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c-e-d-dreamer · 8 months ago

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When We Howl, the Moon Will Cower: Chapter 6

A/N: Happy Day 2 of @nessianweek! Sometimes, yearning is looking at another male who clearly loves his wife and going huh, why do I suddenly feel jealous? 😂 But please enjoy this update! And enjoy Nesta and Cassian being idiots. Because there's nothing quite like clearly having feelings for your husband/wife, but refusing to acknowledge it

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Cassian

Cassian never thought he’d see the day where he visits the estate of the Vanserra coven not once but twice, and especially not within the span of the same day. And after today, he can confidently say he never wants to be between these four walls again. The library looks exactly the same as it did the previous evening, but the tension in the room is even thicker than it was when the Archeron sisters were scrying for the Cauldron. It sits like a weight on everyone’s shoulders. Writhes in the shadows and curls around Cassian’s chest, threatening to crush the air right out of his lungs.

Lucien paces back and forth across the room, practically leaving a simmering trail of ash beneath his feet the way he stalks across the rug. It’s almost strange seeing the male so out of sorts. Every time that Cassian has ever seen the witch, he’s looked impeccable, not a single piece of clothing or hair out of place.

The same can’t be said for the moment.

Lucien’s red hair is a mess where it hangs around his face, tangled and knotted from the way he’s been repeatedly running his fingers through the long strands. His skin is unusually ragged and pale, dark circles clinging beneath his bloodshot eyes. He’s long discarded his jacket into a crumpled heap in one of the large armchairs, his shirt creased and wrinkled where it hangs only half tucked into his pants.

“We’re wasting time,” Lucien growls out for the second time tonight, turning his attention toward his brother.

“I told you, we have to be smart about this,” Eris reminds him, his voice low with warning.

“Every moment we sit around here talking in circles, the Mother only knows what Hybern is doing to Elain.”

Sitting as close to her as he is, Cassian doesn’t miss Nesta’s almost imperceptible flinch at Lucien’s words. She’s been quiet and the picture perfect of calm ever since Baz informed them of the news about Elain, but Cassian has gotten to know his wife too well since their marriage. He knows that the press of her lips conceals the sharp words sitting on her tongue that she’s holding back. Knows that her narrowed blue eyes hide the fire burning just behind them.

He knows that deep down, she’s afraid.

Knows that her straightened spine and held back shoulders are the armor she wears to cover her concern. Knows that the way her fingers flex, her arm jumping back to brush against his own, means her own mind is conjuring images the same if not worse than whatever Lucien might be imagining.

It’s practically instinct, the way Cassian reaches a hand out toward her. His fingertips just barely brush along the back of Nesta’s hand before he thinks better of himself. Before he catches himself. He pulls his hand away again, fingers curling tight until his nails cut into the palm, the pain a reminder of himself, and resettles his hands back in his lap again.

“You’re assuming the worst,” Rhys pipes up from where he and Feyre sit. “They’re probably just keeping her to use as a bargaining chip.”

“Probably?” Lucien snaps, whirling on the vampire. “You expect me to be alright with probably?”

Eris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And what would you have us do? Storm through Hybern’s gates?”

“Yes. They have my wife.”

He says the words with no hesitation, with a sheer surety and determination that has Cassian tilting his head curiously. He’d noticed the way Lucien and Elain seemed unusually close, strangely comfortable in each other’s gravity the other night. The way the two seemed less like two people who had married for an alliance and more like two people who actually chose one another.

But this, watching Lucien now, watching his reaction, is somehow different than the other night, something more than just amicability. It’s almost like…

Cassian refuses to finish the thought, refuses to give the notion any sort of weight. But it’s still there, niggling in the back of his mind. It still has an ache threatening to build and sink its roots into Cassian’s chest. Threatening to twist and shift into begrudging anger.

“We don’t even know for sure that’s where Elain was taken,” Nesta finally speaks up, her voice surprisingly cool and calm. “Our best bet is having Feyre and I scry again for her before we make any rash decisions.”

Lucien scoffs, but Eris nods his agreement at her words, pulling back out a map and spreading it across the table. Nesta stands up, taking a moment to fix the skirts of her dress before she strides forward. She holds her hand out, waiting until Eris hands over the bowl of bones and stones, to turn expectantly toward her younger sister. Feyre hesitates for only a moment before she stands as well, stepping over to Nesta and the table.

“What if it sees us too?” Feyre asks quietly, Cassian’s wolf hearing still picking up the question.

“We’re not looking for it,” Nesta tells her, taking Feyre’s hand in her free one. “We’re looking for our sister.”

Feyre swallows hard, but she nods her head, squaring her shoulders and focusing on the map before them both. Both sisters close their eyes, murmuring whatever scrying incantation they need, the words still so unfamiliar to Cassian. Just like the previous night, the temperature in the room seems to drop, the air stilling and prickling with static electricity. Cassian scoots forward in his seat, keeping his eyes pinned on Nesta.

He swears he can see a slight tremble to her hand where she has her closed fist extended over the map, can see where the blood’s been cut off, her skin pale from the tight grip she has over the bones and stones in her palm. Her whole body stiffens, and Cassian almost rises from his seat before he catches himself again, closing his own hands into fists to keep himself together.

There’s nothing comforting about the silence that settles over the room. It’s more like a yawning void with the promise of teeth and claws. It reminds Cassian of when he was young, of those dark nights in the woods where he swore something watched him back from between the tall, shadowed bark of the trees. Something wrong and twisted.

A minute passes.

And then another.

Something changes in the air, a crackling spark that steals the breath even from Cassian’s lungs. Nesta’s breath starts to come fast and hard, her lip curling back as she pants between her gritted teeth, and Cassian can’t take it anymore, pushing to his feet and striding toward the table. There’s a small noise, one that Cassian can only describe as pure terror, but it doesn’t come from Nesta.

It comes from Feyre.

The youngest Archeron gasps, pressing her free hand to her heaving chest as she all but curls over the table. “I… I can’t…” She turns her attention toward Nesta, blue eyes wide with fear. “Open your fist. Now.”

“No,” Lucien growls, stalking closer to the table again. “We can’t stop. Find Elain.”

“You have no idea what we saw,” Feyre snaps.

The two continue to bicker and snarl at one another, but Cassian tunes it all out. He settles one hand along Nesta’s lower back, able to feel the tension in her body beneath his touch, the small trembles and shakes that rattle her limbs. With his other hand, he reaches up toward her face, gently sliding the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

“Nesta.”

Nesta’s eyes snap open, zeroing in on him, and Cassian once again gets a glimpse of the magic that rages like a wildfire beneath her skin, of the silver flames that flicker around her irises. He doesn’t remove his touch though, doesn’t step away.

“Open your fist, Nes.”

Nesta’s fingers splay, bones and stones clattering against the table as they’re released from her hold, slightly pink from where her grip was tight enough to break skin. Cassian slides his hand around to Nesta’s waist, catching her and holding her steady when she sways. He tilts his head down enough that he can press his lips to the crown of her head, tuck his nose to the golden brown strands of her hair.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he speaks quietly, only loud enough for Nesta to hear.

“Look.”

Eris’s words are enough to have Nesta pulling away from Cassian, and he refuses to acknowledge the coldness that burrows beneath his skin at the loss. Refuses to name or give in to what feels suspiciously like disappointment creeping up and between his ribs. Instead, he swallows hard and rolls his shoulders, joining everyone else in the room leaning over the table to see.

To see the bones and stones standing on end upon the map, to see them forming a perfect, unnatural circle.

“Good. Now we know where she is, for sure,” Lucien says, pushing off the table’s edge and offering his brother a pointed, sardonic, look before striding toward the library doors.

“Lucien–”

“Try and stop me. I dare you.” Lucien whirls around, and Cassian catches a glimpse of the burning flames infamous to the Vanserras flickering in his russet eyes. “If I have to march into Hybern by myself, then so be it, but I am getting back my wife.”

Cassian half wonders if Eris would, if he’d stop his own brother in order to save Lucien from himself. He half wonders how Lucien might claw his way out of whatever restraints Eris put him in, how he might cleave through any chains or spells to get to Elain. Cassian has to give the male credit for his dedication.

For his devotion to his wife.

That dark, twisting feeling climbs back up Cassian’s chest, twining like brambled vines around his ribs. Around his heart. It feels an awful lot like bitterness, but he’s quick to shove it back down. It doesn’t stop that dark part of him that revels in seeing the mess of emotions wreaking havoc on the youngest Vanserra, to see some semblance of his own emotions and experience finally reflected back at him, especially after how happy Lucien and Elain had looked together the previous night.

It doesn’t stop the voice that whispers in the back of Cassian’s mind, wondering what it would take to draw such a visceral reaction from himself.

“I can offer a squadron of wolves. Just one, though. I won’t risk any more than that.”

Despite the words being for Lucien, it’s Nesta that Cassian doesn’t take his eyes off of. He knows how important her sisters are to her, how much she cares about them. He can still remember their wedding day, when Nesta told him plain and simple that she only agreed because of them. That she chose him over the other factions in the name of protecting them.

The declaration has a new emotion sparking amongst the icy blues of Nesta’s eyes, one that Cassian doesn’t quite recognize. It’s a look he hasn’t yet cataloged, hasn’t yet named, that takes over her expression. Cassian’s heart squeezes in response, and he has to swallow hard against the way his breath threatens to catch in his throat.

“Thank you,” Nesta tells him, her voice quiet and sincere. Just for him.

Cassian nods his head once, determined to keep his own emotions tampered, his own face neutral. “Guess we’re going to Hybern.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta

Nesta twists enough that she can secure the final buckle, pulling at the strap until it tightens. She slides her hands down along her waist and hips, stepping over to the small mirror in the bedroom. It’s almost uncanny, the reflection staring back at her. She had been unsure when Emerie had handed her a pair of leathers to wear, and it’s as strange seeing them on as the fabric feels against her skin.

Still, the Mother only knows what could be waiting for them at Hybern, and Nesta will take any extra protection and armor she can get.

It had been one of the easiest decisions she had ever made, agreeing to help Lucien and rescue Elain. One she’d made as soon as those bones and stones had landed across the map, before she could even voice it. She’d do anything for her sisters, even if it meant storming into what was most likely a trap. Even if it was the last thing she ever did. And she didn’t care what anyone said, including her dear wolf of a husband.

Although, she hadn’t needed to worry about that last one in the end.

She still can’t quite wrap her mind around Cassian not fighting her about going to Hybern, how the only “order” he gave was for Emerie to locate some leathers for her to wear. She still can’t wrap her mind around him offering up his own wolves to help with the rescue. Elain means nothing to him, he has no reason to volunteer his help, and yet…

And that look on his face… Nesta still can’t get it out of her head. The way the hazel of his eyes seemed to burn in a way she’d never seen before. The way that gaze had been pinned to her as he spoke the words. It had been indescribable. It had something warm threatening to unfurl in her chest.

It was dangerous.

Sighing softly and shaking her head of those thoughts, Nesta steps out of the bedroom. She finds Cassian standing in the front room of the cabin, the alpha already wearing his own leathers. It’s certainly a sight, the way the fabric clings to his frame and emphasizes the large muscles of his chest, his arms, his thighs, the way the red hued scales along the shoulders seem to flicker in the low light of the room. With the stubble along his jaw, his hair scraped back away from his face, and the twin blades strapped along his back, he certainly paints the image of a warrior prince.

His eyes sweep over Nesta before he offers a single nod of approval. “This is for you.”

Nesta looks down at the blade Cassian slides across the table over to her, blinking in surprise. Slowly, she reaches her hand out, picking it up. She examines the leather criss crossed tightly along the hilt, pulling the blade free from the scabbard to reveal the Illyrian steel.

“I had Elis make it,” Cassian continues. “Had him make sure it was the perfect weight and balance for you. I know you have your magic, but considering what Hybern may have, better safe than sorry.”

Nesta curls her fingers tighter around the sword, taking a moment to swallow hard and secure it to her belt. “Thanks.”

The silence that settles around them feels charged somehow, prickling along Nesta’s skin. She dares to meet Cassian’s gaze again, but he has that same burning, piercing look painted across his face, and she has to look away. When there’s a short rap to the cabin door, she’s never been more grateful.

It’s time.

It takes a large amount of magic to travel to Hybern, to keep everyone cloaked, and Nesta’s hands are clammy and shaking by the time they’re landing beneath the stretching bark and branches, the dark canopy of trees. There’s the threat of a migraine building in her head, a pressure just behind her eyes, but Nesta breathes through it all, taking in gulps of the cool night air around her.

She can feel Cassian’s presence beside her, feel the warmth that radiates off him from where he’s standing close. She can feel his attention solely on her, the barest brush of his fingertips along her arm.

“You made it.”

Nesta snaps her attention toward the sound of the voice, watching as Lucien stalks out from between the trees, members of the Vanserra coven that she doesn’t recognize following behind him. They’re all dressed in leathers of their own, reds and greens and golds befitting of the coven’s autumnal ties. Lucien has his curtain of red hair tied off away from his face, and beneath the moonlight, the scar across his face stands out especially stark and the flames in his eyes burn especially bright, flickering with anxious determination.

Nesta almost feels bad for whatever Hybernian soldier tries to come between him and Elain.

Almost.

“We’re just waiting for Feyre then,” Nesta offers, glancing around the wood in search of her youngest sister.

“She’s not coming.”

Nesta frowns at Lucien. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she’s not coming. From what I overheard with Eris, it sounds like Rhysand wasn’t as forgiving about his wife in Hybern,” Lucien explains; although, his eyes flick to Nesta’s right as he says the words. “Sounds like there may have been some locked doors involved.”

Nesta has to swallow down a wince. She remembers the quiet, but harsh words spoken between Feyre and Rhysand at the Vanserra manor, remembers the way her sister loudly proclaimed her husband to be a prick. There had been glares and snarls, and Feyre had stormed off in the end, but Nesta thought her sister’s stubborn recklessness would win out in the end.

“If that’s the next rescue mission, you can count me out,” Baz speaks up from Nesta’s left, his whole body shuddering. “I am not going in that place.”

Nesta snorts softly. “Really? Hybern is fine, but you won’t go to the vampire den?”

“I’ll do most things for the Pack, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

It’s an odd thing to say. Nesta half expected him to make a joke about how Cassian could never order him into the den the way he was ordered here tonight. After all, there’s nothing here for the Pack tonight. Elain has nothing to do with them.

“How about you do something useful and sweep the perimeter.”

Baz makes a big show of rolling his eyes at Cassian’s words, but he gestures with his head, and the other wolves follow him as they vanish amongst the shadows of the wood around them. Lucien leads the smaller group that remains away, daring to press right up to where the treeline ends and crouching down amongst the brush there.

Looking out across the field of tall grass, Nesta gets her first look at the fortress the king of Hybern calls home. Dark stone stretches high and wide, a wall hiding away the towers and keep just beyond. It’s like something out of a fairytale. Or a nightmare. The almost black hue of the stone, the ivy and bramble that creeps along it, the spikes, it all reminds Nesta of a dark thunderstorm.

“There’s a servants’ entrance through that gatehouse there,” Lucien says, his voice quiet. “According to the intel Rhysand’s spymaster offered, many of the servants don’t live within the walls, they come and go each day.”

“A good entrance for us to use then as well,” Cassian comments with a nod of his head.

“My thoughts exactly. If we’re lucky, we can get in and get out without starting a war.”

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

“Even so, we clearly don’t have the numbers for a big fight. I doubt you want to lose any wolves tonight.”

Cassian doesn’t say anything, but Nesta doesn’t miss the way a muscle in his jaw ticks, Lucien’s words clearly having hit their mark. He crosses his arms and focuses his attention back on the fortress, eyes flickering as he takes in every detail, as he devises his own plan with all the prowess Nesta expects from an alpha general.

“Well, then,” Cassian finally says. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

They make it inside the fortress with surprisingly little fanfare. There’s only a trio of guards at the gatehouse, Cassian trapping one in a headlock until he loses consciousness while Lucien and one of his other witches take out the other two. They encounter even fewer as they cross to the servants’ entrance, stepping inside an empty and dark kitchen, stoves and flames long gone cold and the staff long retiring for the night.

“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Cassian suggests.

At Lucien’s agreement, he sends the other Vanserra witches to the western wing, offering to take the main house himself. It leaves Nesta and Cassian to search the eastern wing in hopes of locating Elain.

As they creep up one of the servants’ stairwells, Nesta reaches within for her magic. Just as she always does, she imagines stroking her fingers through soft fur, but this time, she gets a growl in response, leaving the hairs on the back of her neck standing on edge, a shiver skittering across her skin. It’s a warning.

It means something’s wrong.

Swallowing hard around that feeling, Nesta tightens her grip around her magic, pulling it forward forcibly until silver flames curl between her fingers, wreathing her wrists and providing light through the winding dark corridors. The distinct sound of blades unsheathing has Nesta’s entire body tensing on instinct, but when she whips around she finds it’s merely Cassian, both his blades raised and ready.

“You feel it too, then.”

Cassian’s lips press into a thin line. “Coming here may have been a mistake.”

“Don’t let Lucien hear you say… that…”

Nesta’s voice trails off as they reach the end of the corridor, her steps stuttering to a stop. The caress up her arm, along the back of her neck is undeniable, and it’s wrong. It curls around her ear until the ringing taking up home there morphs into a whisper, a temptation. A siren song. A sudden pressure starts to build in her chest, wrapping like cold, spindly fingers between her ribs and around her lungs until the air is squeezed out of them. And that grip on her tugs, calling her down and down and down.

Nesta’s entire world tilts as her body is yanked back, the hand pressed to her mouth muffling her yelp of surprise. She tries to struggle against the tight hold before she realizes she recognizes the warmth, the body, pressed along her spine. With a huff, she shoves Cassian’s hand away from her face, turning to glare at him. But Cassian has a single finger pressed to his own lips, signaling quiet.

Carefully, Nesta leans forward enough that she can peer out of the alcove Cassian has pulled them into. She frowns at the dark corridor, as empty as it was before. What has his wolf hearing picked up that she can’t see?

Cassian yanks Nesta back again, out of view just as a pair of Hybernian soldiers come stalking around the corner and down the corridor. Nesta holds her breath as they come to a stop right where she and Cassian are hiding. Her heart skips and starts to pound in her chest. Why haven’t they continued on with their patrol?

“What have we here?” One of the soldiers turns with a sneer, somehow looking directly at Nesta through the shadows. “A little mouse just for me?”

“More like a wolf,” Cassian growls, stepping out of the alcove.

Nesta barely has time to blink before Cassian is leaping forward, both his swords swinging. He takes down the soldier who spoke with ease, a feral grin on his face despite the blood now staining his leathers. Nesta focuses her own attention on the remaining soldier, reaching once again for her magic. She sends silver flames cascading toward the male, but not before he gets off a spell of his own, alarm bells blaring around them.

“Well, there goes our element of surprise,” Cassian comments.

He sheathes one of his swords and grabs hold of Nesta’s hand, pulling her down the large, main staircase. They burst through the large, wooden doors that lead in and out of the eastern wing, coming face to face with even more soldiers rushing toward them. Cassian drops her hand to free his second blade again, resetting his stance so his back is to her. Nesta takes it as the cue that it is. She takes a moment, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She can feel the swell of her magic, feel the familiar burn through her veins, across her skin, in her eyes.

A smirk pulls up her lips as her eyes snap open again, zeroing in on the soldiers standing before her. Zeroing in on her prey. It’s the only warning she gives them before she unleashes the beast writhing and skulking within, towering flames arcing away from her and swallowing every soldier in their path.

She turns on the spot, toward the next round of soldiers who dare to step up against her. She’s surprised to find a soldier closer than she expects, dark eyes narrowed and lips curled back in a leer. He raises his hand, so Nesta summons what remains in that well of her magic, wills it to thread between her fingers again. But before she can strike, the soldier unfurls his fingers, revealing some sort of blue powder that he blows directly into Nesta’s face.

Nesta coughs, turning her head away, but whatever the substance was, it’s too late. Her vision starts to blur around the edges, and she tries to blink around it, tries to shake it. All the sounds around her seem to fade, the shouts and cries of soldiers falling, replaced by an almost buzzing that presses into her ears. Her limbs feel strangely heavy, and when Nesta reaches inside herself she finds… nothing. There’s just emptiness.

A roar breaks through the haze to Nesta’s right, warm liquid splattering across her cheek, her neck. Greens and golds flood her vision, and it takes her a moment too long to realize it’s Cassian in front of her, his eyes dark with fury, with worry.

“Nesta, run,” Cassian tells her, clearly repeating himself. “Make for the woods, but run.”

Nesta doesn’t need to be told again. She somehow gets her legs under herself again, breathing through her pounding heart, through the hollowness clawing in her chest, as she pushes toward the tree line.

As she gets closer, she spots two wolves charging right for her, one dark gray with a silver underside and the other an almost shaggy brown in color. The gray one rushes ahead, leaping right at Nesta, and she drops to her knees on instinct, a terrified gasp clogging up her throat. She waits for the pain, for teeth to sink into her flesh, but all there is is a pained cry from behind her. She whips around, only to find the wolf tearing a Hybernian soldier to shreds with its teeth.

“Nesta.” Nesta turns around, meeting Baz’s face, the Pack’s third now back in human form. “Are you alright?”

Nesta nods, taking Baz’s proffered hand and allowing him to pull her back to her feet. Whatever magic she was hit with, she still feels out of sorts, still feels unsteady, and she stumbles back a few steps, right into a firm, hard body. Hands on her shoulders catch her, but then they’re sliding down to lift her fully off her feet, cradling her against a chest and enveloping her in the familiar scent of pine and low burning embers. She wants to protest, but she’s tired, so tired, and she slumps fully against Cassian.

“Lucien has Elain. Now, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

—

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#nessianweek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #cassian acotar #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #pro nessian #When We Howl #my fic

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decaflondonfog · 2 months ago

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several weeks' worth of reading [feb. 10 - mar. 31]

here’s what i read last week in the past seven weeks, in case you’re feeling uninspired, overwhelmed by choice or just too tired to scroll through your marked for later/many opened tabs!

[❣️ marks a personal favourite, 💦 a particularly hot one, ⚡ is for when you want your heart kicked, and ☁️ for a soft and gentle hug]

a full feast (over 40k)

❣️💦 put my mind at ease (pretty please) (series) by iodhadh [mdzs, songxuexiao, E, 50k across 9 works]

In which Xue Yang meets a hot couple at a bar and proceeds to accidentally self-domesticate into a healthy relationship via the trust and vulnerability inherently required of a responsible kink dynamic.

❣️💦 Antiquated Practices by @primtheamazing [svsss, moshang, E, 58k]

“Would the honorable Mobei-Jun agree?” “WHAT!?” There’s a loud crash, and everyone’s attention instantly flicks over to Shang Qinghua standing off the side. He seems to have dropped some large platter of something - he should not be doing something so lowly as serving things, he’s not a servant any longer. But it is very typical of him to mindlessly reach out and start doing whatever unfinished tasks he sees before him, grumbling all the while as if someone is forcing him into it. Right now, he looks gobsmacked. Pale and wide eyed and gaping in shock, looking shaken to his core. “Marriage!?” Shang Qinghua demands, his voice high and strangled. - Several misunderstandings happen in a row.

⚡ lonely little heartbeat by kitschlet [svsss, bingqiu, E, 54k]

At a crucial moment in Proud Immortal Demon Way, Luo Binghe loses faith in his shizun. Shen Yuan, a brand-new reader of a novel still in the backstory chapters, feels so bad for him that it rips a hole in space-time. Now he's tasked with fixing the baby protagonist's broken heart, so Luo Binghe is ready to become the stallion he's destined to be! Your classic reverse transmigration premise, but Binghe is fifteen.

💦 to burn with you (series) by lemonlight [svsss, bingliushen, E, 46k across 6 works]

Luo Binghe is in trouble with his Shizun after another incident on Cang Qiong mountain. Shen Qingqiu knows exactly what he needs.

a nice long meal (over 10k)

☁️ pink cloud summer by @littlefoldedpaperstars [aftg, jerejean, G, 10k]

Underneath the veil of dawn light, Jean was human; vulnerable and quiet and beautiful. All Jeremy could do was look away, as he was reminded of the ill advised crush he’d harbored in his last year at USC. - Or; five years after leaving USC, Jeremy's not sure what to expect when Jean comes to visit him for the summer. As they rekindle their connection, Jeremy comes to realize that if this lasts forever, he'll be just fine.

❣️ The Selkie and his Boy by @hushed-chorus [simon snow series, snowbaz, T, 21k]

Every year the Grimms spend a week vacationing by the seaside. One solstice morning, a 14-year-old Baz meets a strange but gorgeous boy called Simon. By the end of the day, he's hopelessly besotted. But Simon doesn't come back the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. Baz is left pining and dealing with a local seal that suddenly won't leave him alone. Now, exactly seven years later, Simon reappears and the two reconnect. And Baz learns that he's not the only one keeping secrets when Simon's sealskin goes missing.

💦 hymns of yearning by @phaltu [trigun, vashwood, 36k]

On the verge of a rut, Wolfwood attempts to leave. Vash makes an offer.

💦 Out of your system by mimilamp [mdzs, wangxian, E, 20k]

“Maybe you should get me out of your system,” Wei Ying blurts. “Maybe that’ll help.” * Wei Ying finds out her best friend Lan Zhan is in love with her and offers a really super solution.

take it nice and slow (does your mother know?) by @waitineedaname [svsss, bingqiu, T, 12k]

“I think I’m officially too old for this bar. People will think I’m a creep if I keep coming around here.” Shen Yuan took another drag from her cigarette. Luo Binghe stared at the faint pink stain her lips left on the paper. “I was thirteen when you were born. Isn’t that weird?” Luo Binghe's brain to mouth filter was no longer functioning. “Can you put that out on me?”

due south by screamingatthesun (savemeaplate) [svsss, moshang, E, 12k]

Mobei Jun is well aware of the situation. Shang Pingyao does not have thirty thousand dollars. What he does have, though, is a jumpy, soft-thighed son. Mobei Jun can work with that.

❣️⚡ At the Top of the World by @insomniacwritesdreams [trigun, vashwood, E, 35k]

“You say that every time,”the man mumbles, sorting through the envelopes pausing on a red one before separating it from the rest and sticking it into a separate pocket in his oversized, red, duster. “Did I happen to get a bigger package?” “That’s all the mail, dear.” “Ah, yes. I meant a person. I’m expecting the last piece of my crew today.” Georgia’s eyes narrow and flick over to Wolfwood, he’d shaken a cigarette out of his dwindling pack as he watched the interaction go down. He steps forward, tapping the man on the shoulder, shoving his hand forward when the man turns to him. "I'm Wolfwood, nice to meet you." Wolfwood sticks the cold cigarette between his lips, grinning around it when the man takes his hand. The leather glove he's wearing squeaks against Wolfwood's palm when he squeezes. "Vash. What's your specialty?" "Break horses. Put any pony under me and I'll break it." A blond brow quirks. "Any pony?" Wolfwood smirks around the filter of his smoke, lazily dragging his eyes down from straw gold hair to the long plain of Vash's throat. "Any pony."

❣️☁️ under the kitchen lights (you still look like dynamite) by ephemeralsky [aftg, andreil, T, 26k]

“Besides, you’re not a stranger,” Neil says. “You did not know my name until a minute ago,” Andrew points out. “I’ve been petting your cat everyday for the past month, though.” “That does not make us friends.” “I didn’t say we were.” Neil tilts his head, the hint of a smirk on his lips. “We’re neighbors.” (Andrew's recent Google search history: ambient sounds to help you sleep, what qualifies you for a service dog, why do cats like to sit in boxes, daily horoscope scorpio, does quoting shakespeare mean you're being flirted with, buzzfeed quizzes food, how to be neighborly) ((or: in which Andrew and Neil are neighbors who do various neighborly things))

☁️ the (honey)moon represents my heart by @liusumeowhua [svsss, bingqiu, T, 36k]

On the first night of his honeymoon, Luo Binghe is struck by a curse that wipes his memories of the past day at midnight, every night. But it’s not all bad! In PIDW, the solution to this wifeplot curse was to give the victim the happiest day of their life—so Shen Qingqiu just needs to pamper Binghe for a day, right?! He was going to do that anyway! …So why isn’t it working? Is Shen Qingqiu really that bad at making his husband happy??

💦 Layers by KinkyPlotBunny [atogai, kadou/tadek/evemer, E, 11k]

“I’m not hitting you while you’re tied up. This is not negotiable.” These Three are officially a throuple. Every now and then, Tadek needs something a little kinkier than Kadou would be comfortable with, so for a while he gets it somewhere else – but then he manages to get Evemer interested. They dabble; they explore. And then Tadek realises he wants *more pain*, enough pain that it will push him to his limit, and he wants it from Evemer’s hands (or, fists, to be exact), not an impact toy. So, he brings it up.

tea and a handful of biscuits (over 1k)

☁️ Here by @willowbird [aftg, kevneil, M, 5k]

At the first stop sign, he leaned over and opened the glove department. After digging around for a moment he pulled out his second phone, the one Riko didn’t know about. It had a single text thread that loaded quickly once he had the phone powered up. A small cascade of messages was waiting for him, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back the smile that threatened as he realized they were all poorly made memes about last night’s game. Well, almost all of them. At the bottom of the thread, timestamped eleven minutes ago, was a photo of a dark shore – only distinguishable as what it was because of the sheen of moonglow against the water and the fact that Kevin knew that particular spot better than he knew his own apartment. Then, right below the picture, a single word: here

devotee by @phaltu [mdzs, wangxian, E, 5k]

Lan Wangji does not control Wei Wuxian. Not in the way many wish he would. But like this—

every me, every you by @phaltu [trigun, vashwood, E, 6k]

“This is fucking insane,” Wolfwood exhales as he looks at Vash. “You’re the one coming in and picking a fight,” Vash says, but the petulance in his voice seems diluted. It’s fair. Wolfwood doesn’t need to be a voice of reason either. “And making me hit you.” He’s right, but Wolfwood doesn’t want him to be. Wolfwood wants too many things in the moment to pay attention to that though, and all those things are centered around Vash the Stampede. “You wanna do it again?” Wolfwood says, his mind spinning so fast that he feels like steam will come out of his ears. He’s more acutely aware than ever that Vash is shirtless; there’s a growing desire within Wolfwood to see how it would feel to find his sensitive spots with his tongue. “What?” Vash blinks, and Wolfwood digs his fingers into his jaw. “Punch you or kiss you?”

☁️ let's party by spiketheespiegel [tgcf, beefleaf, T, 5k]

5 times shi qingxuan throws a party, and the 1 time he xuan throws a party :)

an insignificant distance by @waitineedaname [svsss, bingqiu, G, 1k]

“How old will you be turning?” Binghe asked curiously. “Uh…” Shen Qingqiu realized he still wasn’t certain how old the original goods were. He supposed he could probably find out from Yue Qingyuan, but… yeah, that would be an awkward conversation. “Do you mean combined between my previous life and this one?” Luo Binghe nodded. “Shizun must be very old and wise with the experience of two lives.” His eyes were wide and hopeful. “I wouldn’t say that,” Shen Qingqiu said with a soft laugh.

right down in my favorite place by @trickybonmot [mdzs, wangxian, E, 3k]

No talking while she has the collar on. That’s the first rule. Obedience. That’s the second. No standing on two legs, unless commanded. No sitting on the furniture unless invited. No trips outside without a leash. No eating human food. No pissing in the house. (Just very explicit lesbian puppy-play piss kink here.)

melon seed tea by lemonlight [svsss, moshang, G, 2k]

Mobei-Jun decides to make things right with Shang Qinghua. AKA: author continues their agenda of making people talk about their feelings.

How to get a girlfriend by being a loser by luobinghelover [svsss, mingling, E, 4k]

Liu Mingyan was generally a woman of principle. She did her duties, followed the rules, kept to herself, and most importantly, always stayed secretive. She did not share many details of herself with others and was typically always very silent. Liu Mingyan was a woman of few words, but observed and paid close attention to anything happening around her. Of course, if people found out that she wrote multiple smut works of fellow peak members, she had no doubt that her reputation would crash down to the mud. That being said, she did not expect Sha Hualing of all people to be the one to discover her secret. — Sha Hualing discovers her secret; and then wishes to know more of Liu Mingyan’s secrets. Including every inch of her body.

Bedtime Stories & Sleepless Nights by @f3rda-is-m00dy [svsss, mingling, E, 3k]

Sha Hualing is having fun teasing the life out of Liu Mingyan by reading her own smut back to her. But things get a little out of hand when Sha Hualing starts to get a bit... affected herself.

❣️ domestic demonic pest control (series) by p0rth0s [svsss, mingling, E, 10k across 3 works]

She opens WeChat. The squid won’t leave. Liu Qingge replies, did you check the bestiary? It’s not in there. My apartment smells like seafood. I’m getting help. DO NOT CALL LUO BINGHE, he adds, !!!!! Liu Mingyan calmly types, IT STOLE MY SHAMPOO

💦 good girl by @eternalpeaceisoverrated [summer sons, andrew/sam, unrated, 1k]

“That’s my good girl,” Sam murmurs, dragging the points of his canines along Andrew’s collarbone; shocked, shameful pleasure arcs down Andrew’s spine, jolting between his nerve endings like lightning. Princess has always ridden the fine line of antagonism and fondness, spilling off Sam’s tongue like honey, thick and sweet. This is something…different.

☁️ they write books about this sort of thing by @kie-kas [aftg, andreil, T, 6k]

Neil turns his attention back to Andrew, watching as he fixes a jammed printer by kicking the tray with full force. “What do you know about him?” “He went to juvie for a few years,” Matt says. “There’s a rumor that he’s killed someone, or maybe it was two people. Anyways, people call him a psychopath. He always carries at least ten knives on him at all times.” “Ten knives,” Neil repeats blandly. “Just telling you what I’ve heard,” Matt says with a shrug. * The new librarian has a reputation. Neil doesn't believe any of it.

💦 you are the blood runs in my veins by @mostlymaudlin [aftg, andreil, E, 1k]

An ode to missionary.

The world a whetstone by @tux-kate [svsss, qijiu, E, 5k]

He takes a step toward his sect leader, the person who has known him longest in the world. He takes a step toward this man who seems to trust him so little, to know him not at all, and when he lowers his fan, he watches Yue Qingyuan’s eyes dip to his lips, as they have been doing from time to time since they were senior disciples. Fine, Shen Qingqiu thinks. That’s a weakness, and any weak point is asking to be exploited.

trigger point by @naturecalls111 [aftg, kevaaron, T, 3k]

Aaron has a knot in his back. Kevin has hands.

❣️ The Worst by sabertoothjello [atogai, kadou/evemer, E, 2k]

When Tadek found them, they were pretty enough to be a painting, an absolute work of art.

💦 Shameless Sluttery by sabertoothjello [atogai, kadou/evemer, E, 6k]

“Do you enjoy, ah…” Evemer’s eyes glanced away for a moment, “…having sex the other way around?” Kadou raised his eyebrows. “You mean…” “Do you enjoy being the…giving party? Instead of…receiving?” Kadou tried very hard to keep a straight face. Just to see how much Evemer would blush, he asked, “You mean, do I also enjoy fucking, instead of being fucked?” Evemer did blush, although less than Kadou had been hoping for. “Yes. Exactly.”

Well, it WAS a Secret Sex Box by Bideroo [svsss, moshang, M, 2k]

Shang Qinghua probably should have known; there is little he can hide from his spoiled, entitled king.

bitesized nibbles (ficlets, drabbles and micros)

⚡ fester by @mostlymaudlin [aftg, andreil, T, 50 words]

Andrew is in the habit of letting a wound fester.

✨ check previous reading lists here ✨

#REALLY LONG ONE I'M SORRY #i was meant to do this weekly but then life happened #love and appreciation to the anon who asked if i was gonna pick these up again #because i meant to but the push was helpful <3 #a week's worth of reading #reading list #fic recs

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aristocratic-otter · 1 year ago

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Thank you, @cutestkilla, @nausikaaa, @that-disabled-princess, @youarenevertooold, @fatalfangirl and @whatevertheweather for the tags!

So, once again, no snippets from Saving Simon Snow or The Heart in the Well (still reviewing them to figure out where I want to go), but I've got double chunks of TikTok Dancer and Stars, Flowers, and Children for you (and a normal sized slice of Snow Fox. The next chapter is so close to being ready for posting!).

