary never ceases to amaze me. And it’s just my opinion, but I think she didn’t go for the kiss bc she wants to know Seulgi is in it for the right reasons and not bc she thinks that is what Jaeyi wants from her.

In 7 & 8, after Seulgi says she’s not sure if she can trust Jaeyi but she was also super happy to find them tied for first place, this little flirtatious look was very intentional. And you can see how unexpected it was from the glee on Jaeyi’s face after Seulgi looks at her that way. That scene is one that worries me most bc in episode 7 we saw how crestfallen Seulgi was when she realized she could be being used as a pawn in a potential medical litigation settlement regarding her father’s death. That was so real bc up u til then she had been hoping finally she’d found someone who genuinely cared for her. Keeping that reaction in mind while knowing she just said she wasn’t sure if she could really trust Jaeyi just makes me worry she’s trying to flip the script and use/hurt Jaeyi. I realllllly hope that isn’t the case. But it does linger in my mind as a possibility and causes some tentativeness in my ability to say yes they’re both all in!

In 9 & 10, Seulgi has just noticed Jaeyi staring at her instead of the fireworks. And Jaeyi can’t help but focus her gaze on Seulgi’s lips…nothing ew about that tho bc my girl is always staring at Seulgi’s lips…as we all know.

Ep 8 has been my fave so far.

- We saw Jaeyi finally opening up and letting Seulgi in, which I’m hoping will cause help Seulgi trust her. Jaeyi finally teling Seulgi how she got her info and why she finds it strange and she suspects her dad might have done something bad was necessary if this is indeed going to end up a happy GL.

- We had the strange dream sequence where Seulgi as a kid was trying to get her dad’s attention as he searched for her and Jaeyi shows up and she smiles and walks off with her. I’m not a dream interpreter tho so I dunno what to think of it. I have many different thoughts about it and some of them conflict 🫠

- We had the amazing date (it was a date don’t rain on my parade) night with the 1937462829 (I’m exaggerating I know) almost kisses

- We had Seulgi opening up more too about a few different things…how happy the night had been, how she still wasn’t totally sure she could trust Jaeyi but she wouldn’t have wanted to tie for first w anyone else ( I hope that was sincere and not a ploy, but time will tell, and about how it was her first time ever seeing fireworks

- We also saw Jaeyi defy her father for I think the first time ever when she ate that meat at Seulgi’s urging

- And I think we saw both girls regain a bit of childhood joy and innocence in their night together bc both were genuinely smiling and having fun together (I think as someone correct me if I’m wrong, but I think this may have been the first time we’d seen Seulgi even have a real smile)

I know my posts about this show are out of control. Thank you to the OP for this lovely gifset!

The TLDR of this post is we got a date night and genuine joy from our girls!

FRIENDLY RIVALRY | Episode 8

[yey56]

HARLEY SAWYER X PSYCHOLOGIST READER

Before everything:

Both Harley and (Y/N) had worked on the Playtime company before actually getting to know each other. They've seen each other, rarely, but sometimes in corridors or around the compound in general

When Sawyer had to visit the orphanage to observe the development of the children, sometimes you would be there. At first he took you for another bleeding heart, just as the rest of the caretakers. Then he learned you were a psychologist, at that time you were just that but he could see something in your gaze, something analytical, something that brushed a deep rooted curiosity.

He was curious. Harley didn't right away ask you or even approached you, he had more important things to do, but whenever he needed to go to Home Sweet Home, he would stare a little bit longer than needed trying to find that look of yours. The look that said that you were observing not admiring.

Later on, you were promoted by Elliot Ludwig himself as head psychologist of the company and or course, you were granted executive access.

Now you had knowledge of the deeper and darker secrets of the factory and of course you were expected to participate.

The first person you started talking with was Leith Pierre. The head of innovation and the head psychologist were two positions that complemented each other well because of the need of better, newer and more effective designs on toys and staff management.

You always worked closely to the innovation team, giving ideas and offering advice that would make the toys and the company more appealing.

But it was later, when the Bigger Bodies initiative was presented that you started working with Harley more often. The experiments needed mental stability so they wouldn't pose a threat to other stuff and to children. And of course to work efficiently.

At first he hated the compassion and empathy you showed the toys. How you were an ear to listen, to validate and to advice. To help them navigate the change. To see the light at the end of the tunnel.

But he was somewhat wrong in his opinion about you. When you talked to him about them you gave him a full report of the experiments mental weakness and where to improve so they could be more controlable, manageable.

