#do you know how much it kills me to hear the word 'moots' it shouldn't even be a word

[omni-scient-pan-da]

May: So yeah, there's this competition my moot is doing on Twitter to vote for their gayest mutual and- [continues to ramble]

Me: *follows May on Twitter and has post notifications on for them, and already committed voter fraud by using four different Twitter accounts to ensure May won* Uh huh uh huh, wow what a crazy story

[rblackdeco]

Bloodsport - rosekiller

— pairings: barty crouch jr x evan rosier

— a/n: angst angst angst, the most heartfelt gut wrenching angst i've wrote in a while, for a moot on twitter and i really hope she doesn't kill me for that :) ily bru

— summary: what if barty died first? and what if it was in front of evan?

Blood. There was so much blood, everywhere.

Evan was shaking. He was shaking, because it wasn't supposed to be like this. To end like this. No, because in between the two of them, Evan was supposed to go first.

Him. Not Barty. Anybody, but Barty. Not his Barty.

"Rosie...?" Barty was quiet as a whisper, quiet as he couldn't be all these years. Bad sign. Horrible sign, in fact, because he was never quiet. Raspy too, a tone that reminded Evan of all the lazy mornings they've spent together in bed. "Rose, look at me... Please, look at me."

Begging, how pathetic of him. How low, he thought, because he knew Evan wouldn't any other way. His eyes full of tears, his face a mix of emotions and still, Barty has never seen anyone more beautiful. He thought what a bliss from the gods that he could die looking at something so beautiful, something he adored so much. What a bitter and twisted death wish that was.

"I don't wanna die..." Barty coughed, his blood splaterring Evan's perfect shirt, his grip on it tight. He wouldn't let go, he swore, he wouldn't, until he had already passed. He was convinced he could fight death itself were it to try to take him from Evan. But Evan didn't respond, didn't waste another look at him.

"You won't die." Evan said, his hands pressing onto the wound. A knife wound, what a simpleton. What a ridiculous way to die. Maybe it was fitting to him, maybe it was fate.

But Evan said fuck fate.

"Rosie, it's bad." Evan wished he could shut Barty up. He wished he wasn't right like always, he wished he could fix it, but it was way beyond his abilities. And even if he knew how, his hands were shaking far too much to do something like stitch Barty back together, the tears clouding up his eyes far too much for him to see something beyond the blood.

Of course blood, because Barty was nothing but a fighter. To the very end.

"I'm so sorry, Ev..." He whispered, his tears falling to Barty's shirt. Evan shook his head.

"No, no, you're okay..." He sobbed, but just once. Just once, and still, enough to shatter Barty's heart in a million pieces. Barty lifted his hand, touching Evan's cheek and smiling.

That fucker was smiling. Evan was gonna kill him.

"Evan..."

"Shut up, Barty." He frowned, wiping the tears from his eyes away.

"Please, look at me... Wanna look into your face." And Evan did. He shouldn't have, he knows it, but he did anyway, his eyes watercoloured, grey mixed with the deepest shade of teal, the one Barty always adored. The one he always called his angel eyes. "Hey, Ev? I love you."

The smile. There. Evan wanted to knock it out of his face, whether with a kiss or a punch, he wanted Barty now more than ever to take it seriously. He wanted more than ever for Barty to act like the pretentious fucker he have known his entire life and fight. Because it couldn't end like that.

"Don't leave me like that, you asshole." Evan held back a strangled laugh, fearing what it would become of him if it left his lips.

"Say you love me, Ev. Say it now or you'll regret it." Barty's lips trembled in a way Evan has seen few times in his life. Usually, it meant anger. And usually, Evan could kiss, or cuss it better. But that was different. That was fear. With that, Evan had no idea of what to do.

"Don't you dare" He spat, trying to smile at him, but it was pointless. Evan was every meaning of the word mess. Shaking, crying, desperately tugging into Barty's shirt as the boy coughed again, his body propping up. Not a single one of the many horrors in the life of Evan Rosier had prepared him for the anguish of losing someone so dear to him. "Don't you dare to leave me, you hear me?" He pleaded.

Except he didn't. Except now, Barty smile was permanently froze on his face, his eyes permanently looking at Evan. Evan's grip finally loosened.

It was foggy the night Barty Crouch Jr died. And it would be foggy every day after that too. At least for Evan.