🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?
💖 What made you start writing?
💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?
💲 Would you ever open commissions?
👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!
🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?
(You don't have to answer them all ofc)
Hi!! I'm pretty good!! I'm watching Dog Day Afternoon again!! How about you?
🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?
I answered that here, but I'll also share a few snippets from The Needle and the Damage Done because while this fic is slowly draining the life out of me, I have to keep reminding myself that there are some happy moments in it!
Barty lay still, half-buried under the quilt, staring up at the ceiling. The guest room was warm, almost too warm, but he didn’t move. The heat felt foreign, pressing against his skin in a way that made him ache. This was how it could always be for him and Evan, that is, if they ever managed to get their shit together. He blinked slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. The curtains were drawn, but a sliver of early morning crept through the gap, casting a pale line across the ceiling.
Beside him, Evan slept soundly, curled toward him, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other draped across Barty’s waist. His breathing was slow and steady, and for the first time in a long time, Barty just watched him sleep without worrying that he wouldn’t wake up.
Evan looked younger like this, softer. The tension that usually lived in his shoulders was gone, melted into the mattress. Barty reached out and brushed the hair from Evan’s forehead, then leaned in and kissed his forehead.
Evan groaned softly, his brow furrowing. Barty kissed him again, this time on the cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Slowly, Evan blinked awake, his eyes unfocused and a lazy smile playing at his lips.
“Morning,” Barty whispered, running a finger along Evan’s jaw.
Evan’s smile widened as he tilted into the touch. His hand slid up Barty’s side, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt.
“You’re staring,” he murmured.
“I’m allowed,” Barty whispered. “You’re mine.”
Barty leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time, letting it linger. Evan’s lips were dry, but warm, and he kissed back slowly. His hand moved to Barty’s neck, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw, and for a moment they just breathed together, mouths close, foreheads touching.
The quilt had slipped down to Barty’s hips, and Evan’s hoodie had bunched up around his ribs. Their legs were tangled, bare skin touching in places, and the warmth of the room made everything feel suspended in time, like they could stay here forever, like the world outside didn’t exist.
Evan sighed into Barty’s mouth, then pulled back just enough to speak. “You know, if you make a habit of waking me up like this, I’m gonna start thinking we’re stable.”
Barty laughed quietly. “We’re not, but we’re here, right? That counts for something.”
Evan nodded, eyes closing again. “Here’s good.”
Barty watched as Evan layered blanket after blanket, creating a lopsided fortress that took over the entire living room. It was oddly endearing, watching Evan full of childlike excitement. They'd both grown up fast and broken, and while it probably wasn't healthy, it was nice to relive some of those experiences they'd missed out in. In the corner, the radiator continued to click, offering the only sound besides their breathing and the occasional thud of Evan's knee against the table.
When it was finally done, Evan crawled inside, his voice trailing out in muffled glee. “Bee, get in here!”
Barty hesitated. The fort looked ridiculous, a lopsided mess of blankets and chairs, but Evan's face appeared in the opening, eyes wide, grin crooked, and something loosened in his chest.
“Fine,” he muttered, crawling in after him as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Inside, the world felt different. The light was dim, filtered through layers of fabric, turning everything soft and golden. The air smelled like smoke, cheap detergent, and whatever cheap body spray Evan had picked up at Walmart. It was warm, almost stifling, but Barty didn’t mind. Evan had already sprawled out on the pile of cushions, looking smug.
“See?” he said. “Perfect.”
Barty shook his head. “Perfectly stupid,” he muttered, settling onto the cushions beside Evan.
“Nah. This is California. This is Los Angeles. This is us, Bee. No one can tell us otherwise.”
“Los Angeles doesn’t smell like Marlboros and knock-off Axe.”
“Barty, you just gotta squint. Pretend a little bit. It’s there if you look hard enough.”
For a while, they just stayed there in silence, the heavy air of the fort pressing close around them. Barty could hear Evan’s breathing, steady but a little ragged, like he’d run too far and hadn’t quite caught up. He turned his head and found Evan already watching him, eyes bright in the dim light.
“What?” Barty asked, defensive without meaning to be.
“You’re smiling,” Evan said softly.
“No, I’m not.”
“You are,” Evan pressed. “You never notice when you do it, but I do. Every time. It’s like…” He trailed off, waving his hand vaguely in the air as if searching for words. “It’s like the sun coming out. Just for me.”
“You’re full of shit,” he laughed.
“Maybe. But you’re still smiling.”
The fort seemed to shrink around them. Barty shifted, suddenly restless, but Evan didn’t look away. His gaze was steady, unflinching, daring Barty to break first.
