panchashire
Pan
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adieu, mon dieu (Demon Barty AU) - Chapter 1
So you may have seen little snippets and rambles about this fic recently but here we finally are!!
After a late night Rosekiller discussion with @futurequibblerjournalist (of which we have many), we decided that we simply needed this fic so I have provided!
Things will get pretty graphic in several ways by the last chapter so make sure to check warnings, I'll update the tags whenever I post new chapters!
#demon barty PLEASE#need more of this#pretty little thing with horns and a tail#hes a little devil but its okay hes hot
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I took like a two day break and immediately forgot how to draw them
#rosekiller fanart#rosekiller#barty crouch x evan rosier#evan x barty#barty x evan#evan rosier#evan rosier fanart#barty crouch junior#bcj#marauders#marauders fanart#marauders era
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Thx @thatcoolguyeli for the tag!!
songs I've been listening to a lot lately:
Spine by Wesghost
When The Devil speaks by thxsomuch
Wires by the neighborhood
Animal by neontrees
Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene by hozier
Np tags: @honeybcj @major-toast @surelystaggering (and open anyone else who's interested since i got no clue who's done it already)
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demon barty telling human evan that he's more beautiful than any angel
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rosekiller would devour one another, they’d cut and fuck and maim until their was nothing but skin to wrap around their bodies like the finest silk.
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hiii what brush do u use ?? i love your style and your most recent evan made me want to do a study !!
Hi hi noonie and thank you I'm glad to hear that <3
For my rendering i only use 3 brushes and the one i use the most is this free one from the clip studio paint asset store
For hard edges i use the default g pen that comes with the program
And for softer big gradients i use the default soft airbrush that also comes with csp
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DARRRRLINGGG GUESS WHO'S BACK FROM JAIIIILLLL
-But it's Barty standing in front of Evan's grave
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life - @rosekillermicrofic - word count: 142 - slightly NSFW
"Guess what I heard?" Pandora sang as she entered the room, throwing herself onto Regulus's bed.
"Hmm?" Regulus asked, flipping through the essay he was in the middle of writing.
"I heard that you two depraved assholes got caught with your hands down each others' pants in the library," Pandora announced, grinning, point to Barty and Evan, who were both on Evan's bed.
"Of course you did," Barty rolled his eyes, his entire back resting against Evan's front, Evan's legs splayed around him. "Those Ravenclaws need to get a life, they're constantly spreading gossip."
"Too right," Evan agreed, smirking. "Don't they have anything better to do than to spread rumors about us?"
"So it's not true?" Dorcas asked from Barty's bed, her expression suspicious.
"Of course it is," Barty grinned, looking quite proud. "I'm just saying, it's rude to gossip, is all."
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YOUR ART IS SO DELICIOUS
seriously its brilliant, the colours the textures everything. im especially in love with your evan
Thank you so much!! This genuinely made my day and i don't know enough words in the English dictionary to thank you properly so have a little doodle of ev as compensation <3 <3 <3
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Slight update on bartys design + fangs
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the "came back wrong" trope except it's evan after barty brings him back and barty just... doesn't care. he'll love him anyway. he'll keep him anyway, even if he's wrong, even if he's barely an echo of the real evan because barty is just that selfish
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@rosekillermicrofic may 4 — hopeless — 1233words — cw: mildly pervy and sexual thoughts, nothing explicit though
no thoughts, just line cook! barty
A miracle.
The gods have heard Barty’s wishes and granted him this blessing.
Evan usually gets set up for dealing with the bar or counter but on rare occasions his lovely name gets jotted down in the column of servers/busboys. Today is one of those fateful occurrences which means Barty has at least 30% longer time windows of flirting his jolly ass off and burning food he’s not paying attention to curtsy of Evan’s slutty narrow hips in those damn aprons. Obscene things, those are.
Barty is currently staring at them as he blindly flips the burger patties one after the other, the stove sizzling animatedly. Barty is pretty sure he hasn’t blinked once since Evan has entered the kitchen again a minute ago to help sort dishes.
“So how’s your day been so far, Evan darling?”
“No,” comes back immediately. Not even a look thrown over his shoulder.
Barty’s grin widens. He puts more meat on the stove.
“Aw, c’mon. People been scant with tips already or what?”
Evan doesn’t reply, instead ripping off the notes from his pad and wordlessly striding over to Barty’s station, pinning them up.
Two of today’s specials, one cheesesteak and one portion of chicken for a caesar salad. And a little dick scribbled in the bottom corner.
“More people coming in than usual. Get a move on,” Evan says before briskly walking off again. Barty just so manages to get a whiff of spicy deodorant and whatever shea butter coconut extract beauty shit Evan uses for his curls before he’s gone again.
Barty sighs, looking after his pert little ass and long legs all the way until he’s around the corner. Then he readjusts his grip on the spatula and finally picks the patties off the grill, calling for Lily to collect them and assemble.
