stars-by-the-pocketfuls - Tumblr blog

[stars-by-the-pocketfuls]

Oh wait I knew I forgot smth 😭 it was supposed to be sarcastic like Reg wanted a small wedding so James said he’d keep it only ppl he knew but James is friends w literally everyone so they ended up inviting like 500 oops thanks for reminding me lol

💫 03/09/24 💫 @rosekillermicrofic 💫 prompt: dressed 💫 word count: 171 words

Barty wouldn’t be caught dead in a suit. But Regulus threatened to kill him if he didn’t look presentable at his wedding so he was actually caught alive in a suit much to his humiliation. He’d do anything for Reg, and he was using that to his advantage, the manipulative bitch. James Potter had agreed to a small gathering of everyone they knew which meant just under 500 people but hey, who was Barty to judge? If Barty ever got married he would have the most overly extravagant wedding just because he could. But he wasn’t about to get married anytime soon.

“Merlin Bee you’re in a suit! That’s a day for the history books!”

Oh. Oh wow. Maybe Barty would get married. Evan had his locs tied back with a silver ribbon and little silver rings were studded through his hair. And his suit sharpened his shoulders and his waist, and Barty’s gaze.

“Look at you Rosie all dressed up,”

“I’d look better dressed down,” he smirked quietly, “wanna see?”

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💫 03/09/24 💫 @rosekillermicrofic 💫 prompt: dressed 💫 word count: 171 words

Barty wouldn’t be caught dead in a suit. But Regulus threatened to kill him if he didn’t look presentable at his wedding so he was actually caught alive in a suit much to his humiliation. He’d do anything for Reg, and he was using that to his advantage, the manipulative bitch. James Potter had agreed to a small gathering of everyone they knew which meant just under 500 people but hey, who was Barty to judge? If Barty ever got married he would have the most overly extravagant wedding just because he could. But he wasn’t about to get married anytime soon.

“Merlin Bee you’re in a suit! That’s a day for the history books!”

Oh. Oh wow. Maybe Barty would get married. Evan had his locs tied back with a silver ribbon and little silver rings were studded through his hair. And his suit sharpened his shoulders and his waist, and Barty’s gaze.

“Look at you Rosie all dressed up,”

“I’d look better dressed down,” he smirked quietly, “wanna see?”

[stars-by-the-pocketfuls]

💫 02/09/24 💫 @rosekillermicrofic 💫 prompt: doctor 💫 word count: 389 words

Before the year was over, Evan was going to die. He knows it, and he knows the doctors know it too because they sugarcoat everything and glance gravely at him when they think he isn’t looking. Gravely, because he would soon be in his grave, get it?

Pandora doesn't like when he makes jokes like that because it reminds her of the fact that her next birthday would be completely hers and that they wouldn’t have to share the cake and presents and wishing candles. It hurts her more that Evan doesn’t really care about the fact that he would be dead because he doesn’t have a bucket list and he doesn’t have a dream to fulfil or anything sappy like that. If it weren’t for Pandora, he would’ve probably given up on the medication ages ago, so at least he could die with the dignity of his hair. He thinks about his hair more than he should, and it makes him vain. He knows that too, but he’s dying, so he thinks people should cut him some slack. Dying people are allowed to cry about the fact that they are bald and look like a corpse and feel like a corpse.

At first, he would dress up for every hospital visit, with eyeliner and all of his rings because just because he had cancer it didn’t mean he was unfashionable. But soon he was at hospital more than he wasn’t and they made him wear these god-awful gowns, and take off all his piercings because they might have damaged the equipment so it didn’t even matter anyways. Plus the staff were all old or overworked so his promising career on the runway went unappreciated. He was past caring. Until now.

“Mr Rosier? Dr. Meadowes is unavailable so I’ll be your doctor for today,”

The most gorgeous man with hazel eyes and green tipped hair rounded the corner. And he had swooped eyeliner and a stud and looked like if there wasn’t a medical dress code he would’ve been a metal detector’s dream. Evan was never more aware of the fact he looked dying, and that Pandora was subtly poking his shoulder whispering, ‘Evie he’s just your type!!”

Oh, he was perfectly aware this man was his type.

“Barty Crouch at your service,”

Evan was deceased. Excuse the pun.

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💫 01/09/24 💫 @rosekillermicrofic 💫 prompt: twisted 💫 word count: 220 words

“You’re sick in the head, Bartemius,”

“You’re wasting your talent, Mr. Crouch,”

“You’re cruel, Junior,”

“You’re fucking twisted, Crouch,”

He knows. He knows he’s strange and creepy and psychotic. He knows he’s a bad student and a worse son. Even if people didn’t tell him, he would know, because he’s good at reading between the worry lines and the side glances and the pursed lips. There were days when they’d cut right to his heart and he’d cry into his hands. But it didn’t matter, not anymore.

