music: radiohead, lorde, ethel cain, lana del rey, hozier, clairo
ao3: archivistrose
spotify: e
microfic requests: open
do not post any of my work on fanfiction.net/wattpad. i do not support the use of ai in any art spaces nor do i want to join any websites that involve writing fanfiction for pay.
if you are a minor, do not interact with anything marked explicit-minors dni.
le peintre rosier, archivistrose (rosekiller, artist evan rosier x art collector barty crouch jr, second chances, mutual pining, slowburn) - up to date
the unfair proximity of a dream, archivistrose (a collection of one shots for various ships) - up to date
unnamed, archivistrose (rosekiller, assassin evan rosier x mercenary barty crouch jr, lovers to enemies, slowburn) - unreleased
my fanfic recommendations
head over feet, sanguinerose (rosekiller, highschool au, friends to lovers, slowburn, explicit sexual content)
tug, pressedink (online dating au, one bed troupe, friends to lovers, forbidden love, explicit sexual content)
we can take it out back, roadsidehorror (rosekiller, tattoo artist evan rosier x music shop worker barty crouch jr, explicit sexual content)
my tbr
studying the effects of catalysts, RoseTintedMoon (explicit)
just deserts, paletragedycandy (explicit)
simply the best, solarmane (mature)
spotify playlists
barty crouch jr - complete
evan rosier - in progress
pinterest boards
i desire violently- and wait (barty crouch jr) - in progress
i desire violently- and wait (evan rosier) - complete
i desire violently- and wait (rosekiller) - in progress
rosekiller | fic update | ch23/?, 81k+ words, inconsistent updates | art restorationist evan rosier x art collector/criminal barty crouch jr | mutual pining, slow burn, angst, second chances | playlist
ch23 teaser~
âBut itâs the best one.â
Not a question, Evan shook his head to push away a few stray curls that had been swept up by the wind on his walk to Bluestone. âItâs got potential,â he stated. It was difficult to be convincing with that remark, and Barty knew it. An original Caravaggio wasnât just any old painting, it was a coveted piece of Italian history, once that Florence was no doubt missing. âDoesnât really go with the rest of my decor.â
âThen weâll have to get you a different one.â
âA different painting?â
âA different apartment,â Barty reached into his pants pocket and fished out a box of cigarettes. âLiving so far from campus has to be annoying,â he rummaged for a lighter.
âI like Brooklyn.â
âOnly transplants like Brooklyn,â Barty waved his hand as a satisfied look crept onto his face. âPlus your apartment is so small.â
âNot all of us have daddy paying for our apartment in the MPD,â Evan retorted.
A pause in time, minute and unobservable as it was, passed between them before Barty shrugged. Evan realized his mistake quickly, but he didnât have enough time to think of something else.
rosekiller | fic update | ch22/?, 79k+ words, inconsistent updates | art restorationist evan rosier x art collector/criminal barty crouch jr | mutual pining, slow burn, angst, second chances | playlist
ch22 teaser-
Barty wouldâve been lying through his teeth to say that he wasnât wholly captivated by it.
A wall had gone down, and the thick, guarded exterior around Evan had gone spectral. Barty thought that, should he try, his hand could phase through Evanâs skin, organs, and bones all the way to his heart.
The shock, confusion, and annoyance that Evan exhibited when he initially found out what the painting was had dissolved into infatuation. Barty couldnât pinpoint the exact thoughts scurrying through Evanâs brain, but he didnât need to. He was more thrilled at the prospect that a single piece of wood and some muted paints could elicit such an observable response, and Barty enjoyed nothing more than getting a reaction out of Evan - good or bad.Â
âRosie?â Barty tilted his head to the side as he spoke the name softly. It felt like he had finally let the honey drip from his tongue in the form of sweet promises. He almost reached forward, his fingers itching to grab a stray curl at the base of Evanâs neck.
âHm?â he muttered, and as soon as that single-syllable noise escaped his throat, Evan looked up to meet Bartyâs gaze and it felt like a shot to the heart. Evan looked at him through heavy eyelids, like his entire body had relaxed while observing the painting. His walls were down, a sense of innocence about him, and Barty almost fell back at the image. âWhat?â
Barty dropped his head and smiled. It was funny to him, how Evan could switch his demeanor so quickly. How he could run through his emotions at the speed of light just to get to indifference faster. Barty assumed that it was a coping mechanism, or a form of self-preservation, because Evan, unlike the rest of them, was able to convince himself that things didnât matter, that it was all pointless.
due to the massive hugging ai scrap from ao3, i will be prefacing some things in regard to my fics/fandoms.
