#that one barty’s edit

[divkazkdovikde]

having thoughts about barty crouch jr

like what do you mean he escaped from azkaban thanks to his mother who took his place??

just to be then imperio’d by his father???

he basically spent most of his life in prison. you know, metaphorically speaking… (screaming crying throwing myself against the wall)

also on the other note: the fact that barty and james both had an ivisibility cloak???

not to mention the fact that he was obviously very fucking smart??? (the whole gof being the evidence of that) of course he was a fucking ravenclaw, his brains mate, his fucking brains

always kinda cackling about the way he basically went: yeah i’d like for you to die but mate my boss wants to kill you himself so i refuse to let you die before that so yes i will help you to get through murdeous tournament at all fucking costs alright just take it ask no questions trust me dude i know what i am doing

and then screaming crying throwing up because he survived all his friends. all of them. regulus, evan, dorcas, pandora. (he lost pandora and dorcas first, when they went the different way, after losing reg there was no more hope for him, but losing his evan made him lose his mind, made him the mad man)

(barty finally understood why dorcas went mad, basically all achilles, after marlene died. he finally understood the pain dorcas felt, when evan died in his arms. and you know how it goes, going mad with pain. he finally understood why dorcas laughed, when she took down no small number of death eaters in her madness, before voldemort finally stopped her. he understood it, when he tortured alice and frank, ones of those responsible for evan’s death, and he laughed too, madly, finally tasting the sweetnest of revenge. and at those moments he allowed himself for a moment to miss his former friend, to mourn her. and he let himself taste the bitter memory of her, of them, of who they used to be, of who they never got to be. just for a moment. and it was dorcas who he thought of in his last moments, when he finally understood the relief, she must have felt, as she was finally going to join the love of her life and above. and he died with the same little content smile as he thought of the girl who was once his friend, who went mad over her lovers’ death, whose doom was so similar to his, yet not really. he thought of dorcas and marlene when he finally reunited with evan in the afterlife. and in the afterlife, finally free, finally happy, finally not in pain, he hoped that in their next life, the doom would be fate instead.)

alright this escalated quickly, that was not the plan but eh, anyway, i’ll leave it there.

so yeah. barty crouch jr. want him in my pocket. he’s my bbgirl an i’m starting to go absolutely feral over him. hopefully i’ll be able to stop that train before it crashes, and there will be no faith for me anymore. (hehe delulu is the solulu)(i’m a lost cause already, who am i kidding)

also absolutely convinced he and sirius talked shit in azkaban. they were absolutely the prison buddies.

anyway barty. crouch… junior. (fr mr igor karkaroff had no business to say his name like that in the bloody movie) my mad crazy felon. i love him your honor.

[marauders-bs]

"Jesus Christ," Evan muttered to himself. "Okay, who broke the lamp? Be honest, you five."

Kay Rosier-Crouch stood, eyes wide, beside her cousins Luna and Ascella and a broken lamp. Estrella and Cherie Potter-Black stood guiltily behind Kay as though the twins were attempting to hide.

"Honesty is the best policy," Lily tried when no one spoke up. "We won't be mad if you're honest."

"Oh, okay," Cherie said, looking relieved. "All the time?"

"All the time," James agreed, looking at his daughter.

"Uncle Barty taught me the word fuck because I asked him to," Ascella blurted from the corner.

Absolute, dead silence rung throughout the room. Evan knew Pandora had the most pissed off expression and really, really did not want to look.

"Aunt Andromeda is my favorite," Estrella said.

"Last year I snuck onto the Hogwarts Express to see Bianca and lied to you about it, and her dads knew."

Regulus looked like he was trying not to immediately Apparate to his brother's house in a fit of fury at Cherie's words.

"We use your Netflix account," Luna told Evan. "You should really change your password, you know."

"I don't even care who broke the lamp anymore," Pandora said. "I just need a drink."

Regulus stood up, sweeping Cherie into his arms. "Yeah, I'm going with you."