You, just as him, were searching for control and while he imposed it over the experiments; you made them let you in. Where he found walls that delayed his work, you found a door of which you had the key.

That's when he understood why you looked at them that way. You were analysing your surroundings. Already strategizing a way to crack them open.

Of course you sometimes showed some preference over certain experiments, everyone is entitled to a whim, and even though you really seemed to have certain care for certain toys, that never stopped you so there was no problem.

You were made to adapt. You needed to adapt. Every toy was different, every kid had a different world in their head's. You were more than willing to explore it and conquer it.

Even though somewhere deep in you felt a little sad for the situation of the kids. You've made yourself be able to chose what to feel at any given moment, therefore you would be able to just ignore it for your own good.

No project would ever get done if you just felt bad for pushing the boundaries. The limits where what draw the line between mediocre and greatness.

This project was everything to you. Any reminder of the moral compass you might thought to have was thrown away in order to satisfy your need to unravel the human, and not so human mind after pushing the boundaries of life.

And the same way Harley noticed your true intentions by pure analytical view, you noticed his.

Harley, as much as he hated was still very much human and as the human he was he had his outbursts. He was an easy man to anger.

When you started to get more confortable with each other, he would sometimes just start ranting about everything that annoyed him that week. You knew showing him empty compassion or useless words would not suffice so, true to yourself you adapted to him recognising what he needed at that moment.

That's what always startled him about you. You were damn good at your job. You knew what he needed, you knew what was needed and you did it with little to no error.

Sometimes he would hear you mumbling to yourself about the development of some experiments or about how Leith was fucking up the designs. To repetitive, to traditional, to boring, to unchild-like.....

Just as you listened when he ranted about what bothered him, he listened to your speeches about how the designs would only decrease the sells and you quoting some psychological studies that discredited whatever the design of the toy was. Sometimes it was the colors that weren't lively enough or didn't combine well; other times it was the unfriendly shape of the toy....

You, just as him didn't like when others did your job (even though it was needed because you cannot be everywhere) because you though that they could never do it as good as you.

He would listen to you talking about child psychology. Talking about how the other psychologist were not handling well the experiments. Sometimes you would joke about them buying their titles or something like that.

(Y/N): "Harley, I swear, I think this idiots bought their titles online because there is no way that someone is that fucking dumb on purpose."

Harley: "I differ, we have Pierre as an example."

Both you and Sawyer basically isolated yourselfs on the deeper laboratories. The executives were noticing this too but since you both were very stubborn people, no one could convince you to stop.

Leith started requesting Ludwig to call you out because whether he liked it or not, your advice in the innovation and marketing department actually helped a lot the company and your absence was taking a toll on the finances.

Once a week you would go up to give Leith your design and give him a very detailed explanation of why this design was the most effective and the one that the public would like the most.

This bothered Harley because he had gotten so used to you that now he was almost unbearable to work with any other specialist or psychologists.

Eventually they all quit or just presented a formal complaint to Ludwig.

Headcannons:

Your fingers are almost always covered in blue ink or in pencil dust due to your reports, notes and designs.

Harley and (Y/N) have, accidentally, switched glasses once or twice and since they have different affections (Harley doesn't see well near and you don't see well far) you basically have a moment of confusion before realising that it's not your glasses.

Leith and (Y/N) actually got along well at the start. But (Y/N)'s obsession on the projects made her very self centered, only worried about feeding her curiosity.

When bigger bodies started, Harley was 39 and (Y/N) 37 while Leith was already 43.

Since (Y/N) stopped taking care of herself so much, the white hairs in her head became more visible after starting the Bigger Bodies initiative.

The kids usually liked (Y/N) a lot because she always treated them as people and not like idiot kids. They basically view them as little adults with less knowledge about the world. That's it.

Harley gets somewhat irritated when (Y/N) is not much time in the laboratory or in the interviews with him because she just starts a new obsession over a project. (Mommy long legs, poppy, Doey, Catnap, Piannosaurius etc.)

Okey people, sorry for not writing but I'm in finals so I want to pass. I've made some drawing.

⚠️⚠️SPOILER PART 5 ⚠️⚠️

(Part 5 in process)

I wanted to give more depth to (Y/N)

-Unedited fanfic-

[luciaintheskyainthi]

Hello! I have ✨questions✨

Apologies if this is all over the place 🙇

What is your take on Peter’s feelings towards Mysterio’s/Beck’s death?