Him and Regulus were sick in the head together, cigarette smoking suicidals who wanted to kill their dads, and would have fun doing so.

Him and Pandora could use their talent elsewhere, like making the Gryffindors grow horns and controlling the moving staircases.

Him and Dorcas were cruel to students and judgy and bitchy and made people cry. They ganged up and yanked people off their high horses.

And him and Evan? Him and Evan were twisted. Crawling all over each other, dark and poisonous, fused into one insane being. If you cut one of them open, they would both bleed, something hot and bitter, born out of the depths of their neglect. Yes, Barty was twisted and he revelled in it. It was another thing that him and Evan had in common.

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💫 29/08/24 💫 @rosekillermicrofic 💫 prompt: cold 💫 word count: 209 words

Barty didn’t have a lot of people he wanted to kill.

Top of the list was probably his dad, and then Regulus’ parents, and then Evan’s parents and then-

Okay. Maybe he did have a lot of people he wanted to kill. But definitely top of that list somewhere was Florean Fortescue.

He had the audacity to get along with Evan like that. The whole point of being paired up for potions was so that you could complain about it afterwards, not actually make friends with them. He shot Emmeline Vance the dirtiest look he could manage, and she looked equally as disgusted to be working with him. See? It wasn’t that hard to hate a Hufflepuff. So why was Evan laughing like that at fucking Florean? It was his genuine golden smile, head dipped forwards and eyes squinting shut.

“10 points to both of you! Well done boys your potion is looking fantastic,” Slughorn did his stupid doting smile, and clasped his hands together. Grinding his teeth, Barty stabbed his mortar harder into the bezoar. Emmeline looked like she was going to take off his head with her scalpel.

He ignored her and gave a cold glare to the back of Fortescue's head.

He’d better watch his step.

[stars-by-the-pocketfuls]

dare - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 188

"I just want to be sure you know," Sirius says, looking stressed, "he's off-limits. Like, completely. Not even a weird look, Prongs."

"Alright, alright," James drawls, leaning back in the booth they're sitting in. "I'm not an animal, Pads, I can restrain myself."

"Yeah, but, he's very much your type," Sirius says, waving his hands in the air.

James tilts his head. "My type? What do you-?"

But then the most beautiful man in the world enters his field of vision. He's all dark curls and silver eyes, his expression haughty and sullen. His small frame makes James was to pick him up and throw him over his shoulder, and right away, he realizes why Sirius was worried. Because all of his brain cells seem to have disappeared.

"Sirius. Sirius's friend," Regulus greets shortly, and James feels hot allover at the snub, because yes he does indeed like them a bit mean.

"Regulus. Pads has told me so much about you," James starts, a huge, adoring grin on his face.

"Don't you dare," Sirius whispers through gritted teeth.

But Regulus is already smirking, his eyes glued to James's.

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Niko x Crystal

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Y'all if I write a rosekiller fic where Evan is in a band and Bartys an obsessed fan how should they get together?

Like would they exchange numbers or meet up or would they immediately hit it off?

[stars-by-the-pocketfuls]

AAAA IM SORRY AND NOW IM KIND OF TEMPTED TO

💫 30/07/24 💫 @rosekillermicrofic 💫 prompt: eyeliner 💫 word count: 156 words

Barty would’ve sold a kidney for tickets, or maybe killed someone, but luckily being the son of a politician meant having connections. And so by some stroke of luck, a friend of a friend of his father’s had taken him and Regulus to the Rosier’s concert. He couldn’t really believe it.

Even though it was two hours later, and they were finally playing the last song, he couldn’t truly believe that Evan fucking Rosier was less than a few metres away from where they were standing.

And then he turned, his hair fuzzy from the static and eyeliner melting down his face, and pointed at Barty. He was so close he could see the green gems in his rings, the glint of his silver snake bites. Evan grinned, and Barty knew there were a hundred people behind him, but it felt personal. It felt like Evan had saved that look just for him. And then. And then.

He honest-to-god blew a kiss. Right. At. Barty.

[stars-by-the-pocketfuls]

I’m so glad my work automatically saves

Hey I found this

😇

[stars-by-the-pocketfuls]

💫 30/07/24 💫 @rosekillermicrofic 💫 prompt: eyeliner 💫 word count: 156 words

Barty would’ve sold a kidney for tickets, or maybe killed someone, but luckily being the son of a politician meant having connections. And so by some stroke of luck, a friend of a friend of his father’s had taken him and Regulus to the Rosier’s concert. He couldn’t really believe it.

Even though it was two hours later, and they were finally playing the last song, he couldn’t truly believe that Evan fucking Rosier was less than a few metres away from where they were standing.

And then he turned, his hair fuzzy from the static and eyeliner melting down his face, and pointed at Barty. He was so close he could see the green gems in his rings, the glint of his silver snake bites. Evan grinned, and Barty knew there were a hundred people behind him, but it felt personal. It felt like Evan had saved that look just for him. And then. And then.