[rewritingcanon]

idk why im in such a bad mood rn but it actually PISSES ME TF OFF how the entire marauders fandom collectively decided to take this bum-ass loser character with one discernable impact on the storyline (regulus. im talking about regulus) and make him a super complex, three-dimensional MAIN character in the era that’s being literally paired with JAMES POTTER(???) when they could’ve taken a character who AREADY has existing complexities and everything they could ever want and develop them. but they won’t because that character is a fucking woman ☠️☠️

the way the black sisters would have the entire fandom in a fucking chokehold if they were boys. do you actually think sirius and regulus would be as cherished as they are now if they were women? hell fucking no, regulus would be hated on so badly. the way we were given narcissa and fucking andromeda too? here’s the entire fandom yapping on and on about how cool regulus is for rebelling against the dark lord when narcissa was doing it and fucking getting away with it too (because she’s better and doesn’t suck ass). here’s andromeda going against her entire bloodline ON HER OWN but yet shes still so overshadowed by sirius (who literally came after her). then you got bellatrix who is canonly one of the most powerful (and cuntiest) witches in the hp-verse and you decide to go and develop BARTY instead. think about it. they’re both crazy except one is more of a loser and is a male so of course the fandom will choose him.

and then. of course. lily evans who is literally the mother of the entire verse itself is still out here fighting for literal recognition and development from the fandom. and those mfs still give it to regulus instead ☠️☠️

[calamitoustide]

can't stop thinking about jarty competing for regulus' attention

[foursaints]

anon beefer again! your moodboard has barely a grasp of a concept and that picture of the meat letters or whatever the fuck is stupid. improve your aesthetic making skills pal

ITS ABOUT BODILY AUTONOMY YOU DUMB FUCK….. ok but i actually thought about my pinned mb embarrassingly hard & i never talked about the choices at length so i will now

each of the three layers of the mb represents the three phases of barty jr’s life: the top images are his childhood, the second layer is his coming of age, and the final set is goblet of fire… and if you follow the images sequentially (1-9) each one individually corresponds to a different pivotal moment in his story

i. the house on fire: born into a broken home ii. the black eye: early childhood exposure to violence iii. boys fighting, laughing: his adolescent rebellion & his growing willingness to use violence himself iv. true love is meat: rosekiller thesis & meeting evan v. “perhaps i could have been free”: his imprisonment in azkaban & under imperius as an echo of his childhood (central image bc this is the central theme) vi. judith beheading holofernes: breaking from imperius and imprisoning his father vii. caught in string: trapped in his own invisible orchestrations in goblet of fire vii. the small person curled in on themself: his brief return to his alienated body ix. “i took care of that thing for you”: his final acts, both burying his father and bringing the dark lord back to life

ITS NOT JUST AESTHETICS RAUAUUAAAAGH ITS A PORTRAIT OF BARTY’S WHOLE LIFE IN 9 SEQUENTIAL IMAGES

[star4daisy]

I was tagged by @sanguineerose to post a lil snippet, so here ya go:

“Is it because it’s convenient?”

Evan never spoke after sex, they usually turned into their sides and slept in their preferred positions, so his voice startled Barty out of his usual post shagging fog.

“What?”

“The reason why you’re fucking me,” Evan said clinically. “Is it because it’s convenient?”

Barty turned so quickly that his head spun. He knew Evan was trying to make it sound nonchalant, his eyes ice cold while he observed the ceiling, not betraying anything. But Barty knew better or he thought he did.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“Well, you fucked Regulus before me and he’s our roommate, so it’s not like it was hard maintenance for you, we all know how much you despise having to work for it every time you’re in the mood and Merlin knows you can’t keep a relationship to save your life, but then Reg started dating James so you didn’t have easy sex anymore and now you’re fucking me so it’s not hard to connect the dots that…”

“Lemme stop you right there.” Barty interrupted him in a ruder tone than he intended. “Nothing about this is convenient. What the fuck, Evan?” He sat up, the comforter slipping from his torso and baring his chest, Evan’s eyes trailed it instinctively as he also sat up on the bed, using the headboard to rest his back.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with what I said.”