He died succumbing to his injuries in their fight- Would/does Peter feel a semblance of responsibility/guilt about it even if it was an indirect death? Maybe if he had somehow been more careful Beck could have somehow made it out alive?

Or does it delve into the realm of indifference & or denial since Beck made everyone believe Peter was the one to end him when it was all Beck’s own fault?

Oh! And since he went through some traumatizing fake reality ordeals with him- Do you think Peter reality tests when something particularly mentally straining happens? (Not me projecting lmao) Though I imagine his ✨Peter tingle✨ has him covered in that department 😌

Thank you for your time feel free not to answer I was just curious on your thoughts about it!✨

Ayyoooo this is a fab question!

Personally, I don't think Peter holds too much guilt over what happened to Beck, beyond the shame and frustration he feels about having fallen for the man's manipulations.

Part of this comes down to the fact that Beck wasn't a crook like Osborn. Osborn, as with all the villains in NWH, was a character driven to that point by external factors: his sadism is chemically induced and not his 'natural' state of being. Hence the guilt Peter feels in ECM at having been driven to the point of nearly killing the man. He knew Norman wasn't himself, he knew there was a cure, but he still let his anger get the better of him.

I find it quite interesting that all of the villains Peter deals with in NWH are altered/radicalised/villainised (pick your verb lol) by external factors. Dr Oc, Dr Connors, Electro, Sandman... all of them have been changed in some way by things out of their control (most notably in relation to the two working class villains... and isn't it interesting that the working class characters are the ones who had these things happen to them out of their control, whereas for the other three, men well-respected in their fields, their changes were self-induced...? 🤔) . Sure, there are underlying factors that drive them, but the narratives in their original films draw a clear connection between their villainy and the changes that happened to them. This makes it much easier to create a sense of pathos for these men: despite their actions, they are also victims.

Beck... Beck is not that way. He's driven by revenge, and for a man who isn't even alive anymore. It's sheer pettiness at that point. Not exactly the noble villain. Even the Vulture/Toomes engenders more sympathy than Beck, since his actions (before he goes off the deep end) are fuelled by a desire to break even after his company is snubbed in the cleaning efforts post Battle of Manhattan (and I could get into a whole rant about the way Marvel/Disney HAS to make a working class villain like Toomes irredeemable to undermine what is in fact, a reasonable anti-capitalist argument because the heroes of the MCU serve the status quo and Spider-Man fell victim to this portrayal too).

SIDE NOTE: If you'd like to hear more about this perspective (that most heroes in the MCU are pretty much just super powered cops serving to preserve the status quo), Skip Intro on YouTube has a really interesting video on the copaganda present within the MCU (or from here if you just want to listen to the part about Peter Parker ). While I do find some of his points to be over-generalisations, he still brings some very insightful points to the table.  VerilyBitchie also has an interesting video on the changes made to Peter Parker in the MCU that I enjoyed.

All this means, I don't think Peter is kept up at night by Beck's death. His villainy is driven by internal factors: revenge and greed. What happens to him is tragic, but it's also something that Beck could have walked away from at any point in time. This made it easier for Peter to walk back from the guilt he felt at his involvement with Beck's death (not to mention, I imagine having people who love you talk through what happened must do wonders for that guilt complex).

Side note two.... If Peter's more inclined to feel guilt/sympathy for villains who are in some way not compos mentis, what shall he be like with Gotham's villains? There are of course, plenty who are similar in function to those he dealt with in NWH: characters altered/driven/victimised by external factors. One would imagine he's likely to be sympathetic towards these kinds of villains...

But there are just as many villains on Gotham's roster who are insane in a way that can't just be 'fixed'. Pyg is a good example of this: he's not someone where something just 'happened' to him that made him the way he is. There's no 'fix' for Pyg. The best anyone can hope for is that he's kept away from others.

Likewise, there are plenty of rogues who are more like Beck: villains driven by greed and an inability to see other humans as humans, and not just pawns that can be moved and abused as they please. Black Mask and the Penguin are good examples here. And I think it's quite interesting that it's this type of villain who Jason as the Red Hood was first dealing with....

And then of course... there's characters who play the insane card very convincingly, but truly they're sadists and nihilists who just want the world to hurt.... Characters like Joker. Joker, who likes to play the insanity card, but as Jason points out in Under the Red Hood, is far more sane than he wants anyone to know (check out the way he loses that smile when Jason calls him out)... One has to wonder... how will someone like Peter deal with a sadistic man like Joker?

(side note 3, Jason's ass is fabulous in these panels and he's serving cunt when he walks away, but goddamn why must they make him look so ooolld 🥲🥲)

[majoryeager104]

Tsundere! Touya, who started his verbal lashing of you the moment you stepped foot into the hideout. What else would he do? Insult after insult, all the while with a big smirk on his face. Past the smirk though, he didn’t trust you as far as he could throw you.

Tsundere! Touya, who’s ‘instincts’ told him fight or flight every time you walked in. At some point or another, he’d given up on insults just to observe you quietly, his presence looming and almost threatening from the corner where he sat in the dark, those bright blue eyes never leaving you.

Tsundere! Touya, who’d snap if you even dared to talk to him beyond work. You put him on edge, and he didn’t know any other way to say that to you. And yet despite these nerves it was like he was drawn to you like a moth to flame. Something about you was so enticing and yet so terrifying.

Tsundere! Touya, who’d do his best- on Tomura’s orders- to lighten up around you. It was difficult, but eventually he’d stopped snapping at you and resorted to unamused silence when you spoke. It was better than nothing, you’d suppose. He was absolutely baffled by you, so much so that each time he saw you he got more and more frustrated, but he bottled it up like Tomura told him, only to rant about it to a wall later.

Tsundere! Touya, who thought ‘how annoying could one person be?’ You were too nice to him, too strong to look up to him like you’d say, to pretty to say he didn’t look like a freak, and yet you’d done all this and still didn���t hate him for his outbursts and retorts at the end of the day. After staring at the ceiling for ages he’d sit up and scoff at his answer. You were the most annoying person he had ever met, and he regretfully loved it.

[poisonousquinzel]

Oh! And don't take my comments at the end regarding the kiss edit / homina comment as disregarding Amanda Conner and Jimmy Palmiotti's role in this. I think both things can be true at the same time, DC can have not allowed Harlivy to be monogamous and AC & JP can have been completely okay with that choice.

Cause I do not have the slightest trust in either of their abilities to handle LGBT topics, considering Jimmy's in part behind this disgusting ass comic where this interaction somehow isn't even close to being the worst thing to have occurred in regards to the writing of / surrounding the Sirens in it.

But also considering the countless instances throughout the 2014/2016 comics where it's either grossly sexualized harassment, transphobia, racism, having a sapphic woman star as the bad guy in the Harley and Her Gang Of Harley's comic or something who's prev girlfriend is shown in graphic detail overdosing, or how that woman is grossly written being sexually predatory with Harley thoughout, the complete and utter tone deaf writing in just about every possible serious situation, and this linked post covers just the parts that randomly came to mind.

I have no doubt I could beat or rival the length of my Janet rant currently (12k+) if I went through everything these two tainted with their fucked writing for Harley in their time being her primary creators for so so damned many years. And honestly I likely will one day when I reach that point on the archive blog skdjsksks

Ha, oh, or how they opened their run off sexualizing Harley committing suicide in "humorous" fashions and held an art contest where people's prompt was her being suicidal.

In September 2013, DC Comics announced an art contest entitled "Break into comics with Harley Quinn!", in which contestants were to draw Harley in one of four different suicide scenarios. This contest drew controversy not only because it was announced close to National Suicide Prevention Week, but also because of the sexualized portrayal of Harley Quinn in the fourth scenario, in which the character attempts suicide while naked in her bathtub, which was highly criticised. The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, American Psychiatric Association, and National Alliance on Mental Illness all responded to the controversy in an emailed group statement to the Huffington Post: "We are disappointed that DC Comics has decided to host a contest looking for artists to develop ways to depict suicide attempts by one of its main villains – Harley Quinn". After seeing the reactions to the contest, DC Comics apologized, saying they should have made it clear it was a dream sequence that was not supposed to be taken seriously. In the final version, the bathtub scene was cut and replaced with Harley Quinn sitting on a rocket while flying in space.

[Wiki]

And now I know, I know, Harley's canonical suicide ideations that had occured multiple times before this contest (the Detective Comics & Batman: Harley Quinn parts linked above) weren't and aren't exactly commonly talked about parts of her lore, but it was also rarely (if ever) acknowledged when giving criticism of this contest.

Which I think is an oversight tbf, they weren't just requesting fans draw and submit panels sexualizing one of their female villains in emotional distress attempting suicide, they were doing it to a female character with a history of suicidal thoughts and having her trauma and emotional distress shoved aside for the sake of being sexualized humourous eye candy aimed largely at a male audience. Her popping out of a pudding pie and making an innuendo towards Joker is a more known Moment of hers than the abuse that directly follows it legitimately seconds later.

This was no different, and this was a pattern Amanda Conner and Jimmy Palmiotti happily continued by sexualizing sa, sexual harassment, esc throughout their chapters and comics with Harley going forward.

DC may have apologized, but not only was this contest still something that was conceptualized, allowed, approved and greenlit, it is also something they didn't feel so bad about considering ig just everyone involved in the publishing of the director's cut #0 thought publishing this was actually still appropriate to present to the public !

Jimmy: This page got us a lot of press for all the wrong reasons. It was made into a contest to try out some new artists. The winner would get their page published. As you can see, Jeremy Roberts was picked after we saw hundreds of the tryout pages. When I wrote the descriptions of the panels, I was keeping them as simple as possible and left off the dialogue to add later. The theme and spirit of the page was to test the artist's storytelling ability and interaction within a scene. As well, we were placing Harley in ridiculous situations so we would get to see some variety in the facial reactions.

Long story short, because I described Harley "naked" in a bathtub with appliances about to drop into the tub, people jumped on the fact that I was somehow trying to sensationalize suicide. What I didn't want was Harley wearing her suit, so I used shorthand to explain this. My mistake.

like yeah, if you say "draw her naked in a bathtub" people are going to draw her uh naked in the tub where you get naked before getting in??? Idk if I'd say it was sensationalizing suicide, but it was making light of it and undermining the severity of the situations they prompted people to draw her in.

These weren't "ridiculous situations", they were tone deaf scenarios making light of people who are at such a low point that they would be willing to go to extreme lengths to die.

Having her trying to bait crocodiles to eat her alive isn't funny, that's horrifying. Its horrific to imagine the low mental state someone would have to be in to want death so badly that they try to bait violent wild animals to eat them alive. Like ??????? that's not some funny ridiculous situation what's wrong with them.

[Still Jimmy] That the tryout Harley Quinn page went out without an overall description of tone and dialogue is all my fault. I should have put it clearly in the description that it was supposed to be a dream sequence with Amanda and me talking to Harley and giving her a hard time. I should have also mentioned we were thinking a MAD magazine/Looney Tunes approach was what we're looking for. We thought it was obvious with the whale and chicken suit, and so on, but learned it was not. I am sorry for those who took offense, our intentions were always to make this a fun and silly book that broke the fourth wall, and head into issue 1 with an ongoing story/adventure that is a lot like the past POWER GIRL series we did. I hope all the people thinking the worst of us can now understand that insulting or making fun of any kind was never our intention.

Amanda: Under the circumstances, Jeremy did a fantastic job on the page. I hope he had fun on it 'cause it sure looks like he did. I love how on the third panel, it looks like Moby Dick is floating around New York Harbor.

As far as the controversy goes, Harley was part of a team called the "Suicide Squad," and it was supposed to be a play on words about that. The page description that went out was really brief and bare-boned. When I saw that it was getting across the wrong message, I went into more detail with the description, but by then, it was too late. The fecal matter has already collided with the revolving atmospheric circulation device. I thought the ridiculousness of the second and third panels would get across the nonsensical feel of the page, but not so much.

It definitely was not intended to be as lascivious as many people thought. The following is an example of what I had hoped for in my head:

[Small picture of Harley, nude and sitting up in the bathtub with her knees visible, covering her chest from view. The bath is full of bubbles, a rubber duck resting on her right knee. Her hair is up in space buns. She's holding an oversized pair of scissors that are about the size of her body. Six separate appliances hang above her, we can see 2 of the plugs hanging in the air. The scissors are open and about to clip the cord that's tied to one of the tub stands.]

Harley Quinn is a chaotic and unpredictable woman, her attempting to commit suicide in nonsensical fashions is not as jarring and clearly a made up over exaggerated ridiculous situations because she is a character that could be written in character doing similar things.

If that makes sense?

"our intentions were always to make this a fun and silly book", then why the fuck would you include suicidal scenarios? why even go there?? that's not a light tone that can be easily projected humorously.

And, why even be like "What I didn't want was Harley wearing her suit, so I used shorthand to explain this. My mistake." when the art Amanda had put in here as an example under "what I had hoped for in my head" features her just naked. Visibly fully naked, bare skinned.

So, the intention...was for her to be naked?

and oh no, they didn't end it there! To top it all off, after going through the rest of the covers and whatnot, they just go ahead and include all the finalists! ya know, the ones that included the panel of her attempting suicide in a bathtub?