đ€Â°â.àłàż*:
everything i have posted is personal. it is my own creation that has been written without the use of generative ai.
i do not, and will never, support the use of generative ai in creative/art spaces.
i do not, and will never, support jkr or her transphobic/homophobic/racist/sexist/colorist/etc., agenda. i do not support giving her money; which includes going to hp world in a âmarauders way.â if you are buying official merch, you are part of the problem. you have contributed to the 70 thousand pounds she put into anti-trans legislature in the uk.
due to hugging, i have restricted my fics to registered users only. i love reading your comments, and getting emails that someone left kudos - it makes me feel like iâm doing these characters justice and that someone is enjoying the story - but because of hugging, comments will be restricted to registered users as well.
that all being said, continue to support your local artists, your small businesses, and your content creators that have developed safe spaces for you and the people around you.
rosekiller | fic update | ch21/?, 76k+ words, weekly updates | artist/restorationist evan rosier & art collector/criminal barty crouch jr | mutual pining, slow burn, angst, second chances | playlist
ch21 teaser~
Evan hadnât seen his friends since before Thanksgiving, and although he was happy for some uninterrupted alone time, he had to admit that he missed them.
He missed Dorcas and Regulusâ constant arguing over the proper conjugation of negative French verbs and adverbs. The way she would poke Evanâs shoulder every time she wanted to peek at what he was drawing, even though he never agreed to show her. How Regulus would perform one of the most disgruntled sighs of disapproval whenever Evan decided to use a tea bag instead of loose leaf.
He could even be coerced into acknowledging that he missed Barty, if he thought about it too hard. His wicked grin and poorly timed flirtatious remarks. How heâd take any and every chance to pop into Evanâs personal space. There were even the rare moments of almost intimate understanding when Regulus would make a self-deprecating joke, and Barty would say something so wildly inappropriate that they couldnât do anything except laugh.
It was an odd, although familiar, feeling - as most things were with Barty, and Evan just had to accept it. He tried, in those final years of high school and throughout most of college, to ignore it. He tried when Barty came sauntering through the studio door and he tried again when he watched Regulus confess to sleeping with Evan at the Halloween party. He had even tried during the first month of holiday break in Greece, but it wouldnât stick.
Evan wasnât admitting defeat because it wasnât that simple, but he was willing to accept the fact that he missed his friends - including Barty.
Barty who, as Evan expected, was sitting directly across from Dorcas in the main seating area by the wide-open doors.
yeah this drawing killed me in so many ways but it's finally done!! i've had this idea for sooo long but i only found a relevant reference just recently
Evan Rosier- he always appears to be 'oh so bored' with everything, he makes people uneasy by his lack of acknowledgment or care and even the best of teachers stutter by the empty look. He'll throw a puch or two but most of the time he doesn't bother, he'll walk around hogwards at night not for some aesthetic bullshit but bc he's insomniac, he'd have the prettiest eyelashes and the biggest circles under his eyes. He gets bored by people being predictive (that's why he and Barty are far beyond best friends, dating, soulmates, fucking menaces ) would excel at care for magical creatures but he'd hide it bc ya know Slytherins, would be really bad at remembering names and birthdays (even his own) but once he memorieses it he never forgets. Doesn't enjoy reading and finds philosophy posh and bunch of -smart- ass -quotes -of -a crazy-people, would enjoy horror stories and bit of sci-fi I think, he'd either get black tea or coffee and would wear eyeliner from time to time to piss off people
based on an interaction i had while shopping today.
Three hours.
It had been three hours since Barty started his shift and not once had he been presented with the opportunity to just sit down.
His legs were sore, his arms were shaky, even his eyes ached at the bright fluorescent lights overhead. Why he had chosen to get unapologetically hammered the night before an early morning shift - shouldâve been a question he could answer.
Yet, there he stood, cursing himself as he moved another box of heavy-weight hoodies from the cart to the floor.
On Friday nights, they received shipments - which meant the Saturday morning crew had the luxury of distributing it throughout the store. Although, if you were to ask Barty, heâd say it was the worst part about working at Pandoraâs Box.
He could handle the nagging parents and the rambunctious teenagers, but the labor - it exhausted him.
