crouching-in-ashes

[crouching-in-ashes]

EXCUSE ME? THE WAY MY SMILE DROPPED???

straight - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 819 - sorry in advance

The highway was empty, as usual. Long stretches of cracked asphalt stretched out like old veins across the skin of the earth, flickering yellow under the occasional streetlight. The silence hummed. The hum comforted him.

Barty’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel. One hand on the gearshift. The other gripping the wheel lazily, thumb tracing the wear in the leather. It was one of those drives. The kind where he didn't think about where he was going—he just let the engine purr and the road guide him.

“You ever think about how dumb clouds are?” Evan's voice broke through the silence, lilting and ridiculous. “Like, it’s just water. Floating. But people still look at them and go, ‘That one looks like a cat with a hat.’”

Barty glanced sideways. Evan was curled up in the passenger seat, socked feet on the dashboard like he always insisted, hoodie sleeves pulled over his fingers, hair a chaotic mess from the wind through the cracked window.

“Why do you always talk about the sky when we’re driving?” Barty muttered, a grin pulling at his lips.

“Because you don’t,” Evan said with mock drama, flinging his arm out toward the windshield. “Somebody has to romanticize this hellscape.”

Barty snorted, eyes lingering a second too long on him. The hollow glow of the dashboard lights caught the edge of Evan’s cheekbone. His profile was etched into Barty’s mind like a scar.

“B!” Evan shouted, laughing as he grabbed the wheel. “Keep your eyes on the road, you lunatic!”

Barty jumped, hands tightening, and the car swerved slightly before he straightened it out. The tires hissed against the asphalt, settling again.

“Pfft. Not like there’s anybody out here,” Barty muttered, heart racing despite his smirk.

Evan rolled his eyes. “Still don’t wanna die because you were too busy admiring my divine beauty.”

Barty hummed. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

Evan laughed—light and too real. It shook Barty for a second.

They didn’t talk much after that. Evan put on one of his weird playlists, something with melancholic synths and lyrics that sounded like poetry whispered into static. Barty didn’t ask what the song was. He never did. He just drove.

He knew where he was going.

It always started as aimless.

It never ended that way.

The car rolled to a stop on a gravel path, headlights sweeping across rows of crooked tombstones and iron gates. The graveyard looked older than it was, like it had been waiting centuries for this exact night.

Evan’s voice broke the quiet again, soft now. “You picked here? Bit dramatic, even for you.”

Barty turned off the ignition, and for a moment, the silence was overwhelming.

“I didn’t pick it.” He paused. “You’re the one buried here.”

When Barty looked to the passenger seat again, Evan was gone.

No sound. No goodbye. Just the quiet folding in on itself, like Evan had never been there at all.

Barty sat for a long time. Hands still on the steering wheel. Breathing carefully. Like if he moved too fast, the moment would shatter.

He got out, gravel crunching under his boots. The wind had teeth this far out in the countryside. It chewed at his coat, licked at the edges of his sleeves.

He didn’t need a light. He knew the way by heart.

Third row. Fifth stone.

Evan Rosier. Beloved friend, lost too soon. 1980–1998

The words never felt like enough.

Barty crouched in front of it, elbows resting on his knees. His fingers hovered near the stone but didn’t touch it.

“They still don’t know what to put for your epitaph,” Barty said, voice low. “Your mum wanted something poetic. Your dad just wanted the dates. Said there wasn’t much else to say.”

He blinked slowly.

“I still hear you sometimes,” he confessed. “Especially when I’m driving. You say the same dumb things. Talk about clouds. Complain about how cold it is. Tease me for my shit music taste.”

A breath left him, hollow and ragged.

“And for a while, I let myself believe you’re really there. Just riding along. Feet on the dash. Mouth running like always.”

His hand finally settled on the stone. Cold, even through the leather of his glove.

“But then I get here,” Barty whispered. “And you vanish. You always vanish.”

The wind moved through the trees. Something about the night folded in on itself—like time bending at the edges.

Barty stood up, brushing his hands on his jeans.

“I’ll see you again next week,” he murmured. “Same time. Same road.”