Then there's COBB and Erotic Gropefest coming. I've got my idea for COBB, and I've already outlined a fic for EG. Big hint...it was one of the unfinished fics I teased in a 'what are your WIPs' last year. And the one I got the most feedback saying people wanted me to write it! I reviewed my fic ideas folder and decided this one is perfect for EG.

And, I've got a question. I've got more than enough content on both TikTok Dancer and Stars, Flowers, and Children, and I know where I'm going on what's left for each, so I'll likely start posting one of them soon. Feel free to leave your vote on which one in the tags, and I'll consider it!

With no further ado, here's 12 sentences from TikTok Dancer

I frown. Surely a troop of dancers on Santa Monica pier isn’t that extraordinary. “Why wouldn’t I believe it?” I ask.

Dev’s hardly listening to me. “I mean, I knew that there was a chance we’d see celebrities in LA. I mean, this is a celebrity breeding ground, right? But right in front of our hotel? And we get to see them filming?” He turns to me as if expecting me to enthusiastically agree with him. I’m beginning to understand that I’m missing some context here.

“What celebrities?” I ask weakly.

Dev and Niall both freeze, goggling at me in disbelief. This time, Niall recovers first. “You mean you’ve been watching them through the window and didn’t recognise Simon Snow, Agatha Wellbelove and Shepard Love?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Those sound like made-up names.”

Some young Baz yearning, from Stars, Flowers, and Children:

It’s in our fifteenth year that we both finally have growth spurts. Simon’s indignant that, even after he grows several inches, I’m still taller than him by at least three inches. But, not that I’ve got anything but memory to judge by, but I think we’re both man-high.

But height isn’t the only thing that changes about Simon Snow. I wish it was.

But no, Simon has now grown from the freckled street urchin with shorn hair that I first saw on board the SS Watford to a full-grown man, with everything that goes with that. He’s powerfully muscular because of all his building work, and his skin is burnished gold from hours in the sun. His bronze hair is grown out into ringlets that are also kissed by the sun. And all the stars of the universe are scattered across his skin in a host of golden-brown freckles and moles.

Even his blue eyes, though they’re nothing special when it comes to colour, are such a contrast to his sun-darkened skin that they stand out from his face with a lambent light.

From Snow Fox (the smut is done, I just have to get Baz out of the sticky situation I've put him in).

Tarleton is a horrific bore. The arse only talks about himself–his achievements, his family background, his personal wealth. He hasn’t asked a single thing about me this entire time. When our steaks are dropped in front of us by a bellicose server, I’m grateful for a chance to look at something other than his insipid face. I eat slowly, delicately. I don’t want to get to the part of this ‘date’ where Tarleton suggests we retire to a paid room in the local hotel.

Tags and encouraging pats on the back to the friends above (we'll make it through January) and to:

@artsyunderstudy, @angelsfalling16, @bazzybelle, @bookish-bogwitch, @best--dress, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @captain-aralias, @confused-bi-queer, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed, @skee3000, @frjsti, @facewithoutheart, @gekkoinapeartree, @giishu, @hushed-chorus, @ileadacharmedlife, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @j-nipper-95, @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists, @krisrix, @messofthejess, @martsonmars, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, @mostlymaudlin, @nightimedreamersghost, @raenestee, @rimeswithpurple, @shrekgogurt, @stardustasincocaine, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @tea-brigade, @upuntil6am, @whogaveyoupermission, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

#cotta 2023 #normal au #tiktok dance au #Age of Sail au #Blue Lagoon Au #co/ws/awtwb #six sentence sunday

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puddlejumpingwriter · 11 months ago

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"The Nine Lives of Kylo"

~ A Reylo Holiday Textfic ~

Author's Note: I'm posting these chapters in time for Christmas in July. Chapters 1-5 are also available on AO3. New chapters will post to both Tumblr and AO3 starting this week and wrapping up before the holidays.

~~~

PART III

~~~

Ben always expects stress from his family over the holidays, but he can’t prepare for it this year. He’s too distracted by Kylo…and the woman who’s been helping him.

He shouldn’t have enjoyed kissing her so much…

But a text pulls him back to the family stress.

~~~

Ben needs help with Kylo, so he goes to the text that always seems to be near the top of his messages.

~~~

Ben’s as ready as he can be when Rey arrives at his house at 5:30.

His mother will have appetizers on the counter by 6:00, and dinner will be served exactly an hour after that. He needs to be on the road soon to avoid a lecture on tardiness.

He takes a deep breath, trying not to think of the litany of criticisms he’ll hear tonight and wondering if Lando and Chewie might be willing to sneak off for a bit and partake in some Chandrilan ale.

That might help things.

It would also help if Kylo behaves for his sitter tonight. As Ben opens his front door, Rey gives him a bright grin that goes well with her happy holiday sweater.

Ben knows he needs to stop thinking about this woman and her smiles.

But Ben can’t deny what he feels.

If Rey wanted the same things as him, Ben would dump Baz in a heartbeat and ask Rey to be with him.

But Rey doesn’t date now—and when she is finally willing to date, she wants love and probably marriage.

If they were together, Rey would have expectations of him. And Ben would fail miserably at them—the same way he seems to let everyone down in his life.

It’s better to ignore the yearning he feels whenever he sees Rey. They should just be friends.

“This is your house?” Rey asks.

“It’s more of a project I’m going to sell at some point, but yes, I live here.”

“It’s so…”

“Boring? Old-fashioned? Run-down?”

Rey’s brow furrows in shock. “I was going to say charming. Who would say such ugly things about this place?”

“No one,” Ben replies, omitting the fact he was quoting Baz verbatim.

“You’d have to be blind not to see how inviting this house is,” Rey adds, as she walks around the foyer, taking in the space. “Sure, it’s traditional, but it’s also cozy and just lovely.”

“If you say so.”

Her hand slides along the rail of the staircase. “Look at these stairs. Whoever built these cared about what they were doing.”

Ben’s no longer looking at Rey. Instead, he’s focused on his feet. He can feel heat rising in his cheeks, and he can’t keep his fingers from fiddling with his ear.

He’s never handled praise well.

“Ben?” Rey says, curiosity clear in her voice. “Did you build this?”

“Yeah,” he admits, his gaze returning to her. “The old stairs rotted out.”

“These look amazing!”

“They’re just stairs.”

“Just stairs? If I were allowed to make changes to my apartment, I’d hire you to make that place feel like a home.”

“If your landlord ever loosens up on his rules, let me know,” Ben says. “Now let me show you a few of the essential spots around here.”

A meow sounds from the top of the stairs, and they both look up to see Kylo’s descent. The cat flies down the steps, slowing only when he reaches Rey.

Kylo rubs against her legs, before looking at her expectantly. Rey picks him up and nestles Kylo against her chest.

“Lucky cat,” Ben thinks, before shoving that thought aside. He shows Rey a few rooms in the house—all the while trying not to envy Kylo.

“This is the kitchen,” he says. “It’s a bit of a mess because we’re putting new flooring down on Monday.”

“How does Kylo handle the construction?”

“He seems okay, but do you think that might be what’s bothering him?”

“He seems fine now,” Rey says, scratching between the purring cat’s ears. “But loud noises can be disturbing to cats. I remember one cat growing up who used to run whenever my brother or I had to vacuum.”

Ben chuckles. “Was it your cat or a relative’s?”

Her grin falters, and Ben can see something sad in her usually cheerful eyes.

“The cat belonged to the owner of a foster home where I lived,” she answers.

“I’m sorry,” he says, not knowing if he’s apologizing for making her reveal part of her past, or for complaining about his troublesome family to her.

“Don’t be,” she says, her smile slowly returning as Kylo licks her hand. “Besides, there were benefits to growing up in different houses. I learned about different kinds of pets—and that helped me decide to become a vet. So how about you—why did you become a fireman?”

Ben sighs. “Let me show you.”

He leads her into the living room, where he has a bookcase covered in pictures.

“Is this your family?” Rey asks, taking in the images.

“Yes,” Ben answers. “Some biological. Some not related but just as close.” His hand moves toward a more recent addition, but Rey’s already pointing at the picture.

“Are these your parents?”

“That’s them.”

“You take after your father.”

“In more ways than one,” he comments, which earns him a quirk of Rey’s eyebrow. “He’s the fire chief,” Ben adds.

“Oh, so he’s the reason you became a fireman?”

“In part—do you happen to know the name Organa?”

“I saw that name on a sign during the last election,” Rey replies. “Are you related to Organa too?”

Ben’s finger moves to the woman in the frame.

“Wait,” she says. “So your father’s the fire chief and your mother’s the mayor?”

“Yep. A whole family of public servants,” he replies.

“Well, your parents are, but surely you must have relatives in other professions.”

“Of the adopted family members,” Ben begins, “Uncle Chewie is a firefighter, and Uncle Lando’s a detective. My mom’s brother Luke is the closest to being an outsider.”

“What does he do?”

“He audits taxes—but at a federal level, not local.”

“What a scandal,” Rey says, jokingly. “I’m surprised he wasn’t disowned.”

“It was pretty touch and go there—especially when he talked about moving to some tropical island away from all of us.”

“What stopped him?”

“He met Aunt Mara,” Ben answers. “She works in the town’s tourism department.”

“Of course she does,” Rey says. “What about your grandparents? Someone in your family must’ve taken another path.”

Ben’s eyes move to two pictures on the middle shelf—one black-and-white, taken decades ago, and the other from just two years ago.

In the older picture, his grandmother Padme wears an intricate white gown and stands in front of his grandfather Anakin. The young man’s nearly a foot taller than the woman, but that doesn’t hinder them. They exchange nuptials and smiles with the lake glimmering behind them.

“My grandmother was the first female mayor of the town,” Ben says. “And my grandfather was the cop assigned to protect her when someone starting making threats against her.”

His eyes move to the newer picture, where the couple is posed for the picture. Padme’s hand is on Anakin’s chest, as they lean into each other, and her diamond and sapphire ring is prominent in the foreground.

“Beautiful,” Rey comments.

Baz said something similar when she saw this picture, admiring the ring, and Ben can only assume Rey is doing the same.

“Everyone loves that ring,” he says.

“I wasn’t talking about the ring,” Rey replies. “Sure, it’s lovely, but look at the couple. They love each other. It’s clear in both photos. They’re so happy and, well, adorable.”

“Thank you,” a female voice says from behind them.

Ben turns to see his grandmother in the doorway to the room. “Nonna,” he says. “ I swear I’m leaving now. You didn’t need to check up on me.”

“I’m not checking up on you, Benjamin,” Padme replies. “Your mother told me you had a kitten, and I just had to see for myself. Is this him?”

His grandmother gestures toward Rey’s arms, and his new friend answers, “Yes, this is Kylo.”

“What a handsome cat,” Padme says before petting Kylo.

The cat purrs at the attention.

“Are you sure you can’t keep him?” Padme asks.

“You know me,” he answers. “I’m not looking for commitments.”

“But perhaps you can make an exception for such a charming creature.”

Rey smiles. “You wouldn’t be interested in a cat, would you?” she asks Padme.

“I used to love having a cat when I was a child, but I’m not sure how Kylo or any other cat could handle Vader.”

“Vader?” Rey asks.

“Granddad’s Rottweiler,” Ben replies. “I think Kylo could go toe-to-toe with Vader.”

“I wouldn’t be worried about that, dear,” Padme says. “I’d be more worried they’d be bad influences on each other. Who knows what sort of mischief the two of them would cause together?”

“Does Vader have a sitter for the night?” Rey asks.

“The dogs usually hang out together while we eat dinner,” Ben answers. “And they tend to get along.”

“For the most part,” Padme adds. “But I’d love to have a cat join us. Would you like to come to dinner with us?”

The question is posed to Rey—not to Kylo.

“No, I couldn’t,” Rey says. “I’m just here to watch the cat.”

Padme’s brow creases. “Benjamin, this isn’t your girlfriend?”

“No, Nonna,” he answers firmly. “This is Rey. She’s a friend of mine, and she’s good with cats.”

“I can see that,” Palme says, looking at Kylo, who’s still tucked happily against Rey’s chest. “But still, the offer stands if you’d like to come to dinner.”

“I couldn’t,” Rey insists. “I have an exam to study for while Kylo keeps me company.”

“An exam?” Padme questions.

“Rey’s studying to become a vet,” Ben answers. “Couldn’t ask for a better cat sitter.”

“I’m glad Kylo will be well taken care of,” Padme says. “But if you change your mind, Rey, and you’d like to join us, just let Benjamin know. I’ll send him to pick you up at any time tonight.”

“Thank you,” Rey replies with a smile. “That’s really too kind of you, but I couldn’t possibly intrude on your family dinner—especially not when there’s a test I have to prepare for.”

“Suit yourself,” Padme says. “But the option is there if you want it. Now come along, Benjamin, or else we’ll hear an earful from your mother.” His grandmother turns back to Rey, “It was nice meeting you, dear, and you too, Kylo.”

Padme gives the cat a few more affectionate pets before letting Ben escort her to the door.

Ben turns back to Rey. “If there’s anything you need, text me.”

Rey just smiles at him, and then lifts Kylo’s paw to wave at him. “I think we’ll have everything we need here at your house. Now Kylo, say goodbye to daddy.”

Ben’s heart starts to melt, and it has nothing to do with the small noise his cat makes.

He likes the thought of this place as his house—rather than just some property he’s going to fix up and sell.

And he likes thinking about his house with Rey and his cat in it.

And oddly enough, Ben likes Rey calling him daddy.

#reylo #reylo au #reylo fanfic #ben x rey #ben solo #rey nobody #reylo modern au #hallmark Christmas movies

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sillaylittleguy · 4 years ago

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“[I'd] find a thousand men who look exactly like Simon bloody Snow and break each of their hearts a different way.”

#hes being gay and yearning and i hate him for that bc now /im/ being gay and yearning too #oh also thisbpicture is from a book i found on amazon so yeah #the rest of the cover is what youd expect just whining about the children and shit #anyway back on topic #Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch is a big fat homo and i hate him #baz pitch #carry on #rainbow rowell #ember rambles

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mostlymaudlin · 4 years ago

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“be gentle with me… even though you don’t have to”

everyone in bazs life growing up framed him as some kind of tough, cruel person! he was the heir of pitch, the top of the class, the ruthless football player, the arrogant bully. he was the one who was going to try and take down the chosen one. he was a bloodsucking vampire. he was a dead monster.

OR NOT! it doesn’t matter what the adults in his life have thrown on him, what is expected of him, what he was turned into. more than any of that, baz is himself. hes a boy who does so much to take care of all his loved ones. he’s a person who wants to finally let go and be fragile in the safest space he can imagine. his heart beats and yearns and calls out for love and he lets himself ask simon to take care of him. do you realize how huge that is? do you realize how far he’s come?

he’s hard to kill, not hard to hurt. fuck, he’s so easy to hurt — he feels everything! so he wants simon to be gentle. he asks him to love him gently. he asks for what he needs.

#awtwb spoilers #BAZZZZZZ ZBASILTON BAZBAZBAZ #a

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bridgertonbabe · 2 years ago

Note

Does Lucy say the wrong name at the alter! Is she Ross!

Omg I didn't think of that but yes!

After breaking Gregory's heart by telling him she was still going through with the wedding (only because it was expected of her and she was just trying to be dutiful), in the build up to her nuptials she couldn't get Gregory's sad eyes out of her head and even walking down the aisle a part of her fantasized about him interrupting the wedding to object to the marriage. He never did, much to Lucy's yearning heart, and then when it got to the vows her head was still so full of Gregory that she didn't pay any attention to what she was really saying.

"Repeat after me; I, Lucy,"

"I, Lucy,"

"Take thee, Basil,"

"Take thee, Gregory,"

And as soon as the collective gasp sounded around the church and Lucy processed what she had just said, she realised then and there that she had been the world's biggest idiot, plus she couldn't really come back from what she had just said.

"Sorry Baz; but fuck this." she said to the man she had been about to marry - a man she was well aware was gay (honestly, what had even possessed her to go along with this sham?) and who honestly wouldn't even care less for what she was about to do.

She then took off down the aisle, her legs carrying her as quickly as she could to find Gregory and beg for his forgiveness, and thus recreating the very first scene from Friends when runaway bride Rachel comes running into the coffee shop.

#asks #friends au #grucy

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inmyarmswrappedin · 4 years ago

Note

ok now i need to hear more of your thoughts about the remakes and how they adapted even’s favorite films

Hi anon 🎬 Sure!

So, first off, the thing about Baz Luhrmann is that he makes unapologetic love story movies. His movies have elements of action and adventure, but they’re first and foremost love stories, and that makes him stand out from other big movie directors. His movies aren’t even romcoms, first because they don’t have happy endings (as Even notes in the video with Mikael) but also because the setting is never contemporary. Like even aside The Great Gatsby or Moulin Rouge, which are not set in the present day, Romeo + Juliet does ostensibly have 90s technology. But since the characters speak in Shakespearean verse, it gives the movie an atemporal feel. So this is a super tragic, super romantic movie that is actually super toxic for Even to model his life after, because Even is convinced that, in order for him and Isak to be in true love (for any love story to be valid), their story has to end badly.

In Skam, Even provides the twist himself, by starting to make references (and model his life after) Pretty Woman when he starts to become manic. Pretty Woman is like, far from a non problematic movie lmao. But it does have an unlikely happy ending, and it’s through Isak’s understanding of how Even sees Romeo + Juliet and Pretty Woman, that he is able to ultimately reassure Even that their love story doesn’t have to end tragically.

So anyway, the fact that Even unabashedly loves this super romantic movie makes him mysterious and attractive and passionate, because it’s not a dude bro action or superhero movie. By loving this movie, Even is rejecting the macho persona Isak so badly wants to project.

I’ll start with the examples I like lol:

Only Lovers Left Alive: David identifies with this movie to the point that his cartoon persona is a vampire. Like Adam in the movie, he dresses in all black. He is convinced that he’s a monster who can’t live in society because he will be rejected. So it’s pretty clear how this movie is toxic for David. But I also think the movie is sooo telling of David’s actual desires. David likes to pretend that he can go it alone, that he doesn’t need anyone, that he wouldn’t take anyone with him in the case of a catastrophe. But... The movie is about Adam and Eve, the titular only lovers left alive. By loving this movie to the extent that he does, David is parading his major yearning for a forever partner. And like, of course he eventually asks Matteo to run away with him, but Matteo demonstrates how innately he understands David by telling him he does want a relationship with David, but he doesn’t want the toxicity of acting like they’re two monsters who’ve been cast aside from society.