I should workout more, he thought.
Of course, he had considered it multiple times - had even made a New Yearâs resolution to hit the gym more, but by mid-January, he was already finding excuses to skip out.
âYou okay there Bartemius?â a soft voice spoke, pulling his attention.
Across the counter stood a short girl with light blue eyes and a heart-shaped face. Her hair was pulled back and held in place with two gold butterfly clips. She tilted her head to the side and furrowed her eyebrows.
âYeah, no, yeah,â Barty stuttered. He hadnât realized the physical toll moving over twenty boxes of merchandise would have, and his voice came out strained. âIs there more in the back?â
She nodded, âIâll have Mary pull it, can you take over at the register?â
Barty didnât bother hiding his relief as he ran his hands down the sides of his pants and gave her a wide smile. âOf course,â he shot her a wink and slowly backed away from her towards the check-out counter. It barely came up to his waist, but it was solid enough to bear the brunt of his weight so, he bent over and rested his elbows on the glass.
Within the display case were a variety of items ranging from precious stones wrapped in silver wire to crystal ashtrays, body jewelry embedded with amber to silk scarfs, and mini mythological statues to incense holders. They were some of the most expensive pieces in the store.
Barty wasnât allowed to have a key.
Something about protecting precious stock. The manager on duty was required to pull the it from the safe at the beginning of their shift and then return it once they clocked out.
âHello?â someone said, and Barty had to yank his eyes away from a particularly alluring piece of green aventurine set in a silver ring, to find the origin of the strange voice.
âHi,â Bartyâs cadence hitched up an octave, as it usually did when speaking with a customer, and as soon as he made eye contact with the foreign subject, he had to bite back the cough that built up in the back of his throat.
To say the man ahead of him was beautiful, wouldâve been an understatement. He looked ethereal, but not in a stereotypical way - more so in a biblically accurate way. His face was thin, making his cheekbones extremely pronounced, and his eyebrows were arched. He had wavy blonde hair that bent just above his eyes and curled inward at the base of his neck. His shoulders were broad, but he looked rather frail - even under the baggy brown jacket he wore.
âIs this register open?â He asked.
âOh, um-â Barty looked around, as if he needed confirmation that no one else was working the counter. âYeah - yes, yes itâs open,â he pushed himself off the display case and straightened up. âIs this all?â
âMhm,â the stranger mumbled as he removed a green hoodie from its wooden hanger and set it folded up on the counter with the tag sticking out.
How polite, Barty smiled to himself.
âWhatâs a good email?â he wanted to ask for a phone number or a name, but something in his throat pulled back like a fishing rod.
âE Rosier,â it sounded French, or at the very least Italian. Something romantic and divine, and Barty had to physically bend his neck to pop the tension that suddenly built up in his vertebrae.
Barty typed the letters into the keypad, but no results came up. âE Rosier?â he asked.
âYeah, E R-O-S-I-E-R,â he leaned forward to get a look at the screen, as if realizing the pronunciation of his name was contradictory to how it was actually spelt.
Barty followed the directions seamlessly but seemed to mistype - so when he read it back again, the stranger just smiled softly.
âNo, E-R, not A-R.â
âRight,â Barty nodded, trying to keep his focus on the computer. âI was testing you.â
âTo see if I could spell my own name?â
Barty huffed out, entirely unaware that he had been staring straight at the customer instead of his screen.
âYeah, yeah that,â and he sounded like a stuttering child asking for candy right before bedtime.
He probably tastes just as sweet, and the flush of heat Barty felt running up his neck and over his face had to be noticeable.
âUhm, here we go. Got it,â once the account was linked, it had only been a matter of seconds before they finished checking out and were walking away from the counter.
Barty looked back down at the display case, the palms of his hands resting lightly against the glass. He was sweating, actually sweating, and he had to peel his fingers off the class carefully, leaving behind a few smudges of condensation.
He looked at the marks closely, hoping for a distraction, but when he noticed the shadow of his index finger was pointing at the green aventurine he had been so intently looking at earlier, he stumbled back.
Barty didnât believe in signs. He didnât believe in destiny or fate, but he couldâve sworn that stone was the same color as Rosierâs eyes.
Rosier, he repeated, Rosie, and before Barty could fully realize what he was doing, he launched at the keyboard and started anxiously pulling up a list of recent transactions.