He walked back to the car, the door creaking open like it hadn’t been touched in years. When he sat down, the seat beside him was empty.

Still warm, though.

Like Evan had only just gotten out.

The engine rumbled back to life, and Barty drove.

Not home.

But just far enough to forget the silence again.

[crouching-in-ashes]

i see him droppibg the bomb at the most inconvenient and stupidest time. like... in the middle of a class, or he breaks into the bathroom while Evan's doing something(who knows if its showering or shitting) and is just kike "EVAN. I NEED TO TELL YOU SOMETHING."

gay - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 945

The Astronomy Tower was the only place that didn’t make Barty’s head feel like it might snap off from too much noise. He hated the library; it smelled like parchment and rules. The dungeons were too damp and too full of boys who tried too hard. And the common room? Ugh. An explosion of posturing and perfume.

So the tower became his thinking place. Quiet. High. Removed.

Tonight, he wasn’t alone.

Regulus sat cross-legged on the stone floor, his dark robe spread around him like a ripple in a puddle. He was flipping through a dog-eared book of obscure Latin hexes that he insisted weren’t dangerous “unless you're stupid." His voice was cool, his presence unbothered—but Barty had known him too long to fall for it.

Regulus wasn’t the type to just “be” anywhere without a reason. Which meant he probably already knew Barty was up here. Or maybe he’d felt it—that Barty needed to talk.

Because Barty did need to talk.

“I think I might be broken,” Barty said after what felt like twenty years of silence.

Regulus’s fingers paused on a page.

He looked up. “That’s dramatic. Even for you.”

Barty huffed, flopping onto his back, head hitting the stone with a dull thud. He winced. “I mean it. I’m trying to figure out what I am. Like… romantically. Or sexually. Or whatever.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, but didn’t speak. He never asked questions when he knew the answers were coming anyway. Barty hated how patient he was about things like this.

“I don’t—” Barty exhaled sharply. “I don’t think I care about most people. Like, they’re fine. I can tell when someone’s good-looking. I can even, I dunno, imagine stuff with some people. But it��s like—nothing feels real unless it’s Evan.”

Regulus tilted his head, expression unreadable. “So… you’re in love with him.”

“Maybe,” Barty said quickly, too quickly. “But maybe not. That’s the thing. I don’t know if I want to shag him or just… sit near him for the rest of my life and listen to him complain about his tea being too bitter.”

Regulus snorted.

“I’m serious!” Barty’s hands flailed as he spoke. “Sometimes I look at him and I’m like, God, you’re so annoying, you’re obsessed with your skincare routine and you talk in your sleep, but then he touches my shoulder when he’s laughing and I feel like my stomach’s trying to escape through my ribcage. What the hell is that? Is that gay?”

“It’s Evan,” Regulus said simply, closing his book with a soft snap. “That’s what it is.”

Barty looked at him.

Regulus leaned back on his hands. “You don’t need a word for it. People are messy. Feelings even more so. You’re allowed to not know.”

“But everyone else does know.” Barty sounded a little like a child pouting. “Mulciber’s been snogging Rabastan since second year. Avery got a girlfriend and never shut up about it for three months. Even you had that weird thing with Wilkes.”

Regulus gave him a sharp look. “I wouldn’t call it a thing. He tried to kiss me. I hexed him.”

“Still counts.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Regulus rolled his eyes. “Look, what are you really worried about? That you might be gay? That you might not be?”

Barty’s hands dropped to his sides, fingers curling around the fabric of his jumper. “I think I’m scared that Evan’ll figure out what he is before I do.”

That stopped Regulus cold.

“I don’t want him to move on while I’m still standing in place. I don’t want to be the guy who gets left behind because I was too busy thinking instead of doing.”

Regulus nodded slowly. His voice was soft now. “He cares about you, you know.”

“I know.”

“He talks about you all the time. It’s annoying.”

Barty let out a breath that was half a laugh and half a sob. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Then don’t.” Regulus shrugged. “You don’t have to have it all figured out to tell him he matters to you. He’ll get it. He’s not like the rest of them.”