“You don’t see…” Barty’s eyes widened as he laughed coldly. Merlin. “I hope you're fucking with me right now, because if not I’m gonna lose my shit.”

Evan spread his arms mockingly. “By all means.”

Barty stood up at once. “I’m not doing this. Not with you,” he put on his pants without bothering to find his underwear. 

Barty had taken his anger out on other people his entire life. Mostly on people he did not care for, he was ashamed of admitting that the most damage - or the only one Barty cared for - was the one he’d done to the people he loved. 

Barty had never learned how to love. 

His mother had tried to teach him, but it had been overshadowed by his father’s indifference. 

Barty’s love had teeth. It bit anyone who dared come close enough. 

There had never been a person Barty loved that he hadn’t hurt. 

He’d done it to his mother when she didn’t deserve to bear the anger he held for his father. 

He’d done it to Regulus when he needed to let his frustration out during their teenage years. 

Until Evan. Barty refused to do the same to him. 

He couldn’t. Not to Evan. 

Not now that he finally had him where he wanted him.

np tags: @jaylienpotter @themuseoftheviolets @fromagony @jamespottersmixtape + anyone who wants to

[katakosmos]

am i the only one who thinks this or do we all agree that edward and bella from twilight are barty and regulus variants

[crimsonlovebartylus]

as someone from chicago, i want to say:

ian and mickey are bartylus coded.

ian could be regulus but also barty

while mickey could be regulus but also barty

point is regulus and barty are both bat shit crazy

[wolfstarjunkie]

how would we feel if i said louis tomlinson 1d era was really barty crouch jr coded

[sugarsnappeases]

book i’m reading just mentioned ‘losing at chess as a seductive gambit’ so now i’m thinking about bartylus

[cukrkandl]

happy international asexuality day from marauders and co. in my all-asexual au 💜

on ao3: An Ace Up Your Sleeve, Ace in the Hole, Hold All the Aces, and Other Fitting Asexual Puns

[bartyjoonyah]

Here’s a brand new Barty edit.

[marauders-tiktok-curator]

happy first day of march, here’s your 1st day post

this just happens to be during the middle of my resurgent david tennant obsession

[sunnami]

marauders era — the interactive story. [sneak peek.]

experience the thrill of being sorted into your hogwarts house all over again! who will you be in this story? a daring gryffindor, a generous hufflepuff, a clever slytherin, or an inquisitive ravenclaw?

will you be kind? reserved? bold? or, perhaps, mischievous? the choice is yours!

roam the castle corridors, attend your favorite classes and build your stats—go on a path that YOU choose!

spend your time at the library, or discover the secrets of the castle. develop your magic—do you like herbology or defense against the dark arts?

but more importantly, befriend students from other houses, or keep to your own circle, make enemies—or even fall in love!

(includes options for pronouns, any romantic path for the reader to pursue, etc.)

interact with these characters: lily evans, james potter, sirius black, remus lupin, peter pettigrew, dorcas meadowes, marlene mckinnon, gideon and fabian prewett, frank longbottom.

narcissa black, regulus black, lucius malfoy, barty crouch jr.

xenophilius lovegood, amos diggory, and more!

your story is yours to write!

snippet:

(this is a work in progress. a very, very rough draft that will undergo a long period of coding, writing, and editing!)

i have ALWAYS wanted to write an interactive story, not one based on votes—but one where a reader can stumble upon it months later and still be able to make their choices. when i was younger, i bought an interactive fantasy book, and it was the most magical novel i’ve ever read. i am so, so, excited to share this with everyone! it will be my first ever interactive story, so i only ask for a bit of patience, ueuue.

this is a gift for my friends, my wonderful readers, who have been so kind and generous to me, and so this is my show of love for everyone! 🤎🤎

feel free to leave any suggestions, comments, and feedback as i go through the development stage! i’ll be sharing progress and snippets every now and then.

again, thank you all so much!

