Evan: If I Were An Ice Cream, Would You Bite Me Or Lick Me?

Evan: If I were an ice cream, would you bite me or lick me?

Barty: I would like to lick you. But-

Evan: But?

Barty: But if you are hard as fuck, biting you wouldn't hurt, would it?

"I don't like your shadow."

Regulus: Switch off all the lights.

James: Switch on all the bright lights.

A Rosekiller W.I.P.

Inspired by this pin

Left- Evan Rosier

Right- Barty

"If only could stoned roses be revived again", a quote from my fic wip named "Stoned Roses."

LUNCH - Billie Eilish, but it's gayer; feat. Barty Crouch JUNIOR

(I suck at instant sketch, but here's an idea.)

@rosekillermicrofic | Promt- Smile | Date- 22 July | Word Count: 425 | slightly NSFW

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"What are you writing?"

Evan wheezed back at the sudden voice. He didn't look behind at the source, instead he hooked the parchment close to his chest and hid the scribbled letters against him. He closed his eyes and huffed.

"Barty. Get out of here", he said.

"N-No. Not before you show me what you wrote", Barty replied flatly as he inclined forward, peeping his eyes into Evan's lap. "Show me, will you?"

"No."

"Don't grudge, show me", Barty insisted.

"It's mine. Not yours."

"But, sweetheart, I saw my name in that parchment."

"So?"

"Why did you write my name?"

"I didn't."

"Then prove it. Show me."

"I don't have to prove you."

"You need to."

"Or else?-"

"I will snatch it."

"Try."

Barty craned forward, matching his weight with his strength over the parchment, pulling it stressfully.

"GO. Away", Evan tried forcing his legs forward. He thrusted a kick, but Barty had an untraced strength, which was not easy to kick off.

"Show me", Barty hissed.

"Never."

"Fuck you", Barty stressed further as Evan pulled the parchment closer to his chest.

"Thanks. Now leave."

"No."

The grained leaf of the paper, came flopping out like gift wrappers. It was torn without shape.

Barty hooked that parchment infront of his eyes and read, "Bar-he-hip." He put that sheet down and eyed at what Evan was doing as he heard him move.

Evan forcefully crunched the paper in a ball and swiftly threw it over the fireplace. The red strokes engulfed the parchment in a hug and the last ashes burnt fiercely.

"What did you write? Tell me, please", Barty cooed.

Evan smirked, "Never." Then he stood up and left the dormitory while singing, "Chicky chicky had no kicky in him."

Barty sat down on Evan's desk and smiled wickedly as he rehearsed the lines on the parchment, quoting them word by word, "Evan doesn't worship Bartemius. He wisely whips him."

Then he slowly added, "You do both, Evan. Both."

Evan = Archaic Poetry.

Barty = Modern Free verse.