Dangerous Liaisons: I think Skam España took an interesting route by choosing to not have Cris verbally connect the dots (like Druck did). The thing is, Dangerous Liaisons is a tragic love story, yes, but a love story between Valmont and Tourvel, whereas Joana projects on the Marquise de Merteuil, who is all but the villain in the story. Tragic story aside, Romeo and Juliet do love each other, as do Adam and Eve. Joana’s idea of romance (and of herself by extension since she projects on Merteuil) doesn’t even allow for loving and being loved back in return, because no one in Dangerous Liaisons loves Merteuil, and Merteuil herself has become so twisted that she can’t even call her feelings for Valmont “love” (though that’s how Joana interprets them). And the thing is, Joana still finds beauty in the movie! She writes Cris a letter with the edges burned out because it reminds them both of the story. She wants to meet at a specific park because it reminds her of the movie. So it’s just so... beautiful, that Cris takes all of this and just gives Joana the Liaisons dangereuses book. Like, she is lowkey reminding Joana that the book is just a book, that Joana is a real person (within the Skam España story I mean lmao) and not a twisted awful villain, that she is loved, and that Dangerous Liaisons can be their thing (like “their” song, but a movie in this case) without having to be the horrible thing that will destroy them. I really like that the writers chose to imply all these things in their minutt for minutt scene, without saying them explicitly.

Last Man on Earth: Honestly, like I don’t particularly have a big issue with Skam Italia making this Niccolò’s thing, other than it’s so... dude bro-y bland? Like one thing you can say about Romeo + Juliet, Only Lovers Left Alive and Dangerous Liaisons is that they are all such high key romantic (as in, emotions running high) movies, it’s what makes Even, David and Joana so mysterious and attractive and passionate. If I knew someone who told me he projects on Last Man on Earth I’d be like, “The Good Place is better” or “if you wanted to stan a SNL cast member, Andy Samberg was right there.” I mean, I do think Bessegato knew what the point of Even’s movie was, but Last Man on Earth is exactly the type of dude bro material I would expect from him, and would not expect from an Even.

Polaris: Polaris is an undeveloped motif who seems interesting because of the dark and light aspects, and I claim my five pounds. Polaris is in no way toxic for Eliott, like all the others movies and show (even Last Man on Earth) were for the other characters. It’s just... cute. Cute like everything about Eliott is cute and nothing more. Eliott drawing himself as a raccoon is cute because he has a mask and is nocturnal! Whereas Lucas is small and defensive like a hedgehog! And Lucille is elegant and mean like a cat! Etc. This motif is never really developed or explored, it’s never given a twist, Eliott is in fact still obsessed with it 3 seasons later, just like he was obsessed with it before he met Lucas and it was Idriss he envisioned in the other role. There’s no growth, Eliott just never progresses beyond what Polaris represents for him. It sure is cute as fuck though, which is why the stans love it.

???: Does Sander even have a movie? I heard he likes Baz Luhrmann and maybe even Romeo + Juliet, but this isn’t really explored. I don’t think even David Bowie’s life or sexuality or various musical personas (like you could do something with Ziggy Stardust or Aladdin Sane if you couldn’t think of a movie) are explored. Sander likes Bowie like he could like Iggy Pop or Freddie Mercury, queer music icons who for the most part are “safe” for straight men to stan without their sexuality getting called into question. I assume Robbesander stans think the lack of an Even’s movie motif is a sign of excellent writing, and proves Sander is a better Even because he doesn’t project on anything toxic or whatever the hell, just like Robbe is the best Isak because he was so good at letting Zoë and Senne have drama uninterrupted.

#ask #skam #skam españa #druck #skam france #wtfock #Anonymous

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jamespotterthefirst · 5 years ago

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Lunch Date (Ethan x MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1,200 Warning: One curse word, sorry Premise: It is time to finally talk about the next steps after their kiss outside his apartment. Set after chapter 8 of book 2.

_________

With visible effort, she breaks away from his lips to quirk a shapely brow at him. “Is this your idea of 'talking'?”

Ethan is barely listening, his attention fully on her lush lips, tender and red from their kissing. All he wants to do is continue kissing her relentlessly until she makes the sounds that drive him crazy. The yearning is so intoxicating that he holds little regard for the fact that they are in his office and anyone can walk in any second.

He offers her a crooked smile as a response, its effect evident in her hooded eyes and parted lips. Pulled in by the spell of it, Ethan kisses her again, with the same recklessness that overtook him two nights ago, when he had kissed her outside his apartment building.

Lilac laughs against his lips. “Or your idea of lunch for that matter?”

He moves his mouth lower. “Are you complaining, Allende?” he whispers darkly against her throat.

“Not quite,” she returns breathlessly, eyes fluttering closed. “If this is what you had in mind, you could have just told me.”

He had intended for this to be an innocuous lunch when he texted her that morning. He had even gone as far as preparing and packing a meal they could both share.

But above all, Ethan wanted to finally have the talk he had promised her when he had kissed her.

All thoughts of civility abandoned him, however, as soon as her eyes met his during their meeting with June and Baz moments ago. She had given him one of those inviting smiles of hers, eyes alight with promise, and all he wanted to do was push her against a wall and kiss her, a wish he made a reality mere seconds after June and Baz were out the door.

Ethan presses one last kiss to the crest of her collarbone and forces himself to face her. “I did want to talk, actually.”

Lilac says nothing, her eyes studying his face, expression guarded.

He holds her in his arms, hands at her waist, his pulse racing. The words are at his throat but he hesitates. What if saying them is not enough to fix months of pining and torture? He wouldn't blame her in the least.

Sensing his hesitation, her expression softens, one of her hands moving to caress his cheek. Ethan closes his eyes briefly, chest hurting, the realization that he doesn’t deserve her vividly present in his mind.

When he opens his eyes, she is smiling encouragingly at him. “I want to be with you, Lilac,” he tells her at last, his voice even despite the turmoil taking place in him. “If you’ll still have me, I want to do this properly this time.”

A heavy silence follows the declaration. Though he expected as much, he feels a wave of panic in the pit of his stomach.

To his surprise, she laughs softly, shaking her head. “If I’ll still have you?” she repeats with disbelief. “For someone so intelligent, you can be so clueless sometimes.”

Ethan blinks, unsure of what to say. Her smile broadens, so winsome it takes his breath away.

Lilac leans forward to press a tender kiss on his cheek, sending his heart into a fluttering mess. “I want to do this properly, too,” she informs him quietly, eyes bright. “I want a real chance at a relationship with you. It's all I really wanted, Ethan.”

He is unable to help the grin that breaks across his face, broad and incredulous. His chest feeling weightless, Ethan kisses her. She returns the enthusiasm and he can feel her smile against his lips.

When they break apart, her smile dwindles a little as she asks, “How will this work, though?”

Ethan presses his forehead against hers. “We can figure it out together,” he promises. “Whatever you want, Lilac, it’s yours. If you want me to announce to everyone in the atrium right now, I will. Anything you want.”

Her laughter echoes around the office, the sound lovely and musical. “As much as I’d love to see that,” she says, “We can just keep this between us for the time being.”

Her hands move along the lines of his jaw, sending a shiver through him. “It'll help us give this relationship a fighting chance.”

His chest feels as though it could burst with rampant elation. Unable to find words appropriate enough, he simply nods.

Lilac kisses his cheek again with so much reverence that he wonders how he got so lucky.

Completely unaware of the three words plaguing his mind, almost at the tip of his tongue, she smirks at him. “Then, in a few weeks, I’ll post cryptic pictures of our joined hands on my social media with annoying hashtags that will keep people wondering.”

“Many of your followers will be disappointed.”

“Someone has to break it to them that I have a boyfriend,” she says matter-of-factly.

The word sends a powerful thrill through him.

Unable to resist the invisible pull that tethers him to her, he leans down to kiss her again.

This time, their mouths meet with urgency, lips crashing against one another. Lilac moans softly, her mouth opening for him with a willingness that sets his body aflame.

Dizzy and thoroughly entranced, Ethan guides her body to the nearest surface. Her legs obediently wrap around his waist, her arms clutching his body closer. Her teeth graze and tug at his bottom lip, eliciting a guttural groan from him.

“I love that sound,” she confesses in a sultry little whisper.

The words are enough to make his hips buck against hers. Lilac lets out a sound that he very much enjoys. He is unable to tease her about it, however, because a loud crash startles them both.

“Oh, shit,” she yelps when she realizes they had sent his coffee machine tumbling to the floor. “I’m so sorry, Ethan.”

Lilac moves to pick it up but Ethan holds her in place, her body pressed pleasantly against his.

“We might have broken it,” she says with a laugh.

“I don't care,” he whispers darkly against her lips.

“You're that serious about me that you don't care about your beloved coffee maker?”

Ethan joins her in laughter. “Glad I finally made that clear.”

They kiss until they're both breathless. At last, when their kiss is reduced to small, delicate pecks, Ethan sighs and steps back with much effort.

“I should heat up our lunch now if we want to have enough time to eat.”

She raises her eyebrows, intrigued. “What did you make me?”

“That honey pepper mac and cheese you sent me,” he says, picking up the pieces of his coffee maker. It was probably beyond repair but he didn't care.

“Really?”

Ethan chuckles at her excitement. “I figured you were serious about it when you texted me the recipe at two in the morning.”

Lilac kisses him one last time before hopping off the small desk. “Five minutes in and you're already proving to be a fantastic boyfriend.”

That word again.

Ethan grins, inwardly sighing at how juvenile it makes him feel. He pushes the feeling away at once, letting himself be unconditionally happy for the first time in a long time.

________

Author’s Note: RIP to the real hero here, that coffee maker.

Yeah, I don’t know what that was. I had a stroke of inspiration and I just started typing. Thank you so much for reading.

_______

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #My writing #playchoices #ethan ramsey fanfiction #Ethan ramsey x mc #dr. ethan ramsey #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction

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caitybug · 4 years ago

Text

It may be February but... why not haha.

Below the cut, organized in chronological order, are the fics I wrote in 2020! All put into one place :D. Thank you to everyone who read, kudos’d, commented, beta’d, and supported my writing. It was my first ever year writing fanfiction, and I am so thankful for all the friends I’ve made because of it.

<3 <3

If Not For You

Word count: 92,461 Chapters: 36 Rating: M

Summary:

Simon was born and raised in the midwest, and he thinks he has his life figured out. He has a girlfriend that he feels happy with, is excited to drive for his junior year, and can't wait to get away from his father when he goes away for school.

However, this all changes when his mom dies and he is carted to the east coast to start at a boarding school. Simon then has to deal with having a roommate (who hates him), living with his mother's death, and wanting to be anywhere but where he is.

To add to it all, one day he gets a strange phone call, and he wonders if his mother's death was really an accident at all.

author’s note:

This was my first like actual fic. And my first try at writing something. This fic will always have a special place in my heart because it helped lead me to all the amazing people I now call friends <3

Not only that but it was a bit of therapy for me. (Self insert? In MY fanfiction? More likely than you’d think!)

Anyway, whenever someone comments, leaves kudos, or otherwise acknowledge that the fic exists I get emotional haha. I also have like three playlists for it too haha.

The Heist

Word Count:7456 Rating:T

Summary:

It's the fourth year of the Halloween heist, and Baz is determined to win. He thinks he has it all planned, that he knows Simon Snow through and through.

Despite this, somehow Simon still manages to surprise him.

author’s note:

b99 AU bahaha. Need I say more??

Pay Your Fines, Snow

Word Count: 1524 Rating: T

Summary:

Baz Pitch works at the local library every summer. He's annoyed at kids who run around, people who don't follow directions, and Simon Snow- who can't pay a fine on time.

author’s note

This fic was the first of the fics that sparked all my crazy prompts haha. It was so much fun to do!

There is a wonderful podfic of this made by the amazing and beautiful @xivz, and it also has art now by @peachpit-gabe!! Go check it out here.

A Rebirth

Word Count: 3374 Rating: T

Summary:

Simon and Baz need to finish their presentation for their Art History class. However, Baz also got pulled into watching his younger siblings for the weekend.

Frozen 2, chicken nuggets, sword fights, and themes of Renaissance.

author’s note

I wrote this for the amazing @krisrix as a prompt! It was so much fun to do and I legit wrote the whole thing in like one afternoon and had it looked over and posted it haha. I still feel bad because Kris legit asked for babies and I kicked the babies out at the beginning of the fic LOL.

Coming Together in Three Parts

Word Count: 4639 Rating: M Chapters: 3

Summary:

Three snippets of their lives after Wayward Son.

author’s note:

The summary definitely leaves a lot to be imagined haha. But I decided to pull a @ninemagicks and give a metaphor of threes and I love yous. So it’s three lovely stages after Wayward Son. There’s the I Love You, the moving in, and then a marriage proposal. I was fairly proud of this! And I did this as an exchange fic as well.

The Three Acts of a Wizard

Word Count: 6439 Rating: T

Summary:

Today, Baz is giving Simon a reprieve (or, that's what he is telling Simon.)

Cue a removal of cursed body parts, a grumpy fireplace who *knows* what is happening, and a shrill frizzy-haired friend threatening to poison some scones.

(this is a remix fic for @ninemagicks HMC AU YWSAFS

author’s note:

I wrote this for Nena’s birthday in the summer! Their friendship has meant the world to me, and this story is what I think gave me the gall courage to message them and harass them with 2k word comments/metas haha. If you’ve not read their fic, make sure to do so!

Heaven is a Place on Earth

Word Count: 12,711 Rating: M Chapters: 5 Summary:

Five hours each week. That's all Simon and Baz get.

But we know that's all they need to fall in love...

A San Junipero AU

author’s note:

This fic idea came to me randomly and I literally wrote it in a week. I love it so much, and despite being MCD I think it’s still generally happy (I mean.. they do end up together??) Idk, it has a special place in my heart. And I made @krisrix read Baz with an american accent so... win win haha.

(Un)Sexy Saturday

Word Count: 6157 Rating: M/E Chapters: 9 (they’re different stories each chapter.)

Summary:

Summaries vary by chapter. Overall it’s just a collection of silly stories where sex gets interrupted.

author’s note:

Honestly this series was so fun to do. I need to continue it sometime! From beauty blender butt plugs, to swingers, to garlic allergies... it just makes me laugh haha.

5 Times Simon Wanted a Fistbump, and the 1 Time He Finally Got It

Word Count: 5489 Rating: T Chapters: 6

Summary:

Simon Snow hasn't had a lot of friends in his life. He has Penny, who is great, of course. He has Baz (but does he count as a friend?)

So now, seeing Shepard, he's got a chance at a friend. A bro of sorts.

Simon sees the final hurdle in their friendship to be a fist bump. A simple signal of their friendship.

But how long is it going to take to get it??

5 + 1 Yearning for a Fist Bump.

author’s note:

Simpard. Friendship. And art by @nick-eyre?? Perfection.

A Goblin’s Skull, Maccies, and a Door Handle

Word Count: 2017 Rating: T

Summary:

Simon Snow wakes up in a building he doesn't know, tied up and blindfolded.

Luckily his best bro Shepard is there too.

author’s note:

Wrote this as a little bday treat for @nick-eyre :D. Decided to give Simon a friend who would also lust after goblins with him haha.

One Word, Four Letters, A Lifetime's Worth of Pain: IKEA

Word Count: 2428 Rating: T

Summary:

Baz comes home and notices the house is suspiciously quiet.

When he finds Simon, surrounded by unfinished pieces of furniture, he can't help but ask... why?

Author’s note:

This was written as a birthday gift for @foolofabookwyrm! She is an absolute gem and has never been to IKEA, but now I hope she understands the struggle of building IKEA furniture haha.

The Beat of My Heart

Word Count: 2230 Rating: T

Summary:

Simon is kneeling on the ground, waiting for Baz to come home.

He has a question. One he's wanted to ask for a while.

author’s note:

This was written as a birthday gift for @krisrix! A little proposal fic for the rat king <3 <3

Out of My Mind

Word Count: 10876 Rating: M Chapters: 3

Summary:

Baz and Simon are living their lives, domestic and content. They have a nine-year-old daughter, a Sunday morning routine, and plans to be alone for the first time for a while.

But when a girl who is growing into her powers reads something she shouldn't, they get into a predicament they don't expect.

author’s note:

This was a COE gift for @krisrix! Body Swap! Parents! Married! I tried to do it all for him haha. 2020 was really the year where I was like yeah, let’s write Kris a million fics. And honestly—wouldn’t have it any other way.

Imposter vs Crewmates

Word Count: 754 Rating: T

Summary:

Everyone has their quarantine coping strategies.

Simon tried to bake bread.

Baz watched Twilight.

But Penelope...

She introduced the gang to Among Us.

author’s note:

Look. I’ve no excuses for this lolol. Just thought it’d be silly :D.

The Ethics of Wanting You

Word Count: 1417 Rating: T

Summary:

Simon Snow realized recently that he has a crush on Baz.

Penny suggested he find reasons to spend more time with him, so he suggests a study session for their ethics exam the following day.

(It doesn't go as planned, but the result is very much worth it.)

author’s note:

Birthday gift for @peachpit-gabe <3 <3. Just a cute one shot with snowbaz.

Pumpkin, Let’s Make a Patch

Word Count: 2516 Rating: T

Summary:

Simon Snow is trying to create a neighborhood pumpkin patch.

Baz, unknowingly, rips the pumpkins out of his front lawn.

(How will he make it up to him?)

author’s note:

This was done for the COC. I based it off this cute tiktok series with this kid who rode around on his skateboard and plants pumpkins around his neighborhood.

Weathering the Storm

Word Count: 2248 Rating: T

Summary:

Shepard was nine when he first met a boy he'd learn was Simon Snow.

He was in a ditch crying, and Shepard wasn't sure what to make of him.

This boy lived in his mind until he saw him again years later.

And today, when there's a storm unlike any other in London, he knows who must be at the center of it.

author’s note:

Honestly. This is probably one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. IDK. It’s so short but... I love it. And if you like to listen to fics— @bloodiedpixie did a phenomenal podfic of it! And @nick-eyre did AMAZING art for it too <3.

