#but he let her take the initiative cause he's a pathetic boy starved for his mother's love

[bietrofastimoff23]

it was 2024, and tb keep talking as if it was aegon at the coronation who ran to alicent to hide behind her back, when in reality it was her choice to come forward, shield her son with her body and cling to his arm to make sure that he would stay behind.

[mileycyprus-hill]

A Simple Kindness

Kieran x Reader 

Had this on the back burner for a while and realized I haven’t written a Kieran x reader fic. So here’s a bit of fluff.  

Summary: You begin to sympathize with the new O’Driscoll prisoner, and decide to give him a little help. 

Warnings: none.

You weren’t exactly sure why this O’Driscoll was in your camp, but you didn’t bother to question it. You were taught to despise any member of Colm’s gang and you thought to do the same to this poor man. 

That poor man. 

He didn’t seem up to par to the common O’Driscoll, sniveling and begging for mercy while tied to that tree. He never cursed at any passerby. Never threatened death upon anyone once he would be free. 

He only begged for mercy. 

You never met a man that soft. 

Was this man really an O’Driscoll? A member of a ruthless, bloodthirsty, thieving, murdering gang? 

Hardly. 

It had been a week since Arthur had brought him back to that cold barn in Colter. He was tied up in the back of a wagon during the trip to Horseshoe Overlook like some prisoner. 

Well, he is a prisoner. 

Left to blister in the sun on this high bluff with no food and what little water he could swallow from the passing rain. That poor man sat there, his arms tied behind him on that birch tree. The papery bark scratched against his tender forearms while the thick hemp of his binds cut into his wrists. Blood red cuts and rash marks painted his pale arms that lay exposed beyond his rolled up sleeves. 

The past few days, you watched him struggle to stand against the tree, his head dropped to his chest in exhaustion and self-pity. Sitting from the table across the way, you’d watch his legs tremble and buckle beneath him as he’d struggle to hold his own weight. He’d squiggle and squirm and whimper to get just a little more comfortable. 

You had half a mind to shout at him, tell him to ‘man up’ and be strong. But watching him pull against his binds was like watching a stray dog pull against a short leash. 

Frightened. Alone. Starving. The only attention came from the daily beatings and tongue-lashings. 

A scrap of bread would be tossed at his feet. Barely enough to satisfy a hungry dog. It’d lay there, taunting him as he’d struggle to kick it closer to himself. Even if he could, how could he grasp it with his arms bound behind him? 

You’d watch him struggle for it anyway, his will driven by hunger. Day by day, that piece of bread would lay there. What was left behind by the pecking chickens would turn to mold and only the flys would claim it.  

How much longer would Dutch allow this to continue? Until the man dies? Or when he gives information that he deems satisfactory? 

From what you’ve heard while eavesdropping, this young man wouldn’t know anything reliable, being Colm O’Driscoll’s abused stable boy. 

You began to fear for him. Truly. 

What would he know, being a newly initiated member of Colm’s circle? For all you knew, he was excluded. Cast onto the edge of the social circle of the gang, left to chat only with the horses and other members of the lowest caste. 

Day by day, you struggled. What was it your mother always taