Gonzo - 21+ - they/them - multishipper, writer, and general fandom enthusiast - ao3 - feel free to request microfics or chat in my askbox!
nsfw content - minors dni
i do not support jkr. i encourage people to not moneterily support her. i dont buy her books, merch or games. i will not watch the new hp show or listen to the audiobooks. i will not give her money in any way. i will not engage with conversation about her or her views. she is a terf. trans people are people. end of story.
fics:
rosekiller - regina george x rodrick heffley - bartylus
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
There were a lot of things that Noah didn’t know about Nick.
There were a lot of things that Nick didn’t know about Noah.
They liked to share them when they could. Because the more they knew each other, the more they felt seen. The more they talked, the more it felt real, two human beings sharing their vulnerabilities.
His head rested on her chest, warm and comforting. They were both satiated, his eyes losing the soft glaze and becoming bright and aware as she raked her fingers through his curls, softly. The blankets were pulled up, the chill of the English winter staved off by their shared warmth.
“I miss my mom."
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In which Nick and Noah explore what it means to be a parent without actually having any kids.
Additional Tags: Talking About Feelings, Talking About Having Children, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, Cunnilingus, Ass Play, The Art of Missing Something You Never Had, Nick and Noah Foster Parents, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, I think, the art of trying to be a good parent without actually having kids, the art of rethinking every interaction you had with your parents to figure out how not to be a parent, Introspective Noah McKay, ig
so genuine question! which would you wanna see posted next
✍️
noah's journey into being a mother
exploration into mal's relationship with sex
Voting ended onFeb 20
Both are mostly written i just gotta elbow my way into ending them.... also like I'm gonna post both eventually its just which gets done first
Blurbs under the cut <3
Mal's understanding of different aspects of herself through her relationships. What does sex mean to her? Is it just a way of addressing vulnerability, or is it more?
Noah has always had this dream of holding something heavy by her chest. As she grows into herself and into her relationship with Nick, she slowly realises exactly what she'd been holding in those dreams.
one of the moots is doing a twelve days of ship-mas thing (@moony-talks) BUT would anyone wanna see the exact same thing but with me shoving everyones favorite whore barty crouch jr into different ships? rosekiller, bartylily, sunkiller, moonkiller, bitchkiller, bartylus, etc?
if anyone else wants to participate i can make it into an actual thing but WOULD YOU READ IT
experiment - @rosekillermicrofic - 575 - cw: dead bodies, human experimentation, reanimation (kinda)
Evan didn’t expect any of this to work. It was a pipe-dream, a vision, something that couldn’t possibly come to fruition, but Evan worked on it as if it could be done. He had a drive to complete the project, and so he did.
It had started ages ago, in the graveyard that would become his lab, and with the boy, who would be his experiment. Bartemius Crouch Jr was the name on the headstone. A solid slab of stone, worn and faded from time. There were no dates or family mentioned, only the name, centred in the stone.
Evan walked through the cemetery when he had the time, especially after classes or lab meetings. Sitting under the tree next to Bartemius’ grave, Evan decided to go through with the experiment.
It was a dream, the fantasy of a medical student running on too many shots of espresso. Yet it had worked. Lying next to the headstone of Bartemius Crouch Jr.
The boy's body was the original, the one buried under the headstone, however long ago. He wasn’t too decomposed, leading Evan to question a lot more than he probably would have if he’d dug up a skeleton.
The impressive part of this body lying next to the headstone was not its lack of decomp but the brain rattling around in his skull. Evan had worked on it for months. It was the piece-de-resistance of the whole experimentation. Lab-grown. He’d made it.
The body sat up, its jaw moving back and forth, then up and down. Bartemius looked down at himself. Despite not being fully decomposed, his skin was still grey and leathery, shrink-wrapped to his bones. His body was jerky, as the muscles were lost over time.
Evan gaped at the skin-and-bone zombie he’d created.
“Who are you?” the man asked, his voice strangely wrong, probably because of the state of his vocal chords.
Kneeling next to his creation, Evan grinned, his teeth almost bared. He felt like a mad scientist, kneeling in the dirt next to the being he brought back to life. “Evan Rosier.”
“Evan…” Bartemius chewed on the name for a moment, his mouth unused to moving after all this time. “Evan isn’t a bad name.”
The clarity of the creature's voice and personality shocked Evan. There was humour in his tone, and he was tracking Evan’s movements with a speed no one would have expected from the undead. Evan moved closer to inspect the zombie in more detail.