New Beginnings

Word Count: 2090 Rating: T

Summary:

It's the first New Years Eve after the Christmas that changed everything.

After Simon Snow and Baz kissed.

After they defeated the humdrum.

After the Mage's death.

But, as many of us do, it's time to take the New Year as an opportunity to begin anew.

author’s note:

Part of a server exchange I did for @knitbelove :D.

And, all of the prompts I’ve yet to put on ao3... lolol

#2020 masterpost #Caity did fanfiction #Caity does fanfiction #still #but wow I really DID that y'all #i wrote over 250k last year #YIKES #damn #anyway #this has been great #love you all

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coffeexetine · 4 years ago

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carry on x harry potter crossover? drarry and snowbaz? i am very obssessed with that idea right now and i cannot Stop Thinking about it.

(i'm gonna drop all my headcanons and scenarios i could think of here. it's very messy and i'm not a writer but i'd love to share anyway.)

Harry and Simon meeting at the train and immediately hitting it off because "hey, we're both orphans" and nothing's a better first meeting than knowing you share the same trauma of being parentless, right?

Penny and Hermione becoming friends. they both love books and knowledge and learning. Penny would defend Hermione from their classmates who says she's a 'know-it-all'

"it's not her fault you have thestral shit for brains!"

one time they joked how Simon was a long-lost Weasley. with his freckles, blue eyes, and light brown hair with a tinge of orange, he could pass off as Ron's cousin. and Draco seem to have caught on with this joke ("how the fuck?") and teased Simon relentlessly. Penny and Ron, of course, sprang into action, wands pointed to the blond, to which he smirked at. "Ravenclaw, Bunce? Pity, you could've been useful to us in Slytherin."

as expected, the Potter and Malfoy rivalry kept boiling. at the same time, Simon and Baz started a feud of their own.

speaking of Baz, you would've expected him to be buddy-buddy with Draco—they both came from Pureblood families, the Pitches and the Malfoys, who have business connections with each other—but he isn't. (i wonder why?)

months passed, years passed, they've gone through basilisks, dementors, dragons, vampires (so professor Quirrell wasn't lying), and Voldemort at the back of Quirrell's head (don't you think Simon and Harry had had already enough childhood trauma?). Because get this, they have not one, not three, but two Chosen One's! Or is it Chosen Two?

i think we should go with a lighter plot

the rivalries develop. Golden Boys vs. Slytherin's Princes. how epic is that?

except it's not. it's just four teenagers with daddy issues who found sanity in bullying each other (it's the trauma). the most trivial of things usually ignite their fights. pet names insults are thrown, someone would snarl, maybe the other smirks, someone would cross a line—("if you hate him so much, why don't you ignore him? you always rile each other up i'm starting to think you like it. is this some type of kink?." "PENNY.")

that time Draco caught Baz staring (glaring?) at the new Golden Couple, his face flashing different emotions—jealousy? sadness? Merlin, is that yearning?—and he was about to tease him when he notices he's looking at Salisbury.

"Pitch." Baz startles. "What is it, Malfoy?" "Nevermind. Not here."

On the other side of the hall: "I swear, Hermione, they're plotting again." "It's all in your head, Harry." "Hey, maybe we could use your map again later." "Yeah—" "NO."

Ten minutes later, Slytherin dorm room

"Seriously, Pitch, a Gryffindor?" "I can't read minds, Malfoy. Whatever do you mean?" "You are in love. With Salisbury. Am I correct?" "Of course, and you're in love with his equally idiotic best friend." "And what if I am?" Silence.

Neither of their fathers will hear about this.

#harry potter #draco malfoy #simon snow #baz pitch #drarry #snowbaz #carry on #basilton pitch #drarry au #snowbaz au #hogwarts #please share some of your thoughts #or recommend fics like this #or someone plz just make this a fic :(

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fell-in-love-didnt-you · 5 years ago

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Carry Me Away With You: SnowBaz Fanfic

Simon Snow doesn't expect much from life. His father has drilled into him from the beginning two things: work alone and never trust vampires. Simon breaks both rules in a matter of days. After he collapses at the doorstop of an unknown house, he's pulled into a world he has no idea how to escape from. The question is: does he want to?

...

AH! This is my Carry On Big Bang 2020 fic. I'm so excited to have finally posted it. It also comes with AMAZING artwork by the extremely talented @thehoneyedhufflepuff on tumblr (who's also a fantastic writer on Ao3 with the @ The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff - I'd definitely recommend the Fire-verse fics). Please, please, PLEASE show them some love both on here and tumblr. The artwork is magnificent and exactly as I envisioned Simon and Baz in this time period. (scene from fic) (title scene-isn't is beautiful?!)

Here’s the link to the tumblr post!

Thank you @carry-on-big-bang for giving me the opportunity to work with such an amazing artist and fellow fic writer and for putting on such a wonderful collaboration project. I have truly enjoyed every interaction I had with @thehoneyedhufflepuff and encourage everyone reading this to go give them a follow and read their amazing work on Ao3.

As always, here’s the link to the Ao3 version in case you prefer to read that way: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150491/chapters/63625177

On to the fic!

Lover.

The word felt foreign on Simon’s tongue, like a heavy alcohol or a long-rusted coin that played on the tip of the tongue. There was nothing else, though. ‘Fling’ felt like a small blanket: it covered the important parts (the lovemaking, the flirtatious smiles, the sharing of a bed), but it also left out the parts that made Simon’s legs turn to jelly (the deep conversations, the sweet cheek kisses, the touches that lingered for hours afterwards).

Partner, however, did not fit either. Partner implied official courting, and this…was not that. Official courting entailed walks in the park with a supervisor, love letters sent in perfumed envelopes, and an eventual proposal of marriage.

It did not entail laying bed together with only centimeters of space between, breaths mingled in the shared space. It certainly did not entail what had occurred a mere half-hour before now. ‘Partners’ did not entail premarital relations, and those relations certainly did not occur between a supernatural creature of nightmares and a boy raised to kill such creatures.

Simon placed his hand tentatively on the side of Baz’s face. His eyes were closed, but Simon knew better; sharing a bed for the past month had taught him when Baz was truly gone to the world. The pounding pulse point and flickering of eyes gave the vampire away. He was resting, but not out.

“Darling,” Baz drawled, and it made Simon flush (not that he wasn’t already red from head-to-toe; Baz had that effect on him). Baz’s eyes cracked open, and he flashed a smile that forced Simon to see what made vampires so alluring to the regular eye. “Darling, do you have any idea what time it is?”

A laugh bubbled out of Simon’s chest, and he looked past Baz’s head to stare at the grandfather clock that stood ominously in the corner of the room. It was one of Simon’s favorite objects: dark blue, a sun and moon facing opposite each other, stars sliding past as did the hours of the day. Baz had bought it for him a mere three months ago, placing it in their shared chambers so Simon knew the time.

Baz was weird like in the sense that there were no clocks beside this in the manor. Time is cyclical, he had explained to Simon once. He hated it because it reminded him that of what he was: stuck moving forward in his mind while his body remained in the past. Simon progressed forward, though, and he had been adamant about having at least one way of telling time. He’d even withheld himself from Baz until the vampire had conceded, a glare on his face the entire time.

Simon often stared at that clock as they made love.

The clock read slightly past two in the morning, and Simon told Baz as such. Baz hummed in response and placed his hand on Simon’s neck, thumbing a mole that rested above his pulse point. Often, that mole would have a ring of purpled bruises around it after nights like this, and the very thought had Simon suppressing a smile. Baz, however, did not conceal his affection, and he placed a long, slow kiss to Simon’s lips.

Simon had long ago (give or take three months) begun to categorize the kisses they shared. The most common were the ones shared in private that would have the public outraged: brushes of lips against cheeks and foreheads even though they were not married. What a scandal, Simon thought distantly. Those kisses occurred in passing when one of them would be running to the study or just about to leave the house for some reason or another. Simon adored these brushes of affection that had no real bite; it meant whatever this thing that was happening was more than sex.

Simon ached for the bruising crush of lips that occurred when they fell into bed. He yearned for the swelling of lips and clashing of teeth and maybe the accidental cut of a fang-on-lip. Even the tiniest bit of venom would set his body aflame, and Simon likened it to the fever, only where Death had touched him before, Baz now did.

The ones Simon treasured above all others were these kisses: no heat, no bite, but also not something entirely platonic. A feather-light kiss on the cheek could be taken romantically if it were between a man and a woman, but Simon knew that, if ever caught, Baz would claim brotherly affection for Simon, explain that that’s how his Parisian family acted, that physical affection was common between two friends. These kisses, on the other hand, would have them thrown in jail. Simon would be forced to flee over the crime of homosexuality, and Baz would pay his way out of a scandal.

There was no denying that these kisses that occurred in this bed were of the utmost romantic quality and kind and would put many husbands and wives to shame.

Baz drew back and smiled, his eyes still pleasantly closed. He sighed through his nose, and Simon allowed himself to steal a glance. This was so new, and he was afraid that one wrong look would shatter the beautiful bubble he’d surrounded himself in. Baz had probably done this with many people before. He was…older. That’s all Simon knew. There was no discernable year or century to pin him down in, but Simon realized months ago that Baz had seen the sun rise on this Earth possibly over one-hundred-thousand times.

Baz had probably been in love before. The thought made Simon blue. Baz was his first everything; Simon was Baz’s first nothing.

It is probably love, Simon thought as Baz slowly peeled his eyes opened. There was no explanation other than a spell of sorts (not like a witch’s spell, but like a spell of sickness) that Baz’s vampiric charm had placed Simon under. His father used to warn him that vampires were excellent charmers and that the only way to save oneself from their grasp was to remain alert at all times.

Simon’s father would be rolling in his premature grave right about now.

The sheets shifted between Simon’s legs as he pressed closer to the lukewarm body across from him. Baz never ran hot; his skin was usually cold to the touch. Nights like these, however, coerced the little blood in Baz’s body to rise to the surface, turn him a color like the living, and make him vampirically burn up (though vampirically burning up meant room temperature for humans).

Baz pressed his lips into the mop of curls atop Simon’s head and breathed in deeply. His arms came to wrap around Simon’s back, and his hands splayed across Simon’s shoulder blades. He said something, though it was muffled by Simon’s hair.

“Hm?” Simon asked, turning his face upward to look directly at Baz. He pushed the raven hair out of Baz’s eyes. “What did you say?”

Baz subconsciously turned his cheek into Simon’s touch, and Simon bit at his lip to keep in a smile. “I said,” Baz murmured, turning back to Simon, “that we are spending Christmas in the Surrey House this year. I forgot to tell you this morning.”

Simon giggled at that, and Baz lightly slapped his side. Of course Baz had forgotten to say that this morning; other…happenings had occurred. Simon had also giggled because calling it the Surrey House put the building to shame. In Dorking, the manor (as it should be called) sat on acres of sprawling land that included part of a natural river, a small section of local woods, and a large field. Baz’s family’s business was still a mystery to Simon, but he at least knew how Baz made his money. Wine was apparently very expensive in large quantities, and the cellar of the manor could hold the worth of an entire village.

The manor itself was no laughing matter. Crafted with the finest cobblestone, it had stayed in Baz’s family for centuries, and even with what little Simon actually knew of Baz’s family, the amount of rooms in all the property Baz inherited gave away enough to know that many children had been born. Because Baz was the eldest (cue laughter) and had lived the longest (cue even more laughter), all the property had been passed to him.

And now Simon reveled in it. The large London townhouse they occupied for the majority of the year was Simon’s favorite. The memories here were richer than any fine chocolate or wine that Baz could procure.

“Why can’t we spend Christmas here?” Simon asked quietly, his fingers idly playing with the long strands of Baz’s hair. “We’ve never just stayed-“ Simon stopped himself prematurely. He wanted to say ‘home’ but couldn’t let that word slip from his mouth. He’d stayed with Baz in this house for almost three years, and he’d never left to live elsewhere, but the word ‘home’ insinuated something Simon would not admit to himself. He started again: “We’ve never had Christmas here.”

Goosepimples raised on his arms as Baz’s hands drew nonsensical lines across his back. Baz lowered his head down, and his lips were pressed against Simon’s forehead as he explained, “We’ve never done a lot of things, darling.” The pet name caused Simon to blush and stutter, and he could feel Baz’s smile against forehead. “We always spent Christmases in our other properties when I was little.”

Simon thought about that for a moment. He did not have very memorable Christmases growing up. His greatest gift as a child had been a stocking with three ripe oranges in it. Simon had known the money his father had sacrificed to buy such fruit. With Baz, however…he’d never had such wonderful gifts in his entire life, and they hadn’t even been given to him for celebrations.

Simon recalled one morning where he’d complained of his weathering shoes, and not even four hours later, Baz had presented him with the nicest pair of leather boots he’d ever seen. Sure, they were not to be worn in public (Simon had received an entire outfit from Baz’s…sister? ...for going out in), but they were gorgeous and, no doubt, expensive.

Then there was the jewelry - the gorgeous amethyst ring that sat on the bedside table had been a birthday present last year. In truth, Simon had not expected anything from Baz in any capacity when they’d decided he could stay in the house for an indefinite amount of time. He’d not expected that, in the middle of the hottest summer in a long time, Baz would nonchalantly pass him the most expensive thing Simon had ever set eyes on and insist he keep it. He’d not expected Baz to tell him it was an heirloom dating back at least one-hundred years, and he’d not expected to later cradle it to his chest and cry.

As if to add to their conversation about Christmas, Simon looked over towards the window and saw snow falling outside. The snow had been coming down steadily over the last few months, but it had only begun to stick recently. He smiled to himself as he watched the windowsill become more and more covered. Snow had brought him here in the first place; it was only natural he be thankful for it now.

…

He was almost dead; that Simon Snow was sure of.

He could not feel his toes, and the crystalline breath puffing out from his mouth was becoming smaller by the minute. He was dizzy, hungry, and more tired than he’d even been in his short life. A cut on his forehead trickled blood into the snow beneath his feet, and he barely had time to register why or where he was bleeding before he fell onto the pavement beneath him.

Thank Christ he was in an alleyway. Had he been in the street, feet would have stepped over and onto him, and he might crack a rib. Although, Simon thought to himself, this was a fate worse than death. Perhaps he should let the Lord have Their way with him. If this was to be his death, then why not welcome it?

Simon could not go home. His father would never accept a defeat like this. Simon could practically hear the frustration that would be present if he tried to make his way back to their little house on the outskirts of town. How was it that Simon had been out hunting vampires for three months and not caught a single one? How was it that Simon had left a strong, capable, young man with fervor in his eyes and returned a skeleton of his former self?

The truth was simple: Simon was very nearly dead. He knew he’d caught the scarlet fever, and Simon also knew it would kill him like it had killed thousands of other.

Simon dragged himself to his feet and rounded out of the alleyway, turning onto a dimly lit street lined with houses. This is not such a bad place to die, he thought to himself. Maybe no one would pilfer his body for the money that did not exist or the jewelry that was absent. Perhaps he’d retain some dignity in his death.

Simon stumbled barely two meters in front of himself before he fell down against the door of a nice house. He could feel the warmth through the door. It was almost sad to die on such a lovely doorstep. Telling by the clickity-clack of footsteps from behind the door, he’d probably disturbed the lady of the house. Somehow, Simon could not find it in himself to care as he slid into what must be death.

But it was not death. Indeed, Simon had lapsed into a comatose state, but he awoke to the sounds of a plate clattering onto a table. The room was warm, and when Simon tried to move his hands, he found himself between a lovely down comforter and an even lovelier mattress. A fire burned brightly in the corner of the room, and he watched as a silhouette of a man moved in front of the flame.

“Am I dead?” Simon asked, his voice hardly above a whisper.

The man laughed, and he sat down beside the bed. His face came into view, and Simon saw the most beautiful person God had ever created. Then the beautiful man brought a cool washcloth down on Simon’s forehead, and Simon then realized how much he was burning up.

“Lord above, no,” the man answered. His touch was gentle across Simon’s aching head, and he placed the towel down a moment later to instead bring a glass of water to Simon’s lips. Simon arched into it, and a pained noise escaped his lips as the water slid down his throat. When was the last time he’d had water? Did brown snow count?

After the glass was drained, Simon began to take in his surroundings. The room looked to be one of a rich man: the walls were lined in beautiful wallpaper, plush rugs were laid down across the wood floor, and the size of the room was larger than the house Simon had grown up in. The man wore a waistcoat with a gold pocket watch, and his hair was swept back neatly from his face, though a piece was falling into his eyes. Could Simon even call him a man? Upon further inspection, he could not be older than his mid-twenties, and even that was a stretch. There were no wrinkles or stress lines, and his eyes held a kind light.

“Are we,” Simon started, his voice cracking on the second word. A second glass of cold water was placed to his lips, and Simon began again. “Are we sure I am not dead?”

The man smiled. “Who are you?” he asked, brushing back matted curls from Simon’s head. Simon internally hoped he did not look too worse for wear. “How did you come to be on the streets?” the man continued.

Simon did not know how to answer that. His name would be a good place to start, though he wouldn’t give his full name. “I am Simon.”

…

The packing for the Surrey manor proved to be more difficult for Simon than he’d originally anticipated. They’d be gone for the second half of December and a little into January, and the capacity of Simon’s suitcase was being tested to the highest degree because of his coats (courtesy of Baz’s…sister?). Baz had not said to pack lightly, but Simon didn’t like the idea of bogging down the carriage with an extra suitcase. Plus, Baz had already sent ahead a few trunks of clothes and other things to the manor earlier in the week.

Speaking of the devil, Simon nearly leapt out of his skin as cool arms surrounded his middle. Of course, there was no need to be frightened. Simon had long since been used to both the temperature of Baz’s skin and Baz’s ability to be deathly silent.

Baz’s chapped lips brushed against the nape of Simon’s neck, and he pressed a chaste kiss there. “Packing?” he asked, as though he did not see the myriad of clothing strewn about the room. The wardrobe was open haphazardly, revealing Simon’s messy side. He never put away his clothes with care like Baz did. They were clothes. Why did they deserve such high care?