“They’re burnt,” she hisses, punching him in the arm with vigor. It hurts but Barty is too busy thinking about what type of underwear Evan might be wearing today. “Stop getting distracted by Rosier and do your damn job, chef.”
Barty hums, “What you think it’ll take to trick Evan into following me into the freezer room?”
Another hit. The same exact spot and Barty can’t help but hiss in pain this time.
Lily simply shakes her head, muttering Hopeless as she leaves.
Rush hour comes and goes.
Barty doesn’t let himself be bothered by the frenzy of it, bobbing his head to his playlist jamming over the old, staticy speakers while servers bustle around him like worker bees.
It’s meditative to him in a way and usually he sort of snaps out of it once it all calms down.
It’s when Evan asks him for leftover containers that Barty is brought back down to earth today.
The other boy is flushed in the face, slightly sweaty and hair messy with what can only be described as the final quarter of an eight hour shift look. It looks unfairly sexy on him.
The take out containers are in the cupboard over Barty’s head to his left side which he made sure to push all the way back during his break earlier.
“Yeah, they’re right here,” Barty says, nodding to the shelf.
“Grab two for me?”
Barty turns back to his meat again, teeth digging into his lower lip, grin straining his cheeks. “Nope.”
There’s nothing for a few seconds, only the background noise of the restaurant, the sizzling oil and Barty’s music.
When he turns again Evan is standing in the middle of the kitchen, rooted to the spot, blinking at Barty once. “‘No’?”
Barty hums, “Yeah, ’m pretty busy right now in case you can’t tell.” He shuffles a strip of bacon around as if to prove his point.
Evan’s eyes narrow, lips twisting into an obscene little pout, “You just have to lift your arm!”
“Sorry, no can do, Rosie baby.”
“You-” Evan huffs, “Hand me the fucking boxes, Crouch.”
“Can’t,” he replies airily, shrugging. “They’re pretty high up, too,” a hum, “I might not even be tall enough. I think you’ll have to walk your devilishly tall ass over here and grab them yourself.”
“Branleur,” Evan spits before reluctantly closing the distance between them.
His amber eyes glower dangerously at Barty and he has to suppress a deeply satisfactory hum, gut tightening and blood thrumming.
Evan yanks at the handle, opening it up to the ceiling before stretching up on his tiptoes to peer into it. He lets out a grumble, presumably at finding the containers to, in fact, be there but pushed all the way to the wall.
He’s only taller than Barty by a bit, an inch or two, maybe three, which means he’s struggling to reach the boxes too.
And it’s glorious and heavenly and so very tempting because Evan’s shirt is riding up in the back and, oh god, he has dimples there. Fuck, Evan has back dimples and they’re approximately half an armslength from Barty’s twitching fingers and it really requires visceral effort not to reach out and dig the pads of his thumbs into them. Push and maybe fold Evan right in half over the counter all together. Lick along his spine and bite into his hip bones, the smooth skin of his stomach, nibble at that one little mole right next to his navel that Barty was once fortunate enough to make acquaintance with and has since rubbed one out to more times than he could count.
When the other boy lifts back down he catches him staring, their eyes snapping to each other instantly.
“Don’t be a perv,” Evan comments, giving Barty a derogative once over and christ, no, don’t do that.
Barty laves his tongue along the corner of his own mouth, collecting spit that was threatening to drool, and uses a quick hand to adjust himself in his jeans.
Evan’s eyes follow his movement, arms crossing in front of his chest and a heavy breath punches out of Barty. He can’t help it, his mind is a powerpoint of all the different things he wants to do to Evan to make him lose this put-on condescending demeanor. Glimpses of the prettiest pair of eyes rolling back, eyebrows scrunching pitifully as Barty sinks into deliciously tight heat.
He desperately needs to get Evan alone with him. “Wanna smoke a blunt with me after closing?” he blurts.
And then Evan suddenly smiles. A downright cute little thing, all coy and syrupy sweet, poisonously candid. So viscous saccharine Barty feels it immobilize him like a glue trap and he groans in anticipation of the fatal blow Evan is about to deliver.
“Sorry, B,” he murmurs innocently, clicking his head, “no can do.”
It glides over Evan’s lips all strained and faux and with the most erotic little pitch Barty’s ears have ever heard.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his semi straining so heavily against the denim it would surely be visible without his own apron.
From one moment to the next Evan’s smile falls, having fulfilled its purpose, and he gives one last snootily look before he whirls on his heels and marches away, takeout containers in hand.
Just over to the other end of the kitchen where he bends down to grab some cutlery with which he will scrape the leftovers from the plate into the aluminum containers.
Doing so, Evan’s shirt rides up again, his ass jutting out and Barty vaguely registers the smell of burnt pork as he commits the muscle shift of Evan’s thighs and back into his memory for later.
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Deathblow
@rosekillermicrofic // lies // words: 701 // cw: grief, mentions of death
The air feels stuffy, stale. No matter how run-down – how ancient – the courtroom looks, to Barty it will always feel too clean, too uptight.