He honest-to-god blew a kiss. Right. At. Barty.

[stars-by-the-pocketfuls]

messy summer sketch of these dorks

[stars-by-the-pocketfuls]

💫 13/07/24 💫 @rosekillermicrofic 💫 prompt: infinite 💫 word count: 256 words

Come quick I have news

The paper crane glowed green once and then fell flat in Barty’s palms. With Evan, news could mean anything from dead bodies to the latest gossip. There weren't any other clues and infinite possibilities clamoured for credibility in his mind. Technically, he was supposed to be serving a detention with Miss Fawley, but Divination had to wait.

“For fucks sake, what is it with idiots running in the corridors, like who has the energy for that,”

He slowed down and graced them with the finger, and kept going. Sometimes when Evan was in one of his funny moods, he would ‘forget’ whatever pressing thing he wanted to say, and Barty would never find out what it was going to be. It wasn’t even like he needed to try and grab Barty’s attention anyways, he was always the foremost thought regardless. The common room door slammed open, and he whirled in.

Oh.

Oh. My. Gosh.

Evan was standing in the center of the carpet, blood adorned along his collar. His chin was scarlet, and his lip swollen. And on the left corner, where his dimple resided, was a silver ring.

“Dorcas did it for me. What do you think?”

He couldn’t think. All of Barty’s life faded into insignificance because Evan had a piercing and Barty would never get to taste it. Snake bite. He vaguely remembered that it was called a snake bite, and with his Slytherin crest, that made Evan a snake. Snake bites. Barty’s neck burned.

“I want one,”

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💫 08/07/24 💫 @rosekillermicrofic 💫 prompt: sunset 💫 word count: 128 words

It was sunset when they finally crawled back through the crevice in the walls.

“Where have you been?” Pandora turned around dramatically on the spinny chair they had stolen from Dorcas’ shed. It had been a hassle, dragging it through the floo, but it was never unoccupied between the five of them.

She searched their expressions but didn’t have to look for long.

Dark bruises marred Evan’s skin, trailing down his collar like a clandestine choker. And his lips were purple, the same colour as the handprint around Barty’s neck.

“Oh my god, you kinky fucks,” Dorcas mimed a gag and buried her face in Reg’s shoulder.

"I bet he could kill you Crouch, and you'd still be turned on,"

Barty just grinned. Everyone knew it was true.

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💫 04/06/24 💫 @rosekillermicrofic 💫 prompt: love 💫 word count: 283 words

It wasn’t love.

When Barty fought yet another person who looked at him wrong, Evan didn’t hold him back by the collar. He didn’t bandage up his knuckles like they did in rom-coms, or berate him affectionately like Dorcas did to McKinnon. Instead he would wolf whistle and join the fray.

When Barty got a letter from his father, Evan didn’t hug him tight. Didn’t murmur soft reassurances, the false lies that everything would be alright. Instead he took out a pair of scissors and weed scented candles, and they burned the shit until ashes were the only reminder of his crushing expectations.

When an ex of his with a taste for revenge put a Grindlow in their dorm bath tub, Evan didn’t levitate it away. Instead he goaded Barty to fight it, and recorded the whole thing on a muggle camera, the film grainy, punctuated by their high pitched screams. He licked the blood off Barty’s jaw afterwards.

It wasn’t sweet, or caring, he didn’t know Barty’s grandma had cancer. He didn’t know he was allergic to raw tomatoes, or how he never learned how to ride a bike. But he knew about the chasm where his heart should’ve been, and shoved his fists to keep it closed. Bit his pulse point, the only sign some days he was alive. If he stared deep enough into Evan’s eyes, he didn't see textbook romance, he saw the same matching flavour of psychotic and emptiness and crazy. Whatever they had was better than cliche coffee cups and kisses, he thinks. It’s the way a dehydrated man drinks from the sea, knowing the salt makes it worse. It was unhealthy and unreasonable, it was BartyandEvan.

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and wip’s

the w in writing stands for weeping

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💫 03/06/24 💫 @rosekillermicrofic 💫 prompt: lips 💫 word count: 135 words

It was that goddamn smile. With the way his mouth twisted, tiny dimples dug out his cheeks, the perfect size for Evan to slot his fingernails into. And Barty had these sharp canines that poked out, giving an impish look to his features, perfectly matched with his mossy head.

Every time he smiled, Evan wanted to kiss him. To run his tongue over his chapped lips, and run his hands over his stupid lanky shoulders, and run. Run away because he couldn’t be gay. Not when his mother had his marriage certificate before his birth one. Not when he had to uphold his stupid family honour. So he just watched when Barty did his goddamn smile, and seared it into his ever growing collection of moments he would relive in the privacy of his mind.