Simon placed his arms over Baz’s and leaned into the embrace, closing his eyes and resting his head atop Baz’s shoulder. The fact that Baz was a behemoth had once bothered Simon, but now it made lounging together easier. Simon could always fit his head neatly onto Baz’s shoulder, and Baz’s hands fit perfectly in the dip of Simon’s lower back.

“Unsuccessfully,” Simon replied, sighing through his nose. “If we were not going for so long, I would not require so much clothing.” Baz chuckled behind him, and Simon smiled to the ceiling. He ran his hands idly over Baz’s exposed forearms. Today, Baz had stayed inside the house and, therefore, had not changed into any outerwear or even bothered to keep his long sleeves down to his wrists. Truly, it was a state of undress Simon had never expected of the wine merchant to be capable of. Simon had expected the ‘young’ business tycoon to always be dressed in a matching frock and waistcoat and buttoned up to the nines, but formalities had long since disappeared between them.

“Is there also business to attend to in Surrey?” Simon wondered aloud, pulling himself away from Baz and turning in his embrace. When they were this close, Simon had to tip his head up to look Baz in the eye. Baz nodded, and Simon sighed. Work plagued the both of them.

“Not on Christmas,” Baz reassured, bringing up a hand to tip Simon’s chin up. “Not in the whole week before or after Christmas. I cleared all of it for us.”

Us. The word made Simon swallow thickly. He nodded, walking away from the warmth of Baz’s hold (that he got from Simon’s body heat) and rummaging through the wardrobe. Simon heard Baz sigh, and after a few moments of silence, he assumed Baz had left. However, a whisper only a hair’s width away surprised him.

“Pack what I brought you from France,” Baz whispered, pressing another chaste kiss to that mole on Simon’s neck. Then he was gone.

A furious blush ravaged Simon’s cheeks, and he needed a few moments to steady himself. France. Baz’s purchase in France. That trip alone turned Simon’s internal temperature up a few notches. It seemed like ages ago, but it had really only been two months since France. The French had strange ideas of erotica, and Baz had seemed to be in line with all of them. Pack what I bought you from France. Christ, Simon hadn’t looked at it since France for a reason. It embarrassed him, and the fact that he liked that embarrassment made him even redder.

Simon opened a small (locked) drawer on his side of the wardrobe meant for expensive jewelry and priceless cufflinks and pins, and he pulled out what Baz had bought him in France.

…

The paperwork piled nearly a meter high from the floor. Baz entrusted the various receipts, warehouse reports, and paperwork tracking of the wine to Simon. Officially, Simon was brought into Baz’s household to deal with the paperwork that accumulated at the end of each month. Unofficially, Simon had been brought into the house to die.

Simon admitted to himself that this was a much better outcome. When he’d fallen against the door five months ago, who could have known he’d end up with a well-paying job? So well-paying, in fact, that Simon was able to send lumpsums of money back to his father under the pretense that it was payment for hired slayings. His father was none the wiser as to the actual situation of Simon’s employment.

As Simon crossed some ‘t’s and dotted some ‘i’s, his thoughts ran to Baz. They had been doing that more often as of late, and while Simon had once been able to pin it down on acquainting himself with his employer (friend), he could no longer fall under that umbrella. The thoughts (once just about the upkeep of Baz’s hair and the price of his clothing) now turned to running his hands through that hair and peeling away that expensive clothing until it lay on the floor beneath them.

Simon cleared his throat and refocused on the task ahead. He’d lost track of a sentence concerning a shipment of sherry to a port in Boston. As Simon read about a spilled barrel, a hand on his shoulder jolted him from his thoughts.

Baz’s chuckle reassured Simon, and he looked up from the candlelit paperwork ahead of him. The stack on the floor had to be completed and filed within the week. An entire day of Simon sitting at the desk had already elapsed, and he could guess why Baz had entered this small study that had been given to him.

“Have I missed supper?” Simon asked, looking back at the death certificate of the sherry. Baz’s hand lingered a moment longer before falling away, and Simon missed the cool touch through his thin shirt.

Baz came to lean over him and stare at the document in front of Simon. “No,” he replied, his breath ghosting over the shell of Simon’s ear. Simon’s eyes flicked to the side, and he was met with a Baz deep in thought. “I’ll have to speak to my Boston warehouse manager. Sherry is too expensive to be wasted.” Baz turned to look at Simon, and the close proximity of their lips had Simon’s face heating up. Hopefully the candlelight covered the flush of Simon’s neck and face.

Simon turned away and pulled a separate document out, and responded, “You were compensated with the price of a barrel and a half for the ruined barrel.” He pointed to the line in question where the price was brought up, and Baz hummed noncommittedly in his ear.

Very suddenly Baz was standing behind Simon, and Simon floundered to turn in his chair and face him. Baz was still deep in thought, though Simon couldn’t imagine why. Sherry was not Baz’s largest exports if the receipts were to be believed, and even if it was, why would it give him such a headache? A single barrel in six months was nothing compared to what some other merchants lost in a single day.

“Something on your mind?” Simon asked. Baz’s eyes slowly ghosted over to Simon, and Simon had the distinct feeling of being seen but in a distant sort. Like Baz had recognized a version of Simon that existed before and was instead remembering that Simon.

After a moment of silence, Baz regained composure and smiled. His canines flickered in the light, and Simon fought the urge to cover his neck. Of course, there was no reason for alarm. Growing up with his father, however, left some stones Simon was willing to leave unturned, at least where it concerned Baz.

Who was not a creature of evil.

“We should eat,” Baz suggested, looking towards the door of the study. “It should be about time.” As if on cue, the bell signaling supper rang, and Baz smiled again. “Join me?” he asked, as though Simon could deny.

Simon had picked up on the habits of his employer (friend) in the first few weeks of living together, but they seemed to become stranger as time went on. Baz hardly ate, and when he did, it was only a few bites. Most of his diet (in front of Simon, at least) consisted of wines and cheeses. No substantial food ever made its way into Baz in front of Simon. That was not to say that Baz could not eat sometimes later when Simon was not around, but it made no sense to Simon that Baz would invite him to eat in the dining room only to actually eat later.

Unless…

Simon shook the thought from his head, and it was soon replaced with images of a rather biblical sense.

…

The Surrey manor was alive and bustling when they arrived. The snow had nearly postponed the trip, but it had let up in time for the carriage to safely carry Baz and Simon to the manor. The Surrey manor had more servants than their normal lodgings did, and when Simon had first asked why years ago, Baz had not answered.

Simon partially knew why now. The part he knew was that Baz kept his more expensive wines in the cellars beneath the manor. That answer used to satisfy Simon, but now it caused him to wonder more and more. They had promised honesty once after Baz’s nature had been revealed. The promise had been broken only once, and it had been by Simon, so he didn’t have a right to question Baz’s extra patrolling of this particular property.

The trunks were carried to the room by two men Simon had met briefly last year at the manor, and then Baz was swept away into work. Tonight, a key investor was scheduled to dine with Baz, and while Baz hadn’t directly said it, Simon was to remain scarce throughout the night. At least he’d brought a few packets of paperwork that needed doing.

The room he’d previously occupied here was locked, and a servant instead directed Simon to a room he knew Baz had occupied the last time they were here. The bed, while not as comfortable as the one back in London, welcomed Simon comfortably, and he laid down to rest for a few moments. As it often happened when Simon was left alone with his thoughts, they turned to Baz. The investor coming over tonight both invested in and bought the most wine from Baz. That was the only reason Simon had to be scarce tonight. Usually, Baz showboated him until Simon’s feet grew tired, but with the higherups, a previous street boy who did the paperwork usually set them on edge. How could they trust their money with a boy of no more than twenty-one who only knew basic economics and had not studied traditionally a day in his life?

A soft knock at the door had Simon sitting up, and a servant walked in carrying a tray of supper. Simon then noticed the lighting had changed significantly and realized he had fallen asleep while thinking about wine investors. He thanked the servant and ate in silence, staring around the room. An ornate, golden clock stood in the corner, and Simon laughed quietly. A floor length mirror occupied another corner, and a dark wood wardrobe already filled with their clothing sat against the wall. Overall, it was a plain room in comparison to their normal lodgings, but Simon felt the hints of Baz in the room. The comforter was a deep, wine red, and the bedframe was made of cherry wood. Ornate carvings decorated the tops of the posters of the bed.

The Surrey manor deserved to be a real home, Simon thought. He and Baz used it for maybe a month out of an entire year, and it sat empty for the rest of the time. About every two weeks, Baz would send a few servants to tidy the place, but other than that, these two weeks were the longest anyone lived here. Simon had to wonder if this had once been Baz’s childhood home. It was simply too large and too grand for it to be a getaway or a vacation home. The location was optimal, the plot of land was supreme, and the aura exuded warmth. This had to have been something to Baz. Otherwise, he’d have sold the property long before Simon came into the picture.

A servant came to collect his plates, and Simon was once again left in silence. The bustle of London - people shouting, carts rolling by, factories churning - usually lulled Simon and comforted his always anxious mind. Now, there was only the occasional laugh from downstairs and the chirping of a bird here and there. The silence chilled him to the bone.

Simon set to work on the stack of papers before him, deciding that the scratching of pen on paper would soothe his weary soul. The monotonous chore that was paperwork left Simon feeling purposeful. If Baz trusted him enough with finances, then he would do a damn good job at it. Of course, this was a far cry from what his father would have wanted.

Simon’s mind often turned to his father these days. If Simon remembered the date correctly, his father’s birthday had just passed. They’d never celebrated when Simon lived with him; there was too much training and prepping to be done. At the end of the night, maybe his father would allow Simon to have a sip of port, but that had happened perhaps three times over the years. Celebrations just were not important when there were vampires to hunt and kill. His father had instilled the idea that vampires were virgin defilers into Simon’s mind, and while true for the situation between Baz and himself, Simon had come to realize that most vampires simply wanted to be left alone.

His vampire just so happened to want the opposite of that. A hand at the back of his neck caused Simon to nearly spill his inkpot, and perhaps doing paperwork on the bed was stupid. Baz laughed as Simon carefully closed the inkpot, placed the wet paperwork on the bedside table, did away with the pen, and finally looked up.

Baz’s tense face seemed alight when he looked down at Simon, and Simon smiled as he rose up on his knees. The mattress only added to their already obvious height difference. Simon came to rest at Baz’s shoulders, his knees sinking into the duvet. He did not mind, however, as it was the perfect height for him to place his hands atop Baz’s shoulders and rub. The muscles there seemed knotted with stress, and Simon sighed.

“Are you ever not wound up like a clock?” Simon asked, dragging Baz onto the mattress. As tonight’s outfit included a three-piece suit, the act of stripping Baz took longer than Simon would have liked. Finally, pale skin exposed itself, and Simon kept his shudder at the sight of Baz’s back to himself. They had spoken of it once before: the scars had been from a brutal whipping exactly once in his childhood, but his vampire skin had not healed properly because of what he was whipped with. Now, scars littered the expanse of his broad shoulders, and Simon pressed chaste kisses to each. It was routine now.

“You know how I hate clocks,” Baz replied. Simon laughed and pressed one last kiss to Baz’s back, lingering for only a few extra seconds. Luckily, someone had placed oil in the bedside table, and Simon slowly warmed it between his hands as he sat on Baz’s thighs. At the first press of Simon’s hands into Baz’s lower back, Baz let out a groan loud enough to shake the house.

“How was supper?” Simon asked, working a knot in the lower of Baz’s back until it loosened. This was his absolute favorite (non-sexual) thing to do to Baz. It was another way of being useful, and Simon prided himself on the fact that only he could provide this relief to Baz.

“Long,” Baz replied, groaning again at the pressure of Simon’s palms. “He wanted to withdraw his investment because of that fucking barrel of sherry.” Simon dug the heel of his palm into the middle of Baz’s back, and the crack that sounded through the room caused Baz to let out an orgasmic sound. “Fuck, I love it when you do that.”

Simon’s face flushed, and he coughed as he continued rubbing circles into Baz’s back. The silence did not stretch on uncomfortably, but there was something in the air neither of them were able to address. “So, he wanted to leave because one of my fucking stupid warehouse managers dropped a barrel. I told him about the price for breaking a contract, and he still seemed to want to leave. Thank God for whiskey, because I think that’s what got him to stay.”

As Simon lazily rubbed the excess oil into Baz’s skin, he found himself listening to Baz’s sherry problems and not even being bothered by how boring they were. He logically knew that if someone else was telling him about the trials and tribulations of shipping sherry, he’d fall asleep, and the realization made his stomach lurch. He knew what this was, and Baz knew, too. When would one of them say it, though?

…

They had fought before. Once, Simon had forgotten to do a few pieces of paperwork that nearly cost Baz a key investor, and they had dished it out for a good half-hour before both going out for some time to decompress. Simon apologized, and Baz did, too. Simon had been tired during that round of paperwork; Baz had been stressed all day before finding out about Simon’s mistake.

But this was different. This wasn’t about paperwork or investors or wine. This was about Simon and Baz. This was about feelings, and Simon sucked at feelings. He’d inherited it from his father. Being raised to be a vampire slayer could do that.

This was also, coincidentally, about vampires.

“You lied to me!” Simon shouted, hastily packing his belongings into a trunk. Granted, there were not many things to be gathered. It was more for show than anything else. “I’ve lived with you for nearly two years, and you’ve lied to me the entire time!”

Baz stood in front of the fireplace, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists. He was strangely composed for such an explosive conversation. Simon wanted to throw something at him, punch him, make him respond, make him yell. It wasn’t fair that he was the only person angry. This wasn’t going to be a one-sided argument.

“Do you have anything to say to me?” Simon demanded, finally stopping his movements and just…standing there. His shoulders slumped. There were tears in his eyes.

Baz turned slowly on his heels. Finally, Simon saw his face. It gave away nothing; Baz was always stoic during moments of high tensions. When Simon had nearly died those first few weeks, Baz’s face had remained a blank sheet. When his…sister? ...had died in childbirth and the letter had been delivered, Baz had said nothing and simply locked himself away. Now, though, there was no room to separate the two of them. There was no veil of death that cleaved them apart. There was only three meters of wooden floor and carpet.

Baz closed his eyes, and Simon watched as a few tears slipped down his cheeks. “You lied to me, too, Simon,” Baz finally murmured. The orange light of the fire made him look like a statue on fire. His eyes seemed to be ablaze, though that could be literal given the circumstances of his humanity. “I’ve lived with someone raised to be my murderer for nearly two years. How do you think I feel?”

Honestly, Simon had not thought of it that way. However, the part of his brain that his father had trained screamed at Simon that Baz killed innocents to live and that he was probably more than a few lifetimes older than Simon. It unfortunately cast everything into a clearer light: why Baz did not eat in front of Simon, why he left for days at a time on ‘trips’, why he had so much property and no living family.

“Have you killed people, Baz?” Simon asked. He desperately wanted to leave the house and never turn back. He should have listened to his gut. It had screamed at him for over a year that Baz was not human. Simon should have taken his father’s lessons to heart. He could be dead now. It was only a miracle that Baz had spared him.

“How dare you!” Baz snarled stomping away from the fireplace. Finally, Simon thought. Finally, this anger could be mutual. He stopped just a foot short of Simon, hand pointing directly at Simon’s face. “You don’t know shit, Simon Snow! How dare you say that! How dare you!” Up close, Simon saw more tears gather in Baz’s eyes. “Are you asking yourself why I haven’t killed you yet?”

“Fuck you!” Simon retorted, pushing Baz’s hand out of his face. “You’re a fucking liar, Baz Pitch!” Simon didn’t know why he was crying so suddenly. Well, he did know why. He’d just thought that Baz would be honest with him concerning everything, and this felt like a betrayal of the deepest kind. “You…you lied to me!”

Simon covered his face with his hands, feeling the dampness soak the sleeves of his shirt. Damnit, he thought. Why couldn’t he keep it together for ten minutes?

His hands were pulled away from his face, and before Simon could curse Baz for it, cold lips were pressed against his own. He vaguely understood that this was a kiss. Simon had never kissed anyone before. Training to kill vampires ruined any chance of his social life. Baz’s hands, still holding his wrists, slowly travelled down to Simon’s waist, holding him steady as he pulled back.

Simon was still crying, though no choked noises were escaping his lips anymore. “I don’t understand,” he whispered, because he really didn’t. Simon was not a product of fine breeding. He did not have status or wealth. He was human. He was male. But Baz’s lips on his own had felt realer than anything else in his life prior had ever felt. Simon rested his hands on Baz’s biceps, feeling the warmth leave his fingertips. “I don’t understand,” he repeated, looking up at Baz through clumped lashes and tears.

In response, Baz smiled down at him softly. There was no malice, and while Simon did see canines, he was not afraid. “Do you really believe I would have kept you here if I did not care for you?” Baz asked, running a soothing hand through Simon’s hair. “Even just a little bit?”

Simon burrowed into the space where Baz’s shoulder met his neck and hiccupped, feeling fresh tears spill down his cheek. Baz’s hand stalled in Simon’s hair, and he hastily began to apologize, which made Simon cry heavier.

Hours later, with the candles extinguished and the anger from the day gone, Simon realized Baz had never truly answered any of his questions.

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #rainbow rowell #carry on #carry on big bang 2020 #regency era #fanfic #love confessions #vampire!baz #vampire hunter!simon #mordelia grimm #simon works for baz #wine merchant!baz #enjoy!

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brooklynislandgirl · 4 years ago

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“Dirtiest thing you’ve done in bed? If you say lay down in your street clothes, we’re fighting.” - Nilza

The question brings a drawing of the little witch’s brows. She’d always assumed clothes were clothes, especially in places where garments of any sort were hard to come by. Either woven by hand or passed from one generation to the next, she can’t exactly imagine having specific ones just for being worn in the street as opposed to anywhere else. And that in turn makes her feel the slightest bit shabby in comparison to the other woman. The plain muslin dress was one of the newest things she owned, handed down from her grandmother. Bare feet whose soles were clung too by the good black earth from her herb garden. Black sweater showing holes in some places, worn thin in others to keep the evening chill at bay where the tea she was drinking couldn’t. She has a sturdy pair of brogues lined up by the door, but nothing like the hunter’s leathers and heels and all manner of apparel. Nor the paint on her face that is a long way from battle woad.

But that was all water in the wash, wasn’t it? Not the question asked of her and in all fairness she owed the woman an answer. Beth had pried into Nilza’s personal affairs more than enough the evening before over that bottle of Bennett wine.

But the problem is... Beth doesn’t have any juicy secrets, not the sort being sought after. She rubs at the side of her nose with a knuckle.

“I....uh... well... truth be told...I ain’t never....ah... danced at the Springin’ fires, neither the Harvest ones, never been taken t’ wife.”

There’d been talk, of course. Everyone flaps their gums with little stories when they get t’ jawin’ with other folks, especially at the gathering of the clans. The most prevalent was that she and Frost Rends the Bane ~John, to the Sept’s outsiders~ had a kind of understanding, though that was far from the truth. While he was perhaps the most reasonable Wendigo to ever exist, she doesn’t come from a First People heritage and even if she did, she could do nothing to add to the fruitfulness of his Tribe. No, they were close friends. Close allies, but that’s where it ended.

Beth’s moons had come later than they ought, and then dried up far too quickly. She’d gone from maiden to crone without ever having a chance to be a mother. An ironic turn of events, considering she’d helped birth most of the pups and children underfoot in these parts, could bring forth bountiful crops or cause the land to turn barren against the outsiders. But no prayer, potion, or other trick in her ancient wisdom could put seed inside herself. And that led to another rumour, that she and her brother, bless his memory, had been entirely too close as far as siblings went. The sort of nastiness one could expect from townsfolk who didn’t understand that the pair might as well have been twins even if he’d been older than her by five long years. That when he was alive he’d been her protector and her confidant, much like Frost was now. Sure, there was only the antique brass bed in her cottage. Sure, they’d shared it night after night, bundling up and cuddling close during the long snows. But that wasn’t really unusual in these parts.

And of course...there was the other hunter. Oh, he’d been pretty. Grown from a long line in which his own father had also been a hunter and his mother’d been a witch in her own right. And Baz had a talent for both running through his veins, though if she closes her eyes she can still see the look on his face when he’d trespassed onto her land and she’d greeted him from the porch with her shotgun aimed level on him. Not a few breathless kisses and almost desperate clutching had occurred before the pull of the road and debts he owed had pulled him away from the Mountain. She didn’t expect him to stay, though who could say what might have happened if he had? After a few years, she figures he’s smart and isn’t coming back. And lastly, there are the dreams. Sometimes she has them when she’s wide awake, snippets of some other now far away. The city looks nothing like what she knows. Not the sept, not town. Not even the metropolis that is Gatlinburg, which she’s been to, once, a long time ago. There’s too many people and a lot of water and things she has no name for. And there’s a boy not much younger than her. Always the same one. He feels cripplingly lonely and he dreams a lot too. She doesn’t know what the connection is, and she’s never told anyone about him. Not even Andy. She sometimes cries with him. Sometimes her hands ache something fierce, sometimes she feels this tremendously profound sorrow that hangs from him like a shroud. And sometimes, late at night, when her eyes refuse to close and she has only the company of the coons and the possums, the crickets singing their night song, she can feel...other things. Desires and hungers she’s never felt before. A vast yearning for something...or someone... else. It never lasts, no matter how much she tries to hold onto it. And even her best scrying tells her nothing more than a glimpse of hair like late summer wheat and eyes that are the heavens above in all their varying shades of blue. She will admit to some part of that, maybe. “Sometimes...sometimes I... explore...uh...m’self. But it’s never real...satisfyin’. Not like them other gals sometimes say. I don’t think I like it very much. But it’s better’n the tub than the bed, for what it’s worth.”

#Mahalo!Nilza <3 #The Great Unknown|Nilza Valdez #Into the Wyld|Nilza and Beth #Honourable Mention: John Frost-Rends-The-Bane #Honourable Mention: Baz Barton <3 #Honourable Mention: Anakin Skywalker #Criss Angel is STILL a Douchebag|SPN verse #Smoke on the Water|Appalachia #Copperhead Road|Tennessee #southern-belle-outcasts

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 6 years ago

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My fic for the Carry On Countdown day 2 prompt Role Swap.

Simon returns for eighth year at Watford but to his dismay the roommate he's been pining over for three years is nowhere to be found. Simon searches for Baz, avoids Agatha and tries to come to terms with the feelings he has for his missing roommate.

Mirror Man

Simon

I run up the stairs to our room. I don’t know what I’m expecting. Baz never gets to Watford this early.

I do. Every time. I check myself out of care the day Watford opens the gates for the new school year.

Baz always shows up the night before classes start.

I just thought . . . I hoped . . . well, I suppose I really wanted this year to be different. That he’d come early, to savour our last year here. That I’d get a few more days with him.

The room is empty when I open the door. It doesn’t even smell like Baz anymore.

It smells a bit like the dirty socks I forgot in the corner.

He’s obviously not here.

I open the window to air out the room. Baz always fusses about the window but I don’t think he’d argue today--it’s warm and there’s a breeze.

And it might make the sock smell go away before he gets here.

I think about incinerating the socks but I don’t trust my spells yet. It’s hard after the months in care.

It’s hard in general. My spells are never reliable. It’s always hit or miss. Mostly miss.

I think about tossing my socks in the moat so the merwolves can choke on them, but that’s not being ecologically responsible so I end up washing them in the sink.

I put away the few things I brought with me from the home and hang up my new uniform.

And then I lie down on my bed and think about Baz.

Grey eyes.

Black hair.

That Baz is a vampire.

The fact that Baz Pitch is the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.

And I’m hopelessly in love with him.

Emphasis on the hopeless part.

Baz hates me. He’s hated me since the day we met--the day the Crucible brought us together.

He hates me for being the Mage’s Heir. For doing the Mage’s bidding. He despises me for being so thick and such shit with my magic. For how I look, how I talk, the way I eat, the fact that I keep the window open at night.

For everything, I think. I thought I hated him too. I thought that was why I watched him all the time. Why I followed him, why I sparked the arguments with him, the reason I couldn’t let him out of my sight.

It was fifth year when I finally realized how I felt. The night I followed Baz into the Catacombs and found him by his mother’s tomb. Drinking from a flask and saying . . . saying things that made me rethink everything.

I stopped following him to the Catacombs after that. Even if he is a vampire, he still deserves privacy to grieve at his mother’s tomb undisturbed.

I stopped following him at all. For awhile.

I didn’t know what to think. And I couldn’t stop thinking.

About Baz.

The way his hair had fallen out of its usual slicked back severity that night to fall in waves that framed his face.

I liked that. I liked it a lot.

Or how his eyes had been half-lidded, his body relaxed as he rested against the stone wall of the Catacombs, his cheekbones highlighted by the flickering torchlight.

He was beautiful.

I’d never thought of him that way before but once I did, I couldn’t stop.

I wanted to touch his hair. Sweep it behind his ear and trail my fingers along his jaw. I wanted to look into his eyes and have all his focus be on me, to see his gaze soften as our eyes met.

I still want that.

That and a whole lot of other things.

I’m being stupid, of course. None of that will ever happen.

Baz can’t stand me. He barely tolerates sharing a room with me, if I’m going to be honest.

And even if he didn’t hate me, he’s dating the most beautiful girl at Watford.

Which means he’s straight.

He’s been with Agatha since the end of fifth year. They’re breathtaking together--her milky gold hair set off by his dark mane.

They match--both posh, both wrenchingly beautiful, both comfortable in the world of Mages, confident of their place in it.

And then there’s me. Simon Snow. Orphan. Filled with magic I can’t control. A weapon to fight the dark creatures that threaten our world. The Mage’s protege.

With a future that can only end in flames.

I’m supposed to be Baz’s nemesis.

I’m not supposed to be pining over him.

I look over at his empty bed, the way I’ve looked at it countless times over the past years, when Baz was actually in it.

This is our last year at Watford. This is our last year together.

These are the last few months I’ll ever have a chance to be this close to Baz Pitch.

Fuck it all.

I should probably quit moping and go find Penny. Stop obsessing over a boy I’ll never have.

It doesn’t stop me from picking up Baz’s pillow as I walk by his bed. I breathe in the faint hint of cedar and bergamot that clings to the fabric before I leave the room.

The days pass and Baz doesn’t come. He isn’t at tea when the first Visiting occurs. He’s not at the welcome-back picnic.

He isn’t in our room the night before the term starts and he doesn’t show up for classes the next day.

Or the day after that.

The professors stop calling out his name after the first week.

The rumors that fly through the dining hall are varied and absurd.

He’s gone off for a dark coming of age ritual.

He’s left Watford to work for his father.

He’s apprenticed himself to an herbalist, like his crazy aunt.

He’s vacationing in Ibiza.

I don’t believe any of it. Baz would never miss school. He wouldn’t leave eighth year unfinished.

He’d certainly never let Penny finish first in our class.

He wouldn’t abandon his mother’s legacy.

Baz wouldn’t do any of that. I know him. I think I know him better than anyone.

And I think something’s very, very wrong.

I start stalking his best friends Dev and Niall. I pester them with questions and harass them about Baz but I don’t think they know any more than I do. They’re vague and insulting when I corner them but there’s a hint of worry in their eyes when I do.

Agatha’s taken to sitting with Penny and me for meals now that Baz is gone, but she won’t answer any of my questions about him.

“I don’t want to talk about him, Simon. I don’t know where he is. I’m not his keeper.”

She sits next to me in class. She gives me the smiles she used to save for Baz.

It feels all wrong.

I scour the Catacombs for any sign of him. It’s overrun with rats down there, which tells me all I need to know. I won’t find him there.

I comb the Wavering Wood for clues. I hack at the underbrush and hack off the resident Dryad when I do.

“What do you seek, Chosen One?”

“I’m looking for my roommate, Baz.”

She glares at me as she twirls her parasol. “The blood-eater is not here, Mageling. Seek him elsewhere.”

“I’ve searched everywhere.”

“Then perhaps he doesn’t want you to find him.”

“Listen, if you do see him, could you let me know?”

“He is not here and you are a menace.” She turns away and floats back into the dimness of the forest.

Typical.

I see Agatha on the ramparts a few days later. I follow her up. I wonder if she’s waiting for Baz.

If she’s yearning for him like I am.

She’s a lovely sight, leaning over the walls, her hair streaming in the wind, her pale face lit by the moon.

She’s a vision in her white dress.

She’s also probably freezing. It’s cold up here.

Agatha turns when she hears my footsteps on the stones. Her eyes are wide and dark as she smiles at me.

It’s that smile. The one she used to have just for Baz.

“Were you looking for me, Simon?”

I wasn’t, not in the way she thinks at least.

I’m starting to get the idea that Agatha might be hoping I was searching for her.

I’ve probably given her a reason to think that. I’ve watched her with Baz for so long. Watched him take her hand, stared at her fingers as she curled a strand of his hair around her finger, seen her lean in close to whisper to him. Adjust his already perfectly knotted tie.

I’ve watched her do every single thing I’ve wanted to do to Baz since fifth year.

I’ve got a list.

And for the first time I realize I may have been giving Agatha the wrong impression. That she’s taken those longing looks and stares and assumed they were for her.

My stomach clenches at the thought. Merlin, I’ve made a mess of this. I never meant to lead her on.

I think back to the last time I saw Baz.

He was in the Wavering Wood--holding Agatha’s hands in his and staring at her so intently.

The way I wish he’d look at me.

I’d made a sound I think, as Penny clutched my arm, and they’d both turned to look at me--Baz’s gaze turning right back to Agatha in an instant, dismissing me in a way that made my heart squeeze painfully in my chest.

But Agatha had stared back at me--long and steady, almost appraising.

I didn’t know how she could take her eyes off of Baz, how she could turn away from him.

I never could. I’d never look away. I’d never turn my back on him.

But then the Humdrum had snatched me away before I could embarrass myself any further.

Agatha’s still waiting for an answer from me.

“Uh . . . um . . . I was just wondering why you were wandering the ramparts.” The next words come out before I think them through. “Are you waiting for Baz?”

The smile turns into a frown. “I’ve told you, Simon. I’m not his keeper. I’m not waiting for him. Not anymore.”

I’m not sure what she means by that.

“Then why are you up here? You don’t even have a coat. It’s bloody cold, Agatha.”

It is. The wind is icy and there’s been a distinct chill in the air all day. I see a shiver run through her as the next gust of wind washes over us.

I take off my duffel coat and drape it over her shoulders. She makes an attempt to protest but sinks into it gratefully when I insist, shoving her hands deep in the pockets. There’s a flash of white in her hand as she does, a piece of fabric clutched between her fingers.

“I just needed to clear my head,” Agatha says, leaning on the ramparts again, her shoulder brushing mine.

“And did you?” I don’t know why I’m making small talk but I can’t just leave when she’s wearing my coat, now can I?

Agatha turns to me, reaching out her hand to take mine. “I did.”

I’m not sure what she’s doing. Her fingers are cold as they thread between my own.

“I’ve been thinking, Simon.”

I swallow but I don’t have anything to say. I have the distinct feeling I’ve gotten myself into a situation here. And I’m likely to bollocks it up even further, knowing me.

“Thinking about you. And me. And Baz.”

Merlin and Morgana. It may be cold up here but I break into a sweat at her words. Can she know how I feel about Baz?

Bloody hell.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, Simon, but Baz and I broke up at the end of the school year.”

This is news to me.

“I didn’t . . . I hadn’t realized.” My mind is racing. Is that what was happening that day in the Wavering Wood? Had Baz broken up with her?

“No, I suppose you hadn’t.” She squeezes my hand. “You’re such a dear, you know.”

I’m starting to feel very uncomfortable.

“I made some realizations that day and came to the decision that Baz and I really weren’t suited for each other.”

She broke up with Baz? Who would break up with Baz?

I drop her hand. “Is that why he hasn’t come back?” I can’t quite keep the accusatory tone out of my voice.

“I’ve no idea. I haven’t spoken to him.” She flips her hair back. “I honestly don’t think he was all that upset about it. It wasn’t as if we were in love, or anything. We just sort of drifted together in the first place and then drifted apart. It happens.”

I blink. “But . . . but . . . you and Baz, you’re not . . . you aren’t . . .” I’m blustering. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Agatha broke up with Baz.

Baz, the boy I’ve loved for three years.

Baz, who hates me.

Baz, who’s missing.

“It was nice while it lasted, Simon, but it’s not like Baz is the only boy at Watford.”

He’s the only one for me, I think.

Agatha reaches out and puts her hand on my wrist. “We should go in, Simon. I’m sure you’re freezing.” She hooks her arm around mine and tugs me towards the stairs.

I’m in a daze. I’m not really paying much attention to what Agatha is saying until we’re at the bottom of the steps. Mummers is to our left and the Cloisters to our right. This is where we should part ways.

“It’s been nice sitting with you and Penny and getting a chance to get to know you.” She squeezes my arm as she says this and I’m on alert again. “I’d like to get to know you better.” It’s almost a purr and she’s smiling that smile at me again.

Oh.

“Ah . . . yeah . . . it’s been nice getting to know you too.” I’m stumbling over my words. “Uh . . . and for Penny too. It’s nice for her to have another friend.”

“Hmm. Yes, of course. Friends.” She draws the word out as she looks up at me from under her lashes and she’s a vision--all golden hair, deep brown eyes, milky skin. She’s gorgeous but all I feel is a sense of dread.

I have the distinct impression Baz’s ex-girlfriend is hitting on me. Which is not what I want in the slightest.

Fuck. This is all my fault. I was right--I’ve given Agatha the wrong impression. She’s obviously convinced I’ve been pining over her, rather than Baz. What a bloody mess. How do I manage to always bollocks things up?

I need to get out of here. Find a way to brush her off without pissing her off as well. Good luck with that. I’m shit with words.

“Uh . . . so I’ll see you tomorrow then?” I’m so stupid. That’s encouraging her. Merlin, I am absolute pants at this.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

Oh fuck. Tomorrow is Saturday. I wouldn’t have to see her at all and now I just put my foot in it. I’m a fucking disaster. How do I do this to myself?

“Um . . . see you at breakfast then.” I’m trying to minimize the damage. Maybe that’ll work. I unhook my arm from hers and take a few steps towards Mummers.

“Oh, Simon! Your coat.” Agatha starts to shrug out of it.

“No, it’s alright. You wear it. You’ve got the longer walk.”

Her lips curve up again. I know it’s supposed to be attractive but it just makes me more agitated.

She pulls the collar of my coat up, snuggles into it and says “Smells like you. Like a bonfire. Warm and cozy.”

And that’s it. I can’t have her keeping my coat. I can’t have her snuggling in it and looking at me this way and thinking about me like that.

“Um . . . why don’t I just walk you back now and I can take it with me then?”

That makes her look even happier.

Fuck.

She takes my arm again, pulling me close, and we start to walk towards the Cloisters, Agatha chatting at me the whole way there.

She’s talking about Christmas and the Club and the parties her parents have for the holiday. I catch about half of what she’s saying.

I can’t really pay attention. My brain has short-circuited at the idea that Agatha might be attracted to me.

I need to put a stop to this. I’ve accidentally led her on but now that I suspect she’s got an interest in me I can’t let it keep going.

Mostly because I’m not attracted to her that way.

But also because I know how hurt Baz would be to know Agatha turned her attention to me, after breaking it off with him.

Likely more furious than hurt. It would make him hate me even more.

It feels disloyal to him to even be walking with her this way--arm in arm, her head practically resting on my shoulder.

It’s a relief when we finally reach the Cloisters and Agatha slides my coat off. She hugs it to her for one instant before handing it back and my stomach plummets.

I put it on and busy myself with the buttons, backing away from the door as I do.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Simon.” “See you at breakfast, yeah.” And then I make a run for it, literally jogging across the courtyard to Mummers and taking the steps two at a time to get to my room.

Bloody hell. That’s all I need now, Agatha taking a fancy to me. What a disaster. I jam my hands in my coat pockets as I walk to my wardrobe.

There’s something in the left hand pocket. I pull out a wadded bit of cloth.

It’s one of Baz’s handkerchiefs. I’d know it anywhere. It’s got his family crest on it: flames, the moon, three falcons. I clench it in my hand.

It’s what Agatha was holding.

I know there are half a dozen just like it in the drawer across the room but this one feels precious to me. I bring it up to my face and inhale.

It smells like Baz.

I’ll make this right with Agatha tomorrow. I’ll figure out what to do, what to say, to stop whatever she thinks is going on.

I tuck the handkerchief under my pillow.