At the top was one sale for a large green hoodie with the reward email typed out at the bottom.
I mean⊠Barty shrugged to no one in particular as he frantically copied down the letters.
Whether or not it was against company policy, he didnât know - but he did know that he was going to email the pretty boy with the blonde curls.
rosekiller | fic update | ch21/?, 76k+ words, weekly updates | artist/restorationist evan rosier & art collector/criminal barty crouch jr | mutual pining, slow burn, angst, second chances | playlist
ch21 teaser~
Evan hadnât seen his friends since before Thanksgiving, and although he was happy for some uninterrupted alone time, he had to admit that he missed them.
He missed Dorcas and Regulusâ constant arguing over the proper conjugation of negative French verbs and adverbs. The way she would poke Evanâs shoulder every time she wanted to peek at what he was drawing, even though he never agreed to show her. How Regulus would perform one of the most disgruntled sighs of disapproval whenever Evan decided to use a tea bag instead of loose leaf.
He could even be coerced into acknowledging that he missed Barty, if he thought about it too hard. His wicked grin and poorly timed flirtatious remarks. How heâd take any and every chance to pop into Evanâs personal space. There were even the rare moments of almost intimate understanding when Regulus would make a self-deprecating joke, and Barty would say something so wildly inappropriate that they couldnât do anything except laugh.
It was an odd, although familiar, feeling - as most things were with Barty, and Evan just had to accept it. He tried, in those final years of high school and throughout most of college, to ignore it. He tried when Barty came sauntering through the studio door and he tried again when he watched Regulus confess to sleeping with Evan at the Halloween party. He had even tried during the first month of holiday break in Greece, but it wouldnât stick.
Evan wasnât admitting defeat because it wasnât that simple, but he was willing to accept the fact that he missed his friends - including Barty.
Barty who, as Evan expected, was sitting directly across from Dorcas in the main seating area by the wide-open doors.
@rosekillermicrofic , february 21 , ignore, words: 1036, mild nsfw â for mi @er9tic !! hope it's a nice start to your day<33
this is a part 2 of this one!
It had been half an hour of this already. They sat cross-legged on Evanâs bed, trying to figure out how exactly the process of brewing Amortentia worked. Why Evan had chosen this particular topic for his essay, Barty would never know. He was fairly good at Potions, while Evan excelled more at wand work; Defense Against the Dark Arts and intricate charms.
But it wasnât the essay on Amortentia or its complicated brewing method that was frustrating Barty, no. It was the damn lollipop that Evan still had in his mouth, the way his red-stained tongue kept distracting Barty, making him lose track of the words in front of him. It was the way Evan kept pulling the candy out, using it as a prop while he asked Barty questions, only to suck the aftertaste from his lips. The sound of it made Barty shift, adjusting the bedsheet draped around Evanâs shouldersâthe other end of it covering Bartyâs lap in a poor attempt to conceal his growing erection.
âSo, itâs supposed to go three times clockwise after the first tear is dropped, and then instantly counterclockwise, right?â Evan asked, confused, his eyes shifting between the paper and Barty.
Barty wasnât trying to ignore him, but his eyes were still focused on the candy between Evanâs fingers, the hand resting on his knee, just out of Bartyâs reach.
âB, are you listening to me?â Evan nudged Bartyâs leg with his other knee, trying to pull his attention back.
It was only then that Barty processed what Evan had asked. But more importantly, heâd just realized something.
âHey, havenât you been sucking on that lolly for almost, like, an hour now?â
Evan blinked at him, silent for a second as he examined Bartyâs face, then the candy in his hand.
âUmm, yeah, and that is connected to my essay⊠how, exactly?â
âIsnât it supposed to be the size of a poppy seed by now?â
âOh, yeah. I put a permanent charm on it, so it doesnât run out. Is that why youâve been staring at it?â Evan grinned, acting oblivious to the suffering he was putting Barty through.
Barty cleared his throat. âNo, thatâs not it.â
âThen what is it, B?â
Barty swore Evan knew exactly what he was doing, messing with him on purpose.
âHow come itâs a bit smaller than when you first unwrapped it?â Barty asked, already knowing the answer. And there it wasâthe instant drop in Evanâs expression, the faint pink decoration on his cheeks as he tried to maintain his usual nonchalance.
âI charmed it while I was talking to Reg. Why does it matter?â
Here it comes, Evanâs defensiveness, the same kind he always had when caught red-handed. He shrugged and placed the lollipop back into his mouth, eyes going back to his essay, so quick to change the subject now.
âSo, clockwise beââ
Barty cut him off with a firm hand against his chest, pushing him back onto the bed. The sheets slipped from both their laps and onto the floor. Evanâs head hit the pillow with a soft thump, surprise plastered across his features. His arms were now spread out at his sides, the lollipop that he managed to rip out just in time was now dangling from his fingers.
âIt matters, Evan, because thereâs a reason you put that charm on.â Barty leaned over him, eyes locked onto Evanâs.
âBecause I like the candy? And it helps me focus on my essay?â Evan raised his eyebrow with a little shake of his head, as if he couldnât believe what Barty was asking him.
Itâs then that Barty lowers his hips onto Evan. He watches Evan gulp as his gaze flicks down to where Bartyâs cock is now pressed against his thigh.
âNo, Evan. I think you just like watching me suffer.â
âOh, is that it? Do you want a taste, then?â Evan smirked with a self-satisfied, shit-eating grin of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. He lifted the lollipop between them, offering it to Barty mockingly.
Barty looks at Evan for a second longer before slowly reaching for it with his left hand, the other one still pressed into Evanâs chest. His cock twitches at the sight of the damned thing.
He examines it for a moment, questioning himself, before gently placing it against Evanâs half-parted lips.
âYeah, actually. I do.â Barty answers before leaning down to press his lips to both the cherry-flavored candy and Evanâs mouth. There is a surprised hitch in Evanâs breath after Barty flicks his tongue around the lollipop, using it as an excuse to feel Evanâs lips. He spins the candy between them, unsure which side belongs to whom anymore, their tastes mixing on the glossy surface.
Then, their tongues meet at the edge of the candy, and Evan lets out an obscene moan, his hips snapping forwardâseeking friction against Bartyâs hip.
âBarty,â Evan whimpered his name, only to flip them over in one quick motion. Now, Barty was the one being pinned, his back hitting the mattress as Evan hovered over him, the carefully maintained calm composure from before now completely goneâreplaced with hungry frustration.
Evan ripped the lollipop from his mouth and flung it across the room. It hit the wall with a crack, sending hundreds of red flecks across the floor.
Before Barty could react, Evanâs hand gripped his jaw, turning his face back toward him as their lips crashed together, the fabricated cherry flavor no longer an obstacle between them.
There was nothing soft about it, nothing tame. It was all the tension that had been simmering for months, finally reaching a breaking point. Barty had always known their friendship wouldnât last forever. It was doomed to end in either an unhealthy amount of love or spiteful hate.
And right now, with their lips clashing, tongues gliding against one another, clothes being tugged and torn, and Evan desperately trying to align their hipsâ
Barty thought their friendship might just end in a mix of both.
All because of a stupid lollipop. One he despised just a little less now that he realized his lips fit against Evanâs far better than the candy did.
rosekiller | fic update | ch19/?, 67k+ words, weekly updates | artist/restorationist evan rosier & art collector/criminal barty crouch jr | mutual pining, slow burn, angst, second chances | playlist
ch19 teaser~
Regulusâ immediate thought had to have been something he thought the better of because although his eyes shot wide in retaliation, they relaxed just as fast. âUsing my own words against me, how clever.â
âYou know me,â Barty winked.
âI do,â Regulus didnât seem at all pleased at the fact, âwhich is why I won that bet against Dorcas last weekend. Thanks for that.â
Barty shot him a look of confusion. Regulus wasnât keen on providing thanks, even if he meant it. Usually, such appreciation was only said in mockery, it was never genuine.
âWhat are you talking about?â
Regulus took a sip of his cocktail and then set it back on the table. He ran his index finger slowly around the rim, causing a faint, high-pitched ringing to escape from the inside of the cup. âThat bet I made with Dorcas, the one about your reaction? You did exactly what I thought you would,â he spoke with silk in his voice, like he was trying to communicate with a toddler with a limited vocabulary. âShe was supposed to pick up my dry-cleaning from Bushwick for the whole month of January, but your reaction-â he paused, a smile creeping onto his face, âyour reaction was all the payment I needed.â
Barty retraced his steps. He could remember the bet, could remember how Regulus wasnât against Bartyâs attendance at their annual Halloween party, but he couldnât place any scenario that he reacted-