— sunny

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

Shut UPPP I just had THE BEST idea for a drarry fanfic!!!!!!!!

Okay SO we all know how in OOTP, Lucius Malfoy fails to get his hands on the prophecy Voldemort wants, and therefore fails to serve his master. Voldemort is furious, and this leads to him giving Draco the task to kill Dumbledore in HPB, as a punishment for the Malfoy family.

But what if Voldemort had enough of Lucius much earlier on in the series?? We know that Lucius actually failed him in COS, book two, when he let part of Voldemort’s soul be destroyed. What if Voldemort had taken out his rage on the Malfoy family as early on as book four, GOF?

What if Voldemort decided that the best way to punish the Malfoy family was to make sure Draco was chosen as Hogwarts’ contestant in the Triwizard Tournament? Alongside Harry, of course, since Harry was needed for Voldemort’s plan. Draco’s task would be to make sure Harry made it through the tournament, to discreetly make Harry win it and also make sure to grab the cup with him, so that he too could be transported with the Port-Key to the grave yard. There, Draco was meant to stand alongside his father and watch as Voldemort returned, tortured and killed Harry. Only then would Voldemort trust the Malfoys’ loyalty again.

So Draco goes to Hogwarts for his third year. He tries to believe that he’s proud to have been chosen, deep down, but actually he’s terrified.

Barty Crouch Jr. puts Draco’s AND Harry’s name in the goblet. They both get chosen for the Tournament, Draco instead of Cedric. Harry is 100% sure Draco’s responsible for their names ending up there. Draco assured him that he isn’t. They slowly become friends as the tournament carries on, and Draco finds himself actually enjoying Harry’s company more than he should.

Imagine how the first task with the dragons would be. The second one, in the lake! THE PREFECTS’ BATHROOM! THE FUCKING MAZE AND THE GRAVEYARD AND AND

Holy shit I need to write this I NEED TO WROTE THIS BUT I DONT HAVE W THE TIMEEEUGHHH

Edit: I am currently writing it.

[leeny-leens]

Knives Out (Wounds In) | BCJ x Reader

Pairing: bsf!Barty Crouch Jr x bsf! Reader

Summary: You accidentally stab Barty and he...asks for more?

Warnings: BLOOD, STABBING, INJURIES, Barty has issues,I've never dressed a thigh wound before, description of injury being taken care off, Barty likes pain (and blood), proceed with caution okay I'm sleep deprived

Content: Barty and the Reader are a little unhinged, Barty is having a crisis, Barty being called doll (courtesy of @vun3r4b13xwrites for this brain rot), not proofread or edited, Barty makes like one really dark joke abt dying but it's not too dark

WC: 3.83k

AN: this was inspired by a post of @unconventional-lawnchair and honestly idek what happened, it somehow spiraled into being something much longer and ??? than anticipated so have this. Also tagging @esotericloser BCS ya said ya want it <3

Being friends with Barty meant that there wasn't much that could actually traumatize you anymore when it came to gory horror. Oh no, you’re bound lose that ability quite quickly in his company, with the way he walked around looking like a splasher horror victim half of the time. He barley ever had an explanation for it either, always shrugging and mumbling something incoherent about where the blood on him came from.

So really, you'd say you're pretty desensitized when it came to blood and injuries, especially when it came to Barty being bloodied and injured.

Nothing however, could have prepared you for the sight of your very own dagger piercing his thigh, blood spilling and splashing on the ground and wall.

It's your worst nightmare come true; a loved one injured and bloodied because of you and your stupidity, though Barty would go on a tangent, chiding you for the self deprecating notion of that thought.

The boy in question, you just noticed, stood by the open door, his face pulled into a blend between amusement and a grimace of pain as he stared between the dagger and your frozen form on your bed.