Barty stared at the stars. He wasn’t a sentimental person, not really. He liked chaos, and power, and being just a bit too much. But when it came to Evan… he didn’t want to be too much. He wanted to be enough.

“I think,” he said carefully, “that I’d still choose him, even if he wasn’t a boy.”

Regulus blinked. “That’s… saying something.”

“I don’t mean that in a weird way,” Barty added, flustered. “I just mean… if Evan were a flower, or a chair, or a cloud, I think I’d still be obsessed with him.”

Regulus snorted again. “Please never say that to him directly. He’d never let you live it down.”

“I won’t.” Barty’s voice dropped to a murmur. “But it’s true.”

The wind rustled his hair, tugged at his sleeves.

After a long pause, Regulus stood, brushing imaginary dust from his robes. “You’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

“Do you think he already knows?”

Regulus looked down at him, his gaze more gentle than Barty expected. “Probably. But I think he’s waiting for you to know.”

Barty nodded, lips pressed thin.

Regulus turned toward the stairs but paused just before he descended. “You're not broken, Barty. You're just… in progress.”

Barty laid there long after Regulus left.

He wasn’t ready to tell Evan yet. But he would be. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Maybe after the next time Evan grumbled about their potions homework while curling into his side like he belonged there.

He didn’t know what he was.

But he knew who Evan was.

[crouching-in-ashes]

James: So today I was thinking we can play checkers and tell each other our deepest darkest secrets

Barty, sobbing: Regulus paid the ransom three days ago please go home

[crouching-in-ashes]

Hope this makes sense guys my brain is fried but once more, bipolar Barty and the people around him <3

"Crouch" McGonagall calls as she checks everyone's in class. He's not.

"He's sick, Ma'am" Evan replies for the third time this week, hands clasped over his desk, straight back, calm voice. The perfect student he needs to be.

She doesn't look surprised already knowing Barty won't be able to assist every once in a while, she nods and continues calling students. Then, the murmurs start and Evan's jaw tightens. People always talk when Barty's not in class. Talk about him, about things they see, about things they don't know. Evan bites his tongue and tries not to kill anyone.

"Ignore them" Regulus' voice is firm and calm by his side, he's working on the assignment they have and doesn't even lift his head from it as he talks.

"They don't know anything" his knuckles are white from how hard he's gripping his quill.

"No, they don't"

Evan tries to ignore everyone, he really does, but it is the third day in a row and they're all talking about the person he loves, so by dinner time he's completely done.

"yeah he's crazy" he hears someone laugh, not for the first time today, but it sure as hell is about to be the last. Evan stands so abruptly the silverware on the table rattles, then moves a couple steps down the table and forces the guy to stand, grabbing his robe by the neck.

"the hell did you just say?" Evan's wand is pressed to the boy's neck. He must be a year younger, and has the sharp tongue you expect from a Slytherin. Still, stupid enough to laugh it off.

"come on, everyone knows Crouch is crazy, there's something wrong with him" he looks over the table to find some compliance, someone else by his side. The table is dead silent, and Evan can already see a professor standing, ready to get closer. Regulus and Dorcas too. It doesn't stop him.

"If I hear you talk about Barty again, I'm going to turn you into a rat and dissect you while you're alive, am I understood?" He murmurs with a smile and crazy eyes. The boy swallows and nods effusively. "Good" Evan lets go, the guy stumbles back and is fast to sit back where he was.

When he returns to his own seat no one says anything, but the smiles he gets are enough.

Later at night, he lays on Barty's bed with him.

"Reg said you defended my honor during dinner" Barty mumbles hiding his face on Evan's chest, arms around him.

"Something like that" he smiles running his fingers through Barty's messy hair. It's greasy already, he hasn't changed clothes in a couple days, and hasn't moved. It's okay, Evan will do what he can to help.

"you know I don't care what they say"

"I do"

Then, after a beat "thank you"

[crouching-in-ashes]

Regulus:"I impulsively bought a python,what should I name him?"

Evan:"you did WHAT?"

Barty:"William Snakespeare"

[crouching-in-ashes]

Being a ghost has a lot of pros and cons Evan have had time to realise along the way.