Distancing myself from Agatha isn’t as easy as I’d hoped. She sits next to me at mealtimes. She’s in more than half my classes.

I’ve taken to studying in the room because she comes to the library to sit with me and Penny now. I’m sure it’s going to affect my marks, not studying with Penny, but it’s too awkward having Agatha there.

She bumped her leg against mine today and then kept it there.

I had to pretend to go look for a book in the stacks when shifting away from her didn’t work.

I should just tell her.

Not that I fancy Baz. I’m not telling anyone that. I haven’t even told Penny.

No, I’ll have to tell Agatha I don’t think of her that way. Which I’m sure will sound absolutely lame and ridiculous, as she’s the most gorgeous girl in school and the rest of the blokes would likely kill for a chance to date her, now that she’s not with Baz anymore.

I still wonder about that. I can’t imagine why she broke it off with him. I mean, yes, he’s a snide arsehole and an arrogant prick but he’s never been that way with her. He’s all courtly and chivalrous, polite and attentive. He’s fit and smart and posh as hell. An Old Family name and Old Family money. Quite the catch and drop-dead gorgeous to boot.

It doesn’t make sense.

Maybe it’s the vampire thing. But surely she knew before now? She couldn’t be dating him for three years and not know, could she?

I mean, I know.

And yes, fine, it’s not confirmed or anything. I haven’t caught him in the act of draining a rat. I don’t have proof, photographs, a written confession--all the things Penny demands as evidence.

But I know.

And I don’t care.

Really, I don’t.

He’s not that kind of vampire. I know he doesn’t go after people. It’s rats and rabbits and squirrels. It’s probably just enough for him to get by. He doesn’t even go after Ebb’s goats and they’re easy prey.

Except Ebb would likely incinerate him on the spot. She’s tetchy about the goats.

Baz has had every opportunity to drain me dry and he hasn’t--and it’s not just the Anathema that’s keeping him from it. He could easily have done it in the Catacombs. Or in the Wavering Wood. Fed me to the merwolves when he was done with me and blamed my absence on one of the Mage’s missions gone wrong. No one would have known.

But he hasn’t.

That has to mean something.

I know I was an arse about it fourth and fifth year. I’d shout about Baz being a vampire to anyone who would listen.

No one really did. They all thought I was mental.

And then, that night, when I saw him in the Catacombs by his mother’s tomb--that’s when I knew I was right.

I could see the freshly drained rats in the corner. I could see, even by torchlight, that his face had more color to it.

It was the circumstantial evidence that I’d been seeking but it felt hollow when I had it in my grasp.

I’d turned away. Left him there. Left him and went straight to the library.

To the Magickal Records.

To read everything I could about Natasha Pitch. And how she died.

It made sense then. They’d Turned Baz that day. It wasn’t written out anywhere or mentioned at all.

But knowing Baz, seeing him in the Catacombs, hearing what he said, reading the accounts--it isn’t that hard to piece it together. He was Turned the day his mother died.

He was a child and they killed his mother and Turned him. I’d happily incinerate the lot of them if Natasha Pitch hadn’t done it already.

Baz has been hiding it ever since. He’s been trying to live his life as a Mage and repress that other side of him.

All the pieces fell into place. Why he was so secretive. Why having a roommate--any roommate--would be torture for him. Why he kept his distance from almost everyone in our class. Except Dev and Niall, who are basically family or close to it.

And Agatha.

All I did was make life more miserable for him.

So I’d stopped. Stopped accusing him of being a vampire. Stopped following him down to the Catacombs. Stopped picking fights with him about every little thing.

But I couldn’t stop watching him. Couldn’t stop trying to stay close to him.

Couldn’t risk something happening to him.

Or the chance that someone would find out what he is. Especially the Mage.

I suppose you could say I was watching over him. That sounds better than stalking, I think.

We’d not been at each other’s throats by seventh year. We had a pattern. A way of moving around each other, navigating the spaces in our room, our interactions distant but almost civil.

It was what had made me so hopeful for this year. That maybe Baz was as tired of fighting as I was. That the first steps we’d taken last year might take us on a path to something different.

Not what I longed for but maybe, just maybe, we could find a way to be friends.

But he’s not here.

He’s not here and every day feels like the emptiness he’s left behind grows bigger.

It’s a weight on my chest, like I can’t take in a deep enough breath, as if there’s not enough air for me to breathe anymore.

The days pass.

I stop looking for Baz.

I know it’s not his step on the stairs. I know he’s not in the seat behind me in class. I know it’s not his feet rustling the leaves in the Wavering Wood (he’s much stealthier than that).

I know it’s not him on the football pitch.

He’s nowhere he should be and that hurts.

I avoid Agatha as best I can. I’ve taken to avoiding meals just so I don’t have to sit with her. Or I’ll just rush in, stuff my face for a few moments at the table, and then rush off to my room with a few bacon butties or scones in my hand.

Penny thinks I’m being ridiculous. “Just tell her you’re not interested, Simon.” She kicks my leg under the table. Agatha left breakfast early to finish her Political Science essay so Penny and I are finally, blissfully alone. “You’re not a good match, so just tell her already and let’s stop this hide and seek you’re playing.”

“I’m not playing hide and seek.”

“You practically run out of the room when she comes in and then she’s wandering around looking for you. It’s aggravating, Simon.”

“I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

Penny glares at me over her glasses. “You think it’s any better leading her on like this?”

I groan. “I don’t mean to lead her on, Penny. I thought she’d get the hint by now.”

Penny’s eyes narrow. “Communication, Simon. You can’t expect people to read your mind. Just tell her it’s a bad idea and move on.”

She’s right.

Confrontation unnerves me. This kind, I mean, the kind I can’t solve with my sword.

I’m good at confronting goblins and orc-upines and all manner of dark creatures, but I’m shit at talking about things like this. Feelings. Relationships. I’ve just got no clue how to go about it and I’m sure I’ll bollocks it up. I’m shit with words.

I grab fistfuls of my hair and groan again. “You’re right, Penny. I know. I’ll figure out a way to tell her.”

“There’s nothing to figure out, Simon. It’s just a short conversation. ‘Agatha, I just want to be friends.’ That’s it.”

“Ugh. I know.” I pull on my hair again. “Did I tell you she’s invited me home with her for Christmas?”

“Simon, you know you can’t go.”

“Of course, I’m not going to go. I’ll go back to the home, like I always do.”

Her eyes soften and she reaches across the table to take my hand. “I wish I could bring you home with me, Simon, you know I do.”

I squeeze her hand. “I know you do, Pen. You all barely fit as it is. You don’t need me sleeping in your bathtub.” I’m trying to lighten the mood. I know Penny hates the idea of me being in the homes. She was going to write a stern letter to the Mage about it fifth year but I wouldn’t let her.

“I’d sleep in the bathtub if it came to that, Simon. But Mum’s told me I can’t bring you, even if I spell you invisible. It’s just too much.”

I know it’s my magic. And me, in general. I put Professor Bunce on edge.

She’s sensitive to the overabundance of magic in me and it gives her a headache. And I’m generally in the way: knocking over stacks of books or messing up her papers or making a bollocks of a spell. It’s an effort to have me there for a weekend.

There’s no way she could tolerate me for all of Winter Break.

I can’t say Agatha’s offer isn’t tempting. I’ve never spent Christmas with people. In a house with a real tree and a fireplace and a holiday meal and people who actually like each other sitting around a table together.

There’s usually just a pathetic fake tree at the homes, with donated gifts beneath it, and a shoddy Santa on Christmas Day for the little ‘uns.

We usually get a sham of a Christmas dinner. Turkey and gravy, a dollop of lumpy mashed potatoes, brussels sprouts and then a pudding of sorts. There’s still never enough to make me feel full.

So I can’t say it’s not tempting. It is. More than Penny can imagine. But it’s not fair to Agatha to take her up on the offer.

If she were Penny I’d do it a heartbeat. But things are already far too awkward with Agatha and I can’t go under false pretences. I don’t want to be her boyfriend.

And I think she’ll rescind the offer when I tell her all I want is to be friends.

It’s fine. I’ve spent every Christmas of my life in the homes so far and I can manage one more. It’ll be the last one anyway.

I’m on my own once I graduate from Watford. Out of the care system forever.

I’m buttering another scone when the doors to the dining hall fly open. At first I think it’s another Visiting but when the figure steps through the doors my heart thumps hard enough to almost burst from my chest.

I know that face. I know it as well as my own.

Black hair.

Grey eyes.

Baz.

I stand up, knocking my chair over. Penny clutches at my sleeve.

He doesn’t look right. He’s too thin. Too grey.

He’s limping.

Baz.

Our eyes meet.

It takes everything in me to keep from running to him. Penny’s fingers are digging into my forearm. I think she’s going to leave bruises.

He’s not looking away.

I could never look away.

Baz

Snow is the first person I see, making as much of a racket as usual, surging to his feet and knocking over a chair as he does, the clumsy oaf.

I feel like I can breathe again at the sight of him. Something loosens in my chest at the familiarity of his face. Those ordinary blue eyes. Bronze curls in a tangled mess.

Our eyes meet and I can’t look away.

I don’t know why my gaze always targets him. No matter who else is in the room, I find myself seeking out Snow.

He’s thin. He shouldn’t be so thin. He looks as worn and strained as he does on the first day of term. This isn’t how Snow should look. His cheeks should be filled out by now, from the mountains of butter-slathered scones he’s devoured, the stacks of roast beef sandwiches he’s inhaled, the endless piles of bacon butties he loves.

I look like shit myself, if Fiona is any judge. I know I’m thin, frightfully pale and saddled with this ungainly limp still. Fuck the bloody numpties.

Snow hasn’t looked away so neither do I.

The thought comes unexpectedly and I don’t know what to make of it.

We match.

I look away. I can’t keep my eyes locked on Snow with those kinds of thoughts in my head.

Thoughts like the ones that would come to me when I was near mad with thirst and desperation while I was with the numpties.

Blue eyes.

Bronze curls.

The fact that Simon Snow is the most powerful magician alive.

That the image of him in my head was what kept me from succumbing to the darkness.

I don’t know what that means.

#carry on countdown #coc 2019 #Simon Snow #baz pitch #carry on #snowbaz #my writing #my fics #role swap

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chapter-61 · 5 years ago

Text

here comes the sun

CARRY ON COUNTDOWN DAY 8: Endearment Terms

AO3, POST-CARRY ON, POST-WAYWARD SON

I don’t know what I expected. For Snow to open his eyes and see me there, then pull me into one of his expert kisses and say, “Good morning, darling”?

Simon Snow is never going to call me “darling.” - Carry On, chapter 64.

5 times Baz calls Simon by an endearment term, + 1 time Simon returns the favour.

1. Penny

Everything hurts and nothing makes sense. The mage is dead, Ebb is dead. And Simon is in Baz’ arms. I don’t get it, but I’m too exhausted to ask.

Baz is mumbling something, and then I hear it.

“It’s all right, love.”

Huh. If I wasn’t on the edge of fainting I would be thrilled by this development, but it’s all too much. I’ll interrogate them later.

I hope mum comes soon.

2. Mitali

I’m glad Basilton Pitch made it to the Leaver’s Ball. I wasn’t sure he’d come. Secretly, I was hoping he’d convince Penelope to come with him, but no luck. I understand it, but I just wanted her to experience this before she’d go off to college. Of course, without Simon, there was no chance she’d actually come.

Taking another sip of my drink, I glance around looking for Basilton. We had a nice conversation earlier, and I’d rather talk about Latin prefixes than listening to Linda Possibelf’s conspiracies about the return of the faeries.

To be honest, I’m bored. As new headmistress there’s always something to do, but on the evening of the Leaver’s Ball I should be with my students, and not holed up in my office. I’m not too familiar with the students, however.

After another glance around, I decide to go outside for a minute and I start towards the stone patio.

There are people dancing in the middle, and while walking past them I scan them for familiar faces. Then, I halt.

Between the dancing couples, stands the oddest couple of all. It shouldn’t be a surprise, Penny has told me, and Basilton mentioned it, but it’s another thing to actually witness it.

For eight years, all Simon could talk about was his evil roommate. And now he’s dancing with him.

I’m happy for them. Now that they’ve stopped fighting, they actually look good together. More than one person is watching them, but they’ve only got eyes for each other. It’s sweet.

They’re lightly shoving at each other now, because of course they are, and before I think about it, I’m moving closer to listen to what they’re saying. Being forty doesn’t mean I don’t like to gossip anymore, and I’m sure Martin will enjoy it too.

“You are really bad at this,” Basilton is saying.

“I told you so!” Simon pushes Basilton away slightly but Basilton catches him and pulls him back into his arms.

In the meantime, the slow song has changed into something more up-beat, but the boys don’t seem to mind. They’ve got their arms around each other and Simon’s head is on Basilton’s shoulder. I grip my glass tighter and feel a slight ache in my heart. I wish Martin was here.

Soulmates. They make you yearn for your own other half.

I turn away but stop when I hear Simon again.

“Let’s go get some sandwiches.”

Basilton chuckles and replies, “Sure thing, sunshine.”

I smile into my glass and head back inside.

3. Agatha

It’s been two months since we came back from America and the whole thing at Watford happened. Sometimes I wonder if my life will always be like this, but I suppose I’m used to it by now.

What I’m still not used to, is Simon and Baz. Penny told me before I moved to America, but I didn’t really get it. And in the last few months, I still didn’t understand it. But I’m starting to.

Penny told me Simon and Baz had a rough year after Watford, that it went well at first but it spiraled down along with Simon’s mental state. I think they’re doing better now, though. I could ask Penny, but I don’t want to appear as the jealous ex, because I’m not. My romantic past with both of them is a bit wacky, but that was high school. I didn’t know myself back then and told myself I was in love.

They seem better, at least. Baz practically lives with Simon and Penny now, he’s been here every time I come over to visit. Just like today.

Penny has been catching me up on the latest Watford news over the last half hour, and that’s about as much magic talk as I can handle. I tell her so, and she doesn’t even look mad or worried. We’re all making progress, I think. She makes herself busy in the kitchen and I move to the living room.

Simon and Baz are on the couch, half draped over each other. They notice when I walk in.

“Agatha!” Simon calls me over. “Which movie should we watch later?”

I sit down in the armchair next to the couch and pretend to think. “Hmmm… What about… The Princess Bride?”

Simon cheers while Baz groans, and I smile at them.

Baz says, “I veto that choice. We’ve watched that at least five times by now. I think I can quote it by heart.”

“That’s the point!” Simon tells him.

“I don’t care, babe,” Baz says, “we’re watching something else.”

Simon doesn’t blink at Baz’ words, but I do. It’s not something I expected from Baz. For some reason, I didn’t think he’d be the type to casually throw endearment terms into a conversation. It sounded casual, though. As if it’s happened a million times before. Makes me feel like I’m missing something, or someone.

They continue to banter and I stand up and go back to the kitchen. At least with Penny I won’t feel like I’m missing a limb.

4. Daphne

When Baz told me he and Simon would take care of Mordelia’s birthday cake, I somehow believed him. Now, I’m having my doubts.

The kitchen has flour all over it, eggshells are laying around and everything is just plain dirty. I’m about to search the crime scene for anything salvageable, when I notice the oven is on.

I step closer, and lo and behold, there’s an actual cake in there. And it doesn’t even look half bad. Phew, crisis averted.

But why is the kitchen such a mess?

“Basilton?” I call out. I don’t get a reply, but there’s voices coming from the nearest bathroom.

I walk towards it, keeping an ear out for risky noises because that’s nothing I particularly want to see, but they’re just talking.

“How did you get dough in your hair?” Baz, exasperated.

“Because some wanker threw it at me!” Simon, even more exasperated.

A chuckle from Baz. “Wasn’t me.”

“Oh sure,” Simon says. “It was that other boyfriend of mine.”

“You’ve got me there.”

The faucet gets turned on and off and there’s a rustle of clothing.

Then Baz says, “You’re a mess.”

“But you like that, remember.” Sassy.

“I love it in fact.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

Now, softer, Baz replies, “Because, honey, we match.”

I don’t hear their voices anymore, so I make my retreat and start cleaning the kitchen. When Baz and Simon exit the bathroom ten minutes later, I just smile at them and congratulate them on the cake.

5. Baz

After a full weekend of moving furniture, it’s done. We’ve finally moved in. My car is on the driveway, my bed is in the bedroom, and most importantly, Simon is in the kitchen. Our kitchen.

He’s making sour cherry scones, for our housewarming party this evening. I put the last plates in the cabinet and then turn around to watch him.

He looks so different from last year. Healthier, happier. I’m really proud of him.

He’s at the last step of the cooking process now: tasting. It usually takes him the longest, for obvious reasons.

I take a few steps until I’m behind him, and wrap my arms around his middle. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck and press a kiss there. After all these years, after all what we’ve been through, he’s still warm to the touch.

Simon, with his hands busy, just turns his head and kisses my hair. I hum in response.

It’s all incredibly domestic and I love it. I thrive on it. What can I say, I’m a hopeless romantic.

“Sweetheart?” I say after a moment.

“Mhm,” Simon mumbles, his mouth probably stuffed with scones.

“You’re leaving something for tonight, right?”

He snorts, swallows his scone and says, “I made another batch.”

It makes me smile, of course he did.

I reach out to take a scone for myself, and Simon (begrudgingly) lets me. It tastes pretty good. It tastes even better from Simon’s lips.

+1. Simon

I feel warm and fuzzy when I wake up. Our first night together in our own house.

Baz is curled around me, and everything smells nice. Probably those scones from yesterday.

I stretch, careful not to disrupt Baz, and then turn over to him. I could definitely get used to this.

Baz stayed over a lot when I still lived with Penny, but not every night. Having this, forever, means the world. Getting to wake up in the same bed as Baz every day, eating breakfast together, going to work, arguing about which movie to watch in the evening, going to bed together. It’s all painfully real and I’m in love with it. And with Baz, of course. I love him so much. Despite what we’ve been through in the last two years, in the last ten years, we made it. We made it, together.

And I can’t wait to see what the future will bring for us.

In the present, Baz is opening his eyes.

And I say what I’ve wanted to say for a long time.

“Good morning, darling.”

And he smiles at me like I’m his entire world and I’ve just made all his dreams come true.

#this one's a bit longer #i love 5+1 fics #carry on countdown #coc 2019 #carry on #day 8 #my fics

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