“Damn doll, when I said your stare could throw daggers at me I didn't think you'd take it seriously,” he said, painfully failing to conceal the wince in his voice as he joked.

The sound of his voice was apparently all your brain needed to reboot itself and jumpstart again. Immediately, you hurled yourself up from the bed, standing by his side in a few quick strides as you crouched down to examine the injury on his thigh.

“Merlin I’m sorry Bee, I was doing that stupid Charms assignment and- and you just came in and I panicked and oh my god are you gonna die?” there was seemingly no stopping you the moment you began to speak, the words stumbling out in no rhyme or rhythm as you tried to remember what little you’d learned about first aid.

In your panic, there wasn't much you remembered aside for needing to stop the bleeding somehow and making sure to keep his leg raised high, or was it keep it low to prevent bleeding? You couldn't recall it, your mind too riddled with guilt and terror at the vast amount of blood staining the carpet.

“You can't die on me,” you whimpered, tears barley held at bay “They're gonna expell me if they find out I killed you-”

The sudden realization of who your best friend was hit you harder than any hex you've sustained in your lifetime before you stared up at him with terror blown eyes “Oh my god your father is sending me to Azkaban for killing his only heir.”

This was evidently the straw that broke the camels back, Barty finally doubled over from laughter, his barking voice probably resonating through the entirety of the dormitory. His laughter quickly turned into pressed coughs as he tried to straighten back up again, mild gasps of pain escaping him in-between. Quickly, you're on your feet again, gently yet firmly guiding him to your bed and hissing at him to not put any weight on his injured leg.

To his credit, he let you push him around like a pliant ragdoll, following your instructions and keeping his pretty mouth shut aside for a few pained noises here there. His eyes flickered between you and the dagger, regarding the latter with a glimmer of fascination and you could tell it took everything in him to not poke at the metal protruding from his flesh.

“Relax doll,” he said in an attempt to reassure you “’M not gonna die yeah? Tis but a scratch.” As if trying to convince you, he tapped the dagger lightly, smiling at you with that wide expression, his lips pulled apart so much it brought his dimple out. “See? I've survived worse,” he added, and to your utter dismay, it did help calm you down.

“Right, it's probably worse than it looks like” you muttered, taking a few deep breaths to compose yourself before finally gathering your thoughts to help him. “Okay, stay right there and don't move okay?” you threw him a warning glare before disappearing into the bathroom, occasionally glancing over your shoulder to make sure he was following your instructions. You knew staying still was hard for Barty, his natural inclination to always be in motion was one of the biggest hurdles he faced in his day to day life. He couldn't sit still for longer than a few minutes, not without bouncing his leg or tapping his fingers against the nearest surface or hell, rocking back and forth. Don't get him started on people telling him to be still, that somehow made it much harder to comply than if he tried to do it on his own.

He was however, trying his best to stay still, probably to not worry you more than he already had, and you appreciated his cooperation immensely.

Returning back to his side, you knelt down at the bedside and set down a plain white box and opened it, revealing various bandages, potions and vials along side bandaids and scissors of different types and sizes.

Barty decided to stay silent, watching your movements with an attentive, hawk-like gaze and arched his eyebrows in surprise as you grabbed the biggest pair of scissors, only to bring it to the hem of his pant leg, quickly cutting through the dark fabric.

“You know,” he said amused, watching you cut apart his pants “This is not how I imagined you undressing me would go, could've taken me out to dinner first at least.”

“You're so lucky you already have a stab wound,” you replied dryly, moving the fabric away to reveal the pale skin of thigh and barley held back your grimace at the sight of the dagger lodged into it. “Otherwise that comment would've gotten you one.” you grabbed a whole bunch of gauzes and disinfectant, slowly trying to assess how bad the wound was in order to decide your next course of action.

This was the part you'd feared the most, the one where you pulled the dagger out.

As if he’d read your mind, Barty reached out to take your hand into his, bringing it to his lips so he could press a kiss on your knuckles. “It's gonna be okay doll,” he murmured softly “I trust you, you're bloody brilliant and you don't have to be scared of this.”