The ones Amanda and Jimmy said above just needed better elaborated context of it being a dream sequence where they're talking to Harley and she wasn't supposed to be naked naked?

well, lucky us here's all 6 finalists without the goddamn boxes! just plain old panels! isn't that so nice and great and appropriate!

and from what I can find looking up each name and connecting them to artists in the industry, every single one of these finalists who drew these prompts that DC decided to publish are all men. I'll repeat what I said above, Harley is a female character with a history of suicidal thoughts and having her trauma and emotional distress shoved aside for the sake of being sexualized humourous eye candy aimed largely at a male audience.

sorry if I'm not really getting the humor from any of these, getting a lot of Leg and Cleave, and A Bunch Of Depression Vibes

but no humor. dialogue bubbles doesn't change the feel these panels have. A dialogue box would not make context surrounding these panels funny because suicide isn't fucking funny and shouldn't be used as a punchline. this isn't even dark humor you can't excuse it with that.

and they didn't even include the dialogue! this is just the actual no context idea they said people were mistaking it as and DC turned around and just published, officially published, 6 separate back to back pages featuring textless panels drawn by men of Harley Quinn, a canonical victim of IPV at the hands of her boyfriend who has shown suicidal ideation in two separate comics written by Paul Dini, "humorously" trying to end her own life or have animals eat her to end her own life.

wow, how fucking funny.

This is in no way a damned play on words, Amanda, because what the fuck do these prompts have to do with the Squad she was forced to participate in at threat of a bomb detonating in her neck, where she got tortured and sent off on SUICIDE MISSIONS, that she did not excitedly volunteer to go on because she just loves chaotic death and suicide??????

my main issue with Harlivy not being monogamous is that the idea exists solely because DC is homophobic. I think, in some worlds, they could have a healthy poly relationship, obviously I love harliva (Gotham City Sirens), I stand by that this would be a wonderful dynamic if ya know written by competent and skilled writers who actually understand all their characters.

And frankly I dont feel like Harley is one who typically would be okay with sharing the person she's in love with. she's just not. maybe in a case where she and the person she's in love with / dating are both also in love with another, who's equally into the both of them.

But

That's not what's happening in Harley & Ivy's comics right now. That's not what's ever happened with this "open relationship".

I think Mason was healthy and sweet for Harley, from what I remember, but Ivy didn't love him and he didn't love Ivy. It's understandable to a degree, Ivy's reasonings and such, and in a different world with better writers I think that aspect could have been explored and developed.

Because Ivy does, truly, deeply, love Harley, and the idea she would be okay with Harley having hookups, etc, could be explained in a way that would make sense. Particularly during the part of Harley's arc that the 2014/2016 comics were, well, were supposed to be, dealing with.

She's freshly broken up with Joker, not really fully into a healing phase either, and isn't in the right mindset to be like settling down and thinking of Forever again. Harlivy's relationship is strong and built on friendship, so even in the beginning there while their relationship isn't Platonic, it's not "Officially Dating", Ivy knows how deeply Harley also cares about her. She also knows Harley isn't in a good place, and neither was she.

So her being okay, or outright happy for Harley, being loved by other people would make some sense because all Ivy's tried to do their whole friendship is prove that she deserved better, that she deserved to be loved and cherished. And as long as whoever is the pick of the month for Harley is someone who makes her feel happy and loved, then Ivy wouldn't feel jealous over it because damn, good for her being so happy messing around with someone who isn't as nasty and cruel as Joker. And it wouldn't take away from the real underlying feelings the two women have for one another.

But, again, that's not what this is. And it is now a "dynamic" that's bled into both Poison Ivy (2022) and Harley Quinn (2021), and has ultimately (due to the sheer lack of shown conversations or anything) devolved to borderline cheating.

In all honestly, this isn't a thing that'd exist if she was still with Joker and him alone. 1000%.

She would be with him and him only and would be depressed, insecure and jealous if he had a "friend" like Janet who he'd fucked before and continued to keep around.

This concept was only introduced because DC wouldn't allow for Harlivy to be openly in a monogamous relationship in 2014/2016. This is the company that in 2013 lost both the artist and writer for the Batwoman comic (artist: JH Williams III and writer: W. Haden Blackman) due to the company refusing to allow them to show Kate get married. It's not ooc for them to have refused to let them be monogamous, especially since Harlivy wasn't even allowed to be shown kissing on the lips at the time.

cause forbid sapphic women are allowed to be shown being outright loving and romantic with each other and doing something as ridiculously simple and mundane as a lip kiss, but having Ivy grab her ass in front of two dudes is totally okay cause it's hot.

it's so hot in fact that they needed to add in Tool dude, a fucking loser ass creep, saying "homina" in response to getting to see these two hot ladies like this. It seems like this is supposed to be a version of "Hummina"

Wiktionary: used to express that one has a strong reaction that cannot be expressed in words, especially when expressing embarrassment or sexual attraction.