One of many many cons : he can't change his body. Material objects doesn't affect him the way they do to humans- he can't cut his hair for exemple. And he also can't loose weight even if he wanted to (he doesn't, thank you very much).

One of the few pros : Evan can disapear, or take a less human form. (The little bubble you see) His ghost body is a form of energy that produces heat contrary to many Ghost's popular beliefs. So when he does disapear, Barty spend his afternoon going all over the appartement to see where is little friend is hidden, based on the temperature. Evan has found that hiding against the heaters in winter is a good spot.

[crouching-in-ashes]

I honestly think rosekiller will get into fights for no reason at all, it starts like a small argument over something stupid and ends in a full on fist fight with both of them bloody until they get so close they have to make out because of course that is the logical outcome

[crouching-in-ashes]

ehe i love them sm dusjjaka

straight - @rosekillermicrofic - cw: homophobic barty crouch senior - word count: 261

“Mister Crouch,” Evan said stiffly, holding out a hand to the man he desperately wanted to murder with a rusty spoon. “Pleasure.”

The crowd of people moved around them, none the wiser, even as Evan felt Barty continue to stand stiff and furious at his side. It had been years, Evan knew, since Barty had seen his father. And now, here they were, at a Ministry charity event of all things, forced to interact.

“Ah. The man who tainted my son. You’re…more polite than I thought you’d be,” the older man replied with a sneer, ignoring Evan’s hand. “He was straight before he met you, you know? Before you corrupted him.”

Evan felt Barty shift, as if poised to attack, but he moved his arm, wrapping it around his husband’s waist, and gave the older man a leering grin. “Well. Whatever you believe, it’s been an absolute pleasure corrupting him. Over and over and over. Night after night after night…and I think he’s enjoyed it, too. Immensely.” He spoke each word slow, savoring the taste, almost mesmerized by the way Bartemius Crouch Senior seemed to burst into flame at his statements.

And Barty, from next to him, turned, giving him a part-astounded, part-amazed grin, before he turned back to his father. “Hell yes I have,” he agreed, laughing.

And yes, perhaps Evan shouldn’t have pulled Barty into such an expressive kiss in public, but the shorter man responded in kind. And by the time the both moved away from each other, laughing, pupils blown, Crouch Senior had disappeared with a huff.

[crouching-in-ashes]

barty calls evan “angel”, tells everyone all the time that he’s just as beautiful and pretty as one,

and everyone thinks he means it like this:

but really, he means it like this:

[crouching-in-ashes]

Rosekiller have always been touchy; holding hands, sitting on each other, cuddling, sleeping in the same bed… So when they start dating no one notices a difference.

The only one that does is regulus because they finally stopped avoiding eye contact and now stare into each other’s souls

[crouching-in-ashes]

Rosekiller girl dads

Barty that almost only wears black and is coved in bad tattoos that he did when he was to younger.

Evan that has dozens of piercings bleach blond hair and a scary demeanor.

And their 6 year old daughter that is coverd in glitter has pink hair, fairy wings and a big puffy skirt

[crouching-in-ashes]

Dorcas is the first rosekiller shipper argue with the wall

[crouching-in-ashes]

James: Could you close the door for me please?

Barty: *opens the door wider*

James: Bitch-

[crouching-in-ashes]

STOP SCROLLING ✋🏽 🛑

ITS EVAN ROSIER’S BIRTHDAY

some art is by @/likeafuneral, i couldn’t find the other artists :/

YOU MAY CONTINUE SCROLLING

[crouching-in-ashes]

being a part of the marauders fandom is not inherently anti-JKR!!!

let me say that again

being a part of the marauders fandom is not inherently anti-jkr!!!

[crouching-in-ashes]

me with evan: beautiful. showstopping. the dark aura around him illuminates the light in everyone else. sickly sweet scent (metaphorically) and beautiful but thorny like a rose. as perfectly strange as a taxidermied bunny.

me with barty: *pokes with a stick* what are you. *poke poke* and why are you so fucking relatable.

[crouching-in-ashes]

oops