It was comical really, how he'd gotten hurt because of you and yet was the one to offer you comfort and reassurance. Had this been anyone else, you would've scoffed and thrashed against the gesture, but this was Barty, your Barty, who'd watched you overcome every obstacle in your life for the last six years, your Barty who knew you like the back of his hand and studied you like you were the biggest mystery in the universe to be unraveled. You could only nod in agreement, squeezing his hand tightly as you steadied your breath to pull out the dagger.

You vaguely remembered how Madam Pomfrey would talk up injured students to distract them from procedures, and you decided that if the matron of the hospital wing did it, it couldn't be that stupid of an idea to try out.

“Why did you come into my room?”

you asked suddenly, and he leaned back into the nest of pillows you had propped against your headboard.

He shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face. “No reason, just wanted to see my favourite person,” despite all the years with him as your best friend, the response still managed to draw out an over exaggerated eyeroll from you, one that did nothing to mask the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

You questioned him some more, asking about his day and what he was going to do, and because this was your Barty, you knew he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to talk your ear off, the dagger in his thigh quickly forgotten. Fortunately for you, that meant you could pull it out with one smooth movement, granting Barty barley any time to register the pain before you began to press a mountain of gauzes against the wound. The white fabric quickly became a soaked, scarlet mess and you could hear his breath hitch at the sight, not the way it would've from pain, but rather from something akin to speechlessness. He watched you press against the wound, switching out gauze after gauze whenever it became unusable after soaking up too much blood, and he was sure the blood rushing to his head at the sight of your fingers gleaming with the red liquid of him was significantly more fatale than the stab wound to his thigh. There was just something so primitively alluring about the sight, your face contorted into a grimace of worry and concentration as you applied moderate yet firm pressure against his thigh, not minding how dirty your hands became in the process. It didn't help that it was him sullying your pretty hands, and he swore his soul left his body when you moved a stray strand of hair out of your face, cursing when you felt the blood smear on your cheek.

He wanted nothing more but to lean forward and wipe it off, perhaps clean it up with his own mouth just to see how he tasted on you, but he remained rigidly seated like a statue, his mind a battle field of desire and rationality.

You were none the wiser to his predicament, taking his sudden silence as a side effect of pain or shock. You took to murmuring encouragement and random things about your own day, partially to fill the silence and partially to make sure the boy was still rooted into reality instead of floating into the realm of dark memories, just on the off chance that the sight of his own blood and the feeling of pain brought them forward. You told him about the stupid Charms project you’d taken up for extra credit, letting a dagger float around in a coordinated pattern, and how you'd been sitting at it for hours on end before he barged into your room, startling you into sending the dagger straight at him. He made the occasional grunt of agreement or let out a snort at a particularly funny joke you cracked, and after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, the bleeding finally seemed to stop enough for you to be able to actually inspect the wound.

It looked worse than it actually is, not too deep and not too long, and your entire body slumped in relief at the realization. For a moment, you rested your head in your hands, muttering thanks to whatever might hear you. “Thank everything you're not gonna die,” you said once you looked at Barty again, whose attention had been on you the entire time. “What a pity,” he replied almost too plainly, yet the grin on his face betrayed the self deprecating statement. “Here I was looking forward to bringing joy into my father's life for once,” you rolled your eyes so hard you worried they might actually fall out, and you could only lean forward to hit his shoulder with a warning scoff. “Don't be mean to my best friend,” you chided “That's my job, I can't afford to lose it in this economy.”

“So true, the prices are ridiculously high these days,” he mused, eyes glimmering as he watched you disinfect the wound and bandage it up.

“Exactly! I mean come on, 5 galleons for a pack of chocolates frogs? Do they think all of us are made of trust funds and old money?” Barty is unable to hold in his snort at your statement, reminiscing how you haven't let it go ever since your last trip to Hogsmeade nearly a month ago. If anyone knew how to hold a grudge, it was his doll for sure.