“Stop staring,” Barty muttered.
“Make me.”
He let out a shaky laugh, letting the words hang there, before turning his eyes back to the ceiling of their makeshift California. He could still feel Evan’s gaze burning into him.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re here,” Evan shot back. “That’s all that matters.”
Evan reached out and hooked his pinky around Barty’s. It was a small gesture, stupid and childlike, but he still treated a pinky swear like it was sacred. “Say it,” Evan urged.
“Say what?”
“That you’ll come with me. To California. Pinky swear.”
Barty huffed out a laugh, but it cracked halfway through. “Ev, babe, we don’t have gas money. We barely have rent money. We can’t just drop it all and drive across the country.”
“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Barty stared at him, at the mess of blankets sagging overhead, at the wild hope in Evan’s eyes. It was insane. It was impossible.
It was everything.
“Fine,” Barty muttered. “Pinky swear.”
Evan’s grin widened, and he squeezed Barty’s finger once before letting go. “Golden gods, Bee. You’ll see.”
They sat like that until the water began to cool, until Barty’s skin puckered and his eyelids fluttered. Evan shifted then, reaching for the shampoo perched on the edge of the tub.
“Can I?” Evan asked, holding it up.
Barty nodded, and Evan reached past him to set the bottle down and grab the little plastic cup with a faded purple dinosaur on it, leftover from one of the few times Pandora had trusted them to watch Luna for a weekend, that they’d moved from the kitchen to the bathroom because sometimes, the showerhead didn’t work.
“Okay, I’m gonna get you wet first.”
Barty let his head tip forward, chin dropping toward his chest. Evan guided him with a light touch at the back of his neck, and after a moment, warm water spilled over Barty’s hair, darkening it immediately. His hair flattened under the water, clinging to his forehead and temples. It ran down in thin streams, tracing the line of his ears and his neck, disappearing into the bath.
“Oh,” he breathed. “Yeah, that’s…”
Evan chuckled and kept going, using his free hand to thread his fingers through Barty’s hair, lifting sections so the water could reach the scalp underneath.
Once every strand was soaked through, Evan set the cup on the edge of the tub. He gently pulled Barty’s head back and then reached for the shampoo bottle. It clicked softly as he flipped it open, and Barty could hear Evan squirting some into his palm
and then rubbing his hands together to lather the soap.
His fingers were gentle but thorough as he massaged Barty’s scalp. Barty leaned into it without thinking, a small, content sound slipping free before he could stop it.
Evan froze for half a second, then resumed, slower now, like he was afraid of pushing too far.
“Feels nice,” Barty murmured.
Evan exhaled shakily. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me if you get dizzy.”
“I will,” Barty promised. His eyes stayed closed.
When Evan was satisfied, he reached for the cup again, bracing Barty with his forearm and rinsing carefully. White suds slid away, disappearing into the bathwater. He poured until the water ran clear, until Barty’s hair was clean and heavy and slick again.
Evan set the cup aside and pressed a kiss to the side of Barty’s head—barely there, more breath than touch, and Barty leaned back into him with a sigh.
They stayed like that, letting the water do its work. Evan took the washcloth next, running it under the tap and wringing it out before drawing it gently over Barty’s shoulders, down his arms, slow and methodical. He checked in with little glances, pauses where Barty could stop him if he needed to. Barty never did.
“You’re doing really good,” Evan said, like it was important Barty knew.
Barty hummed, eyes half-lidded. “You too.”
Evan laughed under his breath at that. He kept up the slow, steady motions, the washcloth drifting over Barty’s skin in gentle arcs. The warmth had settled deep into Barty’s bones, softening everything sharp inside him until he felt almost weightless. Time stretched, unhurried, marked only by the quiet drip of water from Evan’s fingers and the rise and fall of their breathing.
“You want to talk about it?”
Barty shook his head. “Not right now.”
“Okay.” Evan leaned back, stretching his legs out. “Then we don’t have to.” He glanced over, studying Barty with that careful look he always used when he wasn’t sure how to proceed. “You want water?”
“No.”
“A smoke?”
“No.”
“A hug?”
Barty hesitated. “No. Maybe a kiss?”
“Yeah?”
He nodded, staring at the table instead of him. “If you want.”
Evan didn’t move right away. Barty could feel him thinking, could practically hear the gears turning in that pretty little head of his. Then Evan shifted his chair closer—not scraping it across the floor, not making a show of it, just closing the space between them until their knees brushed.
“Hey,” he murmured.
Barty looked up.