He hates it here, hates the people in it. A flood of wizards with prim and proper robes, hard-nosed expressions, and an attitude too haughty for their lack of importance. Just looking at them makes him sick.
But he has to. For the sake of his mission, he has to. Born and raised in the wealthier social class of wizarding society, with connections reaching throughout the entire Ministry, it had been a simple decision to appoint him an undercover agent. All he had to do was pull a few strings, charm his way in, make false promises. Barty Crouch Jnr – the perfect fucking son.
Lies.
Yeah, he doesn’t like it, despises it even. The room is too stuffy, too stale, and the people have no soul. The faster he’s out of here, the better.
“Next?” calls Crouch Snr from his bench, dressed in his most formal judge’s robes, looking the sternest in this place. Barty wishes he had set this stupid piece of clothing on fire. Preferably while the man is still wearing them.
“Karkaroff, Igor” comes the business-like response, followed by the ruffle of paper.
Barty frowns. Karkaroff had been one of their most important connections to the north. Shame they’ve caught him. But, then again, he’s an annoying piece of shit, so maybe not a shame they caught him. The Dark Lord needs people, who can be discreet, and trustworthy. Not an obnoxious loudmouth like the man currently wheeled in. Easily, the frown turns into a condescending huff.
Two weeks. Two weeks ago, the Dark Lord has been defeated. By a toddler no less.
Lies.
He’ll be back, Barty is sure of it. No one can defeat someone as brilliant and considered as Riddle. All they need to do is to lay low for a while, wait in patience.
Growing bored, he leans back in his seat, staring at the ceiling, whistling a tune. Irritated glares are thrown his way, throats cleared in indignance, but Barty doesn’t care. He smiles and waves at them, treating it like another Potion’s lecture. It never interested him, to begin with.
“Rosier?”
The question is a sharp blade cutting through the air. Immediately, Barty perks up. He hasn’t heard from Evan in… well, since their fight a while back, honestly.
I am a coward!? You should look in the fucking mirror, Crouch! You’re so fucking desperate for his attention, you’re fucking losing yourself! What do you think you’ll gain out of this? That he’ll love you like a fucking son?
Fuck off, Rosier. As if you have any idea what loyalty is! You couldn’t even be loyal enough to yourself to admit you wanted to fuck me! ‘I am scared, Barty. What if someone catches us?’ Grow a fucking pair, Evan, for Merlin’s sake. And don’t pretend you’re caring about me. You never really did.
It was stupid. A heated argument, nothing more. Barty will apologize to him eventually. They’ll always find their way back to one another. It is fate.
He wonders what Evan is up to right now. How his mission went.
He can’t wait to hear about it.
“Rosier’s dead.”
LIES.
Barty laughs. That’s the stupidest thing, he’s ever heard. Evan can’t be dead. He cannot-
The room grows dark, the walls are closing in. Somewhere a whistle is going off, somewhere near his ears, growing louder and louder, but Barty cannot locate it. Frantically, he looks around. Eyes are watching him, too many eyes. God. He wants to scratch them out, poke them out with his wand. He wants to bite off the dumb fucking grins directed at him, spit it right back into their arrogant faces. Hands. There are hands everywhere. They are touching him, tugging at him. He screams, fights back, but to no avail. They are dragging him. Down. Down, down, down. The light vanishes, plunges him into an abyss. His hands disappear and so does his body. Where did it all go?
Rosier’s dead. The words repeat like a mocking sneer inside his ears.
Look where loyalty got you now, Crouch.
#losing my fucking mind#WHEN I CATCH YOU TOAST WHEN I CATCH YOU#got the emotional equivalence of being kicked int he balls#i hate you#i dont actually#we cant have nice things
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re: last post. evan rosier being sacked from st. mungo's & then swiftly scooped up by tom to fill the death eater's need for a healer is something that can be so personal
evan had his own room at the back of riddle house. it was filled with antique surgical devices and "medical" textbooks with the most concerning titles & absolutely NOBODY ever wanted to get healed. i picture like, avery or whoever clumsily healing lucius's wounds until tom comes upon this like ? i've specifically enlisted a VERY SKILLED healer for this exact purpose. and the other death eaters are just like.... i don't know how to tactfully say that you couldn't PAY me to enter evan rosier's den of inferi autopsies & rusty bone-saws. he was FIRED from st. mungo's. his healing magic hurts WORSE than the original wound. he's WEIRD and it smells like DEATH in there
they go anyway because they're scared of tom. barty is the only one who just simply can't relate. that's his happy place
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the Barty leash agenda needs to be pushed more
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Pan's Mood Board
Ty my dear @honeybcj for the tag <33 this looks a bit of a mess but it's as cohesive as I'm gonna get
Np tags: @major-toast @n-unji @orchideous-nox @futurequibblerjournalist @marzst4rz
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barty would giggle and twirl his hair and say,"all this for me?" when surrounded by twenty aurors
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