Absentmindedly, your fingers traced slow circles around the red, angry skin of the gash, careful to not press or touch anything that might elicit unnecessary pain. Barty’s entire body went stiff at the soft touch, so gentle and soothing, like he was made of porcelain and too fragile, the lightest press of your thumb against his thigh a breaking hazard. It was a stark contrast to how he was usually treated, but he’d come to accept it from you. While he hated being seen as vulnerable and weak- because he was everything but that-, he found himself relishing your touch and care, for it stemmed not from pity or underestimation but genuine care and love. And oh how he soaked up every ounce of affection you gave him, starved of it for his whole life but finding you there to give it to him like a steady stream flowing from the creek of your heart.

You took his stiffness as a sign of discomfort and swiftly withdrew your hand to stop the ministrations, almost missing the imperceptible whine of dissatisfaction that barely escaped the boy’s lips. When you stared at him with a puzzled look on your face, he greeted you with one of his own, cleverly covering for his mindless slip-up.

When it seemed like he hadn’t actually made any sound, you were content to get back to treating the wound, your fingers brushing over the tools in the first aid kit.

After realising the wound wasn't life threatening, your mind had cleared up significantly, rendering you able to think and remember what you needed to do to properly take care of the gash. You grabbed a bottle of blue disinfectant alongside more of the gauze, dousing the latter in the blue solution before pressing it against the injury.

The lack of warning, coupled with the sudden action, had Barty hissing and bucking in pain, even if the momentary sting left an aftertaste of pleasure in its wake.

You glanced up at him, your expression one of sheepish apology, before dapping the gauze carefully on the cut.

“’M so sorry, just a bit more yeah doll?” you murmured, your other hand coming up to rub along his knee. Barty wasn't sure what knocked out the breathe out of his lungs; the endearment or the touch or perhaps the sincerity and care that he could feel seeping into his cold and hollow bones with every second he spent in your presence. If getting stabbed by you meant he could have you this close, this warm and soft and attentive all for him? Merlin, he'd let you stab him over and over again, like he was your personal pin cushion.

He tried to keep the noise to a minimum, alongside the flinching in fear of losing your touch. The last thing he wanted was for you to let go of him, as selfish as that sounded. He quite liked having your full attention on him, like nothing else in the world mattered as much as he did.

Selfish and self-centred? Maybe.

Did he give a fuck? Not in the slightest.

A tap against his knee brought him out of his reveries, and his eyes met yours in a questioning manner. “Whadya say, darlin’?” he asked, trying his best to sound casual “Too busy enjoying your hands on me.”

His comment drew an amused chuckle from you, much too used to his flirtations. You never quite knew whether he meant it or not, all those playful jabs and nudges that toyed the line between friendship and something more, yet neither of you made a move to explore that territory, too afraid to lose what you had.

“I said I’m putting some of that scarring ointment on the wound,” you said, repeating the statement that had been lost on him. You’d already grabbed the small tub with the greenish paste. When you uncapped it, dipping your finger into it to apply it to his wound, you were surprised by his sudden recoiling, as if the mere notion of applying the ointment would sear his skin down to his bones.

“Bee?” You asked, surprised to see him flinch away from you.

He was mortified at his own reaction, not having had enough time to control his movements. He didn’t quite know how he could explain this to you, why he flinched away when you’ve been nothing but a perfect caretaker, inspecting and treating his injury.

Just as he began to sputter out a messy apology and an explanation, realisation dawned on you. You weren’t stupid, just like Barty knew you better than anyone else, you had the privilege of knowing him like no one else had. You’d watched him get into fights more often than you could count. You’d talked to him plenty about it of course, unable to just stand by as he destroyed himself, body and soul, over and over again. What had bothered you the most was him never properly taking care of his injuries, opting to let them fester and scar until his entire body was littered with gashes and cuts of various sizes. Over time, you’d come to understand that he didn’t necessarily enjoy the act of fighting itself, but rather how alive he felt with each punch, with each crack and broken bone. The scars were a testament to his existence, proof that he hadn’t been complete worn numb by life and its hardships. He liked the reminders, liked to look at them and trace along their edges whenever he felt himself slip away into the darkest corners of his mind, and you’d figured that this gash was no exception.