Urban Dictionary: gibberish used to convey excitement or immediate sexual attraction to someone that takes your breath away.

Or the definitions for "Homina" itself

Urban Dictionary: A word, normally repeated three times, to express shock, befuddlement, or general speechlessness. Often when looking at a particularly attractive member of the speaker's favored sex

-

A sound you make when you see someone very attractive and beautiful. Similar to "hubba-hubba" or "a-woo-gah a-woo-gah" or "rwaaaarrr!"

[AND! I think the dynamics with her relationships with Joker and Ivy during the Mad Love arc is ridiculously complex and cannot be boiled down to "she cheats on him with Ivy so its in character for them to not be monogamous" because it takes away all context of both relationships and the mental state she'd have been in during that arc that was directly caused by him.

Her hooking up with Ivy while still being on / off again with Joker, a man who had broken her mind, her bones and her self esteem, is not at all similar or equatable to the pointless, ooc strange plot threads that've been published recently that frankly are just starting to feel like it's playing into biphobic stereotypes]

anyyyhoo, those are my thoughts<3 I have to finish cleaning my room now I sporadically wrote this on a short break SKDJSJKSKSKS

[nerdyneko265]

In honour of the last dungeon meshi Thursday (I know it’s Wednesday, shut up)

Minecraft cooking!

Where I go through the mob bestiary and treat it like a cook book.

Chicken, cow, pig, goat, rabbit, horse, wolf, sheep, cat, cod, salmon, tropical fish, llama- you know what these are, you don’t need me to explain. Both Laios and I are bored, moving on.

Villagers, pillagers, piglins- don’t eat people. I know piglins are half pig but listen. DONT EAT PEOPLE! You know the orcs? This is the same thing.

All zombies ever- technically edible. We’ve all eaten rotten flesh. Senshi would not be proud of us, it’s not very nutritious. Also, cannibalism.

Skeletons- I guess you could make a soup stock. But they’re better for fertilizer.

Vex and allays- ghosts. I don’t think we can make sorbet here either. I don’t think they work like that.

Bats- very small, not much meat. Hard to find and catch. But if you’re in a cave and in a pinch or just curious, sure why not

Puffer fish- cook very carefully. Probably just better for potions. But you can eat puffer fish, your chef just needs to be trained in how to cook it.

Mooshroom- now we’re talking. Beef, but with mushrooms. Comes with mushroom soup too. Usually raised for soup rather than meat, but still a good source of meat that’s pre seasoned.

Squid- mmmmm calamari… Laios enemy… also good for squid ink. I hear it goes well with pasta.

Cave Spider- venomous, could technically remove the poison like with puffer fish and boil the spider but I dont know. Small but have spawners, so you’ve have a steady supply

Spider- not venomous, and bigger. So I guess you could. Probably taste like giant scorpion since they’re both arachnids.

*dont eat spider eyes, they’re poisonous

Endermen- for personal reasons, I will not be eating endermen. They don’t even want to fight unless you antagonize them. More importantly, don’t eat endermen, it’ll probably fuck you up. They’re built for the end and full of chorus fruit. They’re also so skinny, not much to eat there. Ender pearls have a chance of giving you a parasite. And will probably teleport your stomach out of your body. You could try but it’s probably like jerky and you’ll see god.

Incidentally, I think chorus fruit tastes like vanilla

Polar bear- probably very tough meat. Very gamey. Beware though, they eat people too

Iron golem- that’s a robot. Don’t eat metal. DONT EAT REDSTONE! ITS RADIO ACTIVE.

Snow golem- probably makes good ice cream. Don’t eat it. Let it make ice cream. It’s just snow after all. It would just taste like water.

Blaze- it’s more of a spirit than an animal. Good for potion making, probably not tasty. A central core surrounded by rods, maybe that core has some meat on it, probably tastes a little spicy.

Striders- why? Why would you eat these poor babies? What did they ever do to you? They’re probably reptiles, so you could definitely eat them but could you live with that knowledge?

Elder guardian- really old puffer fish. Cut carefully for good sushi. But it’s such a hassel, you’re better off having a puffer fish. Plus, they’re endangered, so like, come on.