Evan cupped his cheek with one hand, thumb brushing the faint stubble there. “You don’t have to ask like it’s a favor.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were,” Evan said gently. “But it’s okay.”
Barty swallowed, throat tight. “Are you gonna kiss me or not?”
Evan huffed a laugh. “Wow, somebody’s needy, isn’t he?”
“I know what I want,” Barty smiled.
“Mm-hm.” Evan leaned in. Their foreheads touched first, a soft press that made Barty’s eyes flutter shut. Then Evan tilted his head and kissed him softly, but it intensified as Barty leaned into it, grabbing a fistful of Evan’s hoodie.
When they finally pulled apart, they pressed their foreheads together. “There you go,” Evan murmured. “Didn’t even have to beg.”
“Oh, if you want me to beg, I can,” Barty quipped.
Evan smiled and brushed his thumb along Barty’s jaw before letting his hand fall away. The loss of contact made something in Barty’s chest dip, but Evan didn’t go far. He just leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head until his back popped.
“Okay, now that you’ve been properly kissed, what’s next?” Evan dropped his arms and let them fall to his sides, the last crack of his spine fading into the quiet. For a moment, neither of them moved. The apartment hummed around them—the fridge, the pipes, the faint static of the radio between songs.
Barty rubbed his thumb along the edge of the table. The kiss had helped, but only in the way a warm blanket helped when the house was still freezing.
“You know…” Evan said, voice low, “you don’t have to do everything today.”
Barty didn’t look at him. He stared at the opposite wall, at the chipped paint and the shadow of a picture frame they’d taken down months ago. “Feels like I do.”
“Why?”
“Because if I stop, I’ll think.”
Evan nodded slowly, like he’d expected that answer, like he’d been waiting for it. “And thinking is bad.”
“Thinking is fucking terrible.”
Evan let out a soft huff of laughter, not mocking though. “Yeah. I get that.”
Barty’s jaw tightened. “No, you don’t.”
After a moment, Evan shifted, pulling his knees up and resting his arms on them. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Then tell me what you need.”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
“I don’t—” Barty cut himself off, pressing his palms to his eyes. “I don’t know, Ev. I don’t know what I need. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know anything.”
Evan’s voice softened. “You know I’m here.”
“That’s the problem.”
Evan blinked. “What?”
Barty dropped his hands and stared at the floor. “You’re always here for me.”
“Yeah,” Evan said slowly. “That’s kind of the point.”
“But why?” Barty’s voice cracked, and he hated it. “Why do you keep showing up when I’m like this? When everything is like this?”
Evan didn’t answer right away. He leaned back, head tilted toward the ceiling, eyes closed. “Because I love you,” he said simply.
💖 What made you start writing?
I really wanted to flesh out my own characterizations without being overly influenced by anyone else! I hadn't read a Rosekiller fic before I started writing, which allowed me to make them unique and mine before I was exposed to the fanon characterizations, but I'm honestly glad that I started this way!! I guess I also started writing because I couldn't find the kinds of stuff I wanted to read (still can't sometimes, and I've been crashing out a bit because of it lately lol. nothing like filtering through ao3 tags and only having your fic match all the criteria you're looking for 😫)
💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?
I THRIVE ON COMMENTS!!!! I giggle so much when I get an email from ao3 (or see an ask come through)!! Like, I'm ultimately writing for me, but I'm sharing for everyone else, so I enjoy hearing what people think!!
💲 Would you ever open commissions?
I don't believe anyone should be making money off of fanfic, so commissions are 100% off the table. I also don't do well with requests because I have a hard time writing things I'm not fully invested in, so that's a no too. I'd collaborate with others (platonic rosekiller freak polycule co-written fic when?), and I'd be open to doing an exchange (could be writing a fic for each other or I write and someone draws or something like that), but commissions are a definite no!
👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!
I talked about The Pool Boy here, but I think I'll take the opportunity to yap about Until It Sleeps, which I've talked about here and here. It short, it's my zombie apocalypse au. It's Rosekiller centric, but it's told from Pandora's POV! Barty and Evan are zombies, and Pandora keeps them chained up and walks around with them for protection (sort of like Michonne in The Walking Dead). This one's interesting to me because it's technically MCD, but the fic switches between past and present, so you start the fic already knowing who dies. It's going to be a LONG time before I start posting (I need to finish at least one of the three fics I'm currently posting before I start posting another lol), but here's a little sneak peek at my Pinterest board!
🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?
Ummm... probably Evan in Hoist The Colours. He's a bastard, and I hate him SO MUCH, but he's also super complex and beyond interesting!! I always have to take a break after writing anything from his POV, but I do have a ton of fun exploring his character!!