“You want it to scar,” you said, not a question but rather a fact. You watched as colour rushed into his pale face, mouth falling open and closing in a comical fashion. He could muster up nothing more than a nod, knowing that trying to talk his way out of this wasn’t an option.

Softly, you traced along the edge of the gash, your eyes never once leaving his. “Why?” There wasn’t an ounce of judgment in your voice as you posed the question, just pure curiosity and the need to understand him.

Silence blanketed the room as you patiently waited for him to answer your question. His eyebrows furrowed in that typical Barty manner, the one that made the silver piercings in his eyebrows more visible, catching the lights around him. When he spoke up, his voice was quiet, almost too quiet, as if afraid that speaking any louder might shatter both you and him.

“I want your mark on me,” from all the answers he could’ve given you, this one was the last one you’d expected, yet somehow the most perfect Barty answer of them all. His love had always been that way, all teeth and scratches, leaving marks in its wake as evidence that he had been there. In the same fashion, it made sense that he wanted love in the same manner; with marks left on him to prove that he was loved.

It was crazy, really, how much you understood him. It should’ve scared you, weirded you out at least, but no such sensations arised. There was only love and understanding cursing through your body for the boy you called your best friend.

Emboldened by his vulnerability, you found yourself leaning in closer, your lips ghosting over the edge of the gash before pressing them down in a gentle kiss. “It’s alright,” you mumbled “You can keep it Bee, ‘m not judging you.”

His breath hitched at the feeling of your lips pressed so closely to the wound, mind reeling at having you so close, so understanding and so incredibly loving despite him being so himself, a warning in and out of itself.

“Does that mean you’d be down to giving me another one?” He asked jokingly, trying his best to lighten the mood by even an ounce.

“Maybe,” you quipped back, pulling one of the bandaids out to put it over the wound. “If you ask nicely, I might,” you grinned up at him, enjoy in seeing him squirm for once. His eyes drifted to the dagger, mind running wild with anticipation.

“Please?”

“Is that the best you got, doll?”

“Bold statement for someone who just stabbed me,” he retorted “And took off my pants without asking!”

With a snort, you stood up, patting his thigh softly before putting the first and kit on the ground to sit beside him. “Well when you put it that way, I have no choice but to oblige, no?” You grabbed the dagger, twirling it in your hand before you ever so slowly lowered it down to graze the skin of his thigh.

He was completely still beneath your touch, his breath shallow as he waited for your next move. There was no hurry in your movements, the glinting tip of the dagger barely tracing across his flesh. “What do we say when we want something, doll?” You asked, amused by the extreme change in his behaviour. You’d never seen Barty so complacent and mellow in all your years together, much less because of you.

“Please,” he mumbled “Give me another one?” Subconsciously, he’d leaned in closer to you, hazel eyes almost completely swallowed up by the darkness of his pupils.

A small smile tugged on the corners of your mouth, and not wanting to tease him any further, you pressed the blade into his skin.

You watched as he bit his lips, trying to the best of his abilities to not wince in pain and spurred on by the heat of the moment, you closed the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips against his. The sounds of pain he let out were swallowed by your mouth, moving in frenzied hunger as you let the dagger blade dig deeper into his thigh.

In that moment, you realised two things.

One: You were in love with Barty Crouch Junior, your best friend since first year.

Two: You were incredibly and thoroughly fucked, for you would go to the ends of hell for this boy, the same way you knew without a doubt he would do the same.

And here, in the quiet of your dorm room, your mouth on his and the distinct, metallic smell of blood, you didn’t quite mind going to the ends of hell if it meant you could have Barty by your side.