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?

TW- Death. Blood.

Read at your own risk. Hate is allowed.

@rosekillermicrofic | Prompt- Sea, Cold.| Word count: 482.

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A distant, echoing cry lingered in the salty sea breeze. A shadow whipped across the full-moon, inviting icicles into his skin. The loose skin at the back of Barty's shoulder prickled.

He smelled of rotten flesh as if they were of his own. He lowered down, closer to the leaking moonlight, hoping that it was a patronous. Swoosh, and there he saw the shallow of their hood. Something forced him from within to press his palm against his ears. Suck the sensation out of them.

The first wave of coldness clashed with his sweat, the next followed a shudder. They were many; the dementors.

"Please", he whispered.

A clamped thunder seized him back, choking out air. Barty saw a body on the floor. There was blood all around. And it smelled badly. Barty hated that smell. Then someone lifted the body to the side, he has seen the face somewhere. Someone who reminded him of power. But what was more familiar was the face of the dead.

Something inside him was so desperate to name it. A force binding his hand back but a desire to pull the body closer to himself throwing away the man who picked it up. It was like his favourite toy broomstick that no had the right to touch. But Barty barely knew whose dead it was.

Hands gripped him from behind. Nails digging into his ribs. There was a green flash, Barty saw it all. Someone stomping on his broomstick, someone using the killing curse on the dead. Someone shouted, someone laughed. Barty screamed. He has never felt so much pain. He was binded. Then there was a shriek of a woman, an air splitting cry, followed by another flash. Yet, he didn't know whose dead it was.

Curiosity was cutting his own flesh. The scratching sound of stone against stone. The unsettling bloodshot eyes of the dead looking into Barty, searching for help. And the stoned smirk on the face. Barty wished that the eyes could blink again. He couldn't see them anymore. The smirk had to be stopped, they had to reminded of fate.

Someone pulled back Barty as he tried to crawl to the lifeless body, to shut their eyes. It was so important to shut them that Barty couldn't leave with them looking into him. And Barty heard the last scream, this time the voice was painfully audible, arising from his heart, pushing out his chest. It was his own voice.

"EVAN!", Barty ordered the air. His pitch kissed the dead. But yet, Barty doubted the name.

Suddenly, Barty thought that he smelled of rose-water. Peculiar, isn't?

"Evan! Shut your eyes, you scare me", he said playfully, before fainting.

The dementors traced away, leaving scared moonlight on Barty's pale face.

Bellatrix crossed her arms around Barty's heart, that was -somehow- still alive.

EVAN ROSIER!

'Shining like gun metal, cold and unsure

Baby, you're so ghetto

You're looking to score"

@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."

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."