Guardian- jokes on you, it’s hollow on the inside. Check the mob bestiary, they have no internal organs. Could probably get some meat from the outer flesh but that’s also the spikes, so beware.

Ender mite- remember those parasites from ender pearls? This is them. Could def cook them though. They’re fair sized and full on meat. You’re probably be tripping balls though.

Ghast- like a squid, but balloon. They are filled with gas, to allow them to fly. So much like a dragon, likely have a gas sac that could contain gases that could ignite, be careful. But sky octopus. Lots of meat.

Magma cube- slime but spicy. Magma cream is probably yummy. We know it’s ok to ingest because it’s in potions, so I think it should be ok to eat. Just wait got it to cool a little

Slime- senshi has recipes for these buggers.

Shulker- I can only assume it tastes like living armour. It’s definitely a mussel

Silverfish- it’s a bug, it’s big, enjoy.

Wither skeleton and the wither- please, for the love of all that is holy, DO NOT EAT THE WITHER! THIS IS HOW WE GET THE PLAGUE! YOURE GOING TO GET WITHERING AND DIE!

Sniffer- I know they’re really big, I know they’re probably full of meat and they have eggs, but look at their little faces. Could you really eat them?

The Ender dragon- I mean, you beat her, might as well I guess. Apparently dragon is delicious. But also, probably full of the end, probably going to fuck yup up a bit

And now, for the big one

Creeper- as we all know, creeper skin feels like dry, crunchy leaves. It’s a moss monster with a tnt block inside. So, if you carefully cut around the explosive, you now have a very dangerous vegetable. Thick “meat”, might make a good salad.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

[clownboybebop]

if you’re ever in the position to choose between giving up and accepting defeat, and actually trying to fight the ancient unkillable god that is about to peel apart reality like a string cheese, remember this: scientifically speaking, you might as well give it a shot!

1.there were trees at the beginning of the world! there were trees so long ago that they predate bacteria that causes wood to decay. when a tree fell, it would lie there in stasis and there wasn’t any way of breaking down wood xylem on a molecular level in that way.

2. it seems obvious to say, but wood eating bacteria are literally incapable of comprehending what they’re breaking down. It’s just not information conciously available to a microorganism. they don’t know what they’re deconstructing, where it came from, bacteria have no way to even fathom the existence of a tree as a concept.

3. Regardless of the facts above, the world we live in today is a world where wood inevitably decomposes

it is worth fighting the unkillable god no matter how pointless it seems. it is worth taking the risk even though youre trying to accomplish something impossible. the reality in which you live was also once reality in which trees didn’t rot. You live in a reality that allows for existence before the possibility of destruction. you live in a reality where uncomprehending microbes break down matter that is so far beyond the scope of their comprehension that it feels comical to specify something so obvious. you live in a reality that occasionally allows unshakeable physical truths to be altered with no warning.

It is worth fighting the unkillable god because trees are so old they predate the source of their destruction, and it still did not spare them. It is worth fighting the unkillable god because bacteria rots unthinkingly, because there is room in our cosmos for destruction without comprehension on the part of the destroyer. It is worth fighting the unkillable god because now and then reality retracts the promise of immortality without fanfare, and when that happens there is no mercy for the ancient. the unmaking is not softer for the desecrators ignorance. for all things, existence is endless until the exact point where it ends.

so you might as well try to kill the unkillable god. it doesn’t seem likely, but at the beginning of the world, trees didn’t rot. so you never know! you never know

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Marvel's Squirrel Girl: The Unbeatable Radio Show! | All of Erik Lehnsherr's Call-In's

Episodes featured: The Fate of My Universe The Sinister Six Are No More Who Would Win In A Fight? Unbeatable

Full Podcast Playlist (Spotify)

Credits below:

Written by: Ryan North

Directed by: Giovanna Sardelli

Voice Cast: Milana Vayntrub - Squirrel Girl/Doreen Green Crystal Lucas Perry - Nancy Whitehead Leo Sheng - Koi Boi/Ken Shiga Davied Morales - Chipmunk Hunk/Tomas Lara-Perez Erica Schroeder - Tippy T. Squirrel Rob Nagle - Erik Lehnsherr

Key Art: "Squirrel Girl Infinity Comic (2022)" by Derek Charm - Doreen, Nancy, Ken, Tomas, Tippy "Magneto (2023)" by Todd Nauck - Erik

[starry-bi-sky]

jason and danny childhood friends au memes (mild spoilers)