“Thanks, I guess,” he responded more absentmindedly than not. He was paying more attention to the way the boy's skin was starting to warm, becoming softer, more pink and more human in front of Evan’s eyes.
“I’m Barty.” The boy blinked slowly, his eyes a deep browny green that Evan stared at for a moment, concerned with the way that blood vessels started appearing in the sclera.
Evan sat back on his heels, watching in reverence as Barty cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, the warmth of his face moving slowly down his body. It was as if Evan was watching time reverse in front of him. Barty’s skin was pale, but alive– there was blood pumping in his veins. Evan could tell by the look of the ulnar artery in Barty’s wrist, a greenish purple.
Bartemius Crouch Jr. was really alive. Not the level of alive that Evan had expected, but something deeper, something more real.
black cat - @bartylusmicroficprompts - 420 words (nice)
Regulus loved dealing with his partner. Especially today, when Barty slammed the door open and stood in the doorway, his eyes sparkling in that dangerous way.
"What is that?" Regulus asked, standing in the hallway, his arms crossed. He was referring to the hoodie in Barty's arms, carefully being cradled.
Barty grinned, his sharp teeth on display. "You know, not really important, babe," he said, kicking his shoes into the mat by the door.
Regulus raised a single eyebrow and waited. Barty would get bored and reveal what was under the cloth in his arms. Probably sooner than later if Regulus acted as if he didn't care too much.
"Well," Barty started, "it might be vaguely important."
Regulus continued to wait, his patience a virtue when dealing with Barty.
Barty sighs and kneels down, setting the bundle down on the hardwood floor. He slowly moved the hoodie away.
"Oh my god," Regulus gasped, kneeling down in an instant, his arms uncrossing instinctively. Sitting on the floor was a small black kitten, blinking its yellow eyes slowly. "Where did you find a kitten?"
Barty smiled again, this time softer. He pushed the kitten towards Regulus with a smooth hand. "He was sitting by the dumpster. I saw him while clearing up after closing the bar."
"And you just had to bring him home?" Regulus asked, a small bit of bite in his voice that quickly disappeared when the kitten bumped into his hand. Its fur was soft, and Regulus sat down fully, running his fingers along the kitten's angular head.
"Basically, yeah."
The small creature nuzzled into Regulus' hand, finding some sort of comfort in his body warmth.
"I've always wanted a cat," Regulus whispered as the kitten placed its front paws on his knee.
"I know, babe." Barty stood up, walking around Regulus, sitting in the middle of the hallway. "You want to name him?"
Regulus smiled softly as the black kitten made direct eye contact with him, grey eyes meeting yellow. "Salem," Regulus said very finitely.
"Like from that witch show you were obsessed with last year?" Barty called towards Regulus as he started running the sink to bathe the little black fuzzball.
Regulus hummed in agreement as he scooped up the kitten gently, joining Barty in the kitchen with Salem in his hands. "Yeah, he looks like a Salem."
"You're only saying that because he's a black cat," Barty said softly, nudging his shoulder into Regulus' as they both looked down at their cute new family member.
theres something wrong with me bc i literally cannot stop rodrick/regina posting on ao3...... uhhh heres a 3rd chapter cannot promise a 4th ever but yk if the inspiration grips me
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
silence - @rosekillermicrofic - 305 - cw: NSFW, allusions to a sub-drop, aftercare
Only one person in the world got to see Barty completely silent. Evan.
The silence that overtook Barty when he’d been fully fucked out was a silence never heard at any other time. It was peaceful, and the soft look on Barty’s face made it one of the best experiences of Evan’s life.
He loved these moments, not because Evan disliked hearing Barty’s voice. He loved these moments because in these moments, when everything in the room was quiet, Barty just stared.
Barty’s eyes were glazed over, his mouth agape, and his skin flushed. He looked beautiful. The white sheet behind him made his dark hair stand out. The contrast was beautiful, especially with Barty.
Evan finished cleaning up, wiping down their skin and grabbing a bottle of water for Barty to sip. He pushed some hair out of his boy’s eyes, smiling down softly.
“You okay, baby?” Evan asked.
Barty smiled lopsidedly, his eyes fogged but still light. His skin was bright, and Evan knew he was fine.
Evan caressed Barty’s warm skin, the sweat that had gathered transferring onto Evan’s skin. He sat Barty up a little bit, scooting his lover up the bed a bit and smiling softly at how ruffled and fucked Barty looked.
“You gotta drink something,” Evan said, reaching as if to hand the bottle to Barty. He realised as he did so that it wouldn’t work with how rubbery Barty’s muscles were now. “Alright, baby, careful.”
Evan tilted the water towards Barty’s mouth, and Barty drank, his eyes locked with Evan’s. It felt like faith. It felt right.
Barty rolled his shoulders slightly, moving his head a bit as Evan pulled the water bottle away. His eyes were less fogged over, and Barty smiled more solidly than lopsidedly. “We have to do that one again, Ev.”
Barty fucking hates anyone who ever contributed to the existence of bachelorette parties. He loved his job– he had to keep reminding himself as he left the bar an hour after his shift ended.
Throwing open the door of his apartment and trudging in, Barty felt like a firecracker, ready to blow at any second. His fuse had been lit so long ago that it had almost burned down to an explosion. His shoes were kicked off, and Barty dramatically fell, facedown onto the couch. His brain was rumbling under his skull like a grumpy machine.
“Barty,” Ean’s voice sounded through the living room. “You left the fucking door open.”
That fuse fizzled out, and Barty just felt tired. For the first time in a while, he didn’t want to fight.
The door closed softly, and then the couch by Barty’s head dipped. A callused hand came up to run through Barty’s dark hair.
“Bad day?” Evan asked. His voice was gruff as if he had just woken up. Which made sense if Barty thought about it. It was 3am.
Barty felt a soft whine escape his throat as he melted into the smoothing touch. The whine was affirmative, insofar as Barty did have a bad day.
The fingers in his hair were soft, occasionally tugging through tangles and curls. Barty’s hair hadn’t been washed in a few days and probably smelled like cheap perfume from all of the bachelorettes trying to pull him into partying with them.
“Bachelorette party.”
Evan huffed, understanding the horror that was 15 drunk women trying to be raunchy in what they thought was their last chance at ‘freedom.’
“Oh, baby,” Evan said. His large hands pulled Barty’s head into his lap. Barty turned his head to the side, Barty’s face buried in Evan’s stomach. The scent of Evan’s shirt was comforting, and Barty’s brain began to fog up.
The fingers continued to move, and Evan began speaking slowly. His voice was low and whispered as he talked about his day. Evan talked and talked, and Barty’s brain fogged further, sleep grabbing onto him.
“Sleepy…” he muttered into Evan’s stomach while moving to sit up.
Evan made some sort of mouth sound that Barty didn’t recognise while he wrapped his arms around Barty’s body, pulling him closer. He lifted Barty up, carrying him to their warm bed. “Here, lemme,” Evan murmured as he did so.
“Look, you don’t have to wake up until noon tomorrow,” Evan said, setting Barty down onto the bed.
Barty nodded slowly, wiggling out of his jeans and kicking them towards the hamper. He didn’t want to get nasty bar shit all over their warm bed. Evan threw him a clean t-shirt to replace the one that Barty peeled off his skin and chucked back towards Evan.
Barty burrowed into the bed, the sheets still warm from Evan’s earlier sleep.
“‘d I wake you?” Barty mumbled as Evan climbed into the bed, cosying up to Barty.
“It’s fine,” Evan said. “I don’t have anything to do tomorrow.”
“Good,” Barty whispered into the dark room. His mind was blank and foggy with sleep, but he would absolutely treasure a day alone with Evan. Just the two of them, cosy and warm in bed. “We sh’d just stay here f’ever.”
haunted - @rosekillermicrofic - 483 - cw: NSFW, being stalked, stalking kink, allusions to non-con but nothing actually non-consensual occurs
Barty didn’t realise just how much he enjoyed being followed until it happened.
Walking home from university, he felt eyes on him, watching him, haunting him. He didn’t give it much thought, though he kept feeling his mind slink back to the feeling of eyes on him and someone taking the exact turns he was.
He turned onto his street, trying his best not to examine exactly why he wasn’t doing anything about the person following him home from his class. The feeling of eyes on him remained as he walked up his front steps.
Pulling his keys out, he slipped them into the lock. He pushed the door open and walked in, some part of him hoping that the person following would slip in as the door slowly creaked shut.
He didn’t pay too much attention as he got the mail for his flat and pressed the button to call the lift. Barty turned inside the elevator, watching outside for the person who had been following him to make their appearance.
The doors started to close, and Barty finally released the breath he didn't realise he was holding.
A hand slipped between the closing doors, and Barty’s chest caught.
The doors pulled themselves open, slowly, with a small ding. A man slipped through, his dark skin and short platinum blonde hair striking. Barty held his breath, his skin crawling. It was possible that this was the person who had been haunting him, following him. Who knows how long they’d been doing it?
The man didn’t press any buttons– the only one illuminated was Barty’s floor.
Barty kept quiet, his eyes flitting between the man’s tight shirt and his sharp cheekbones. Was the attractive nature of this man the only reason Barty wasn’t instantly calling the cops or his roommate? Was it the only reason he wasn’t calling someone for help? Or was it something deeper?
There wasn’t a world in which Barty was interested in unpacking that.
The doors dinged open, and Barty stepped out, turning a slight bit to see if the blonde would exit the lift. He did, the blonde’s eyes were on his own feet as Barty walked towards the door to his flat.
Barty pulled out his keys, sliding them in the lock, his back to the man, his body vulnerable.
A hand caressed his neck, coming around to his front, pulling him into Evan’s chest.
“You like that, baby?” Evan asked as Barty shoved the door open and turned quickly, pulling his boyfriend into their apartment. Evan threw the door shut behind them, grabbing Barty and pulling him towards him. “Oh, yeah. You really like that.”
Barty pressed his mouth to Evan’s hotly. Pulling away, he grinned, his teeth sharp and his eyes blown out. Barty was going to ride himself on Evan’s cock until he came so many times that neither of them remembered their names.
bitter - @rosekillermicrofic - words: 406 - implied NSFW under the cut
“Barty?” Evan said, his voice quiet and his body still.
He lay next to Barty’s soft skin, Evan’s naked body against Barty’s. Their dorm room was stiller than it had ever been, and Barty had been the one to make it this way. His skin crawled, imagining all of the ways Evan was going to hate him now.
His voice shot through the room, any sort of joking tone gone, “Get the fuck out.”
Evan stared at him, his deep eyes bearing into Barty’s soul. There was no real way to escape, no hiding under the covers or running away. They were bare and open and real right now.
“Okay,” Evan said, his body moving away. He pulled away from Barty’s naked body, his warmth pulling off the blankets and sheets. Evan’s thin body was gone from Barty’s space and there was a part of Barty that felt like a puzzle piece had been yanked from his center. “You want me to get the fuck out, I’ll get the fuck out.”
“Evan.”
“No,” Evan’s voice was caustic and bitter, unable to have that soft tone he had while fucking Barty into the mattress. “No, you can’t just yank me into your bed, call me baby, post-orgasm, and then kick me out. I can’t do that, Barty. I can’t.”
Barty’s skin crackled in a way he had never felt before in his life. “Evan, I–”
“Yeah, I know you can’t have real emotions,” Evan said, pulling his pants on, trousers coming quickly after. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
His skin felt like fire, like a burning ember, and a million bees were stinging him all at once. Barty couldn’t let Evan just walk away. It would sting worse. It would feel like an ending.
“Baby.” Barty’s voice was louder than he’d intended it to be, but Evan paused, turning to look at him. “Baby. Come here.”
Evan sat on the edge of the bed, bare chest and trousers buttoned. “Barty.”
His voice quivered slightly, trying to push out the words that someone would say. The ones for apologies and for asking for the things you really want. All of the words that Barty was taught didn’t mean anything, especially if it’s coming from him. He tried to force them out. “Baby–”
A hand came to his face, grabbing his chin slightly, callused fingers against his cheeks. “I know, Barty. You don’t have to say it. I know.”
Sitting at one of the corner booths in the library, Evan sat at the edge of the bench, eyes on his own work while Barty’s teeth sunk into his shoulder. “Huh?” Evan said, one eyebrow raised as he looked up from his Potions paper at Regulus.
Regulus stared. “You do realize that Barty’s teeth are in your shoulder?”
“Yeah,” Evan said. “Duh.” His eyes turned back to his homework. Regulus was making obvious statements that no one really needed to pay attention to.
The silence was quiet as Barty’s teeth started to worry at Evan’s skin, his sweater pulled to the side to allow access. Regulus’ silence was what had Evan looking up again, Regulus’ eyes were zeroed in on the connection between Barty’s teeth and Evan’s shoulder.
Evan reaches his arm out towards Regulus. “Did you…” He trailed off, shaking his arm back and forth. “Want to…?”
Regulus looked at him, confused. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah?”
Barty’s teeth unclenched, his tongue coming to lick the divots his teeth left in Evan’s skin. “It’s nice,” he said to Regulus, licking his teeth in a satisfied manner. “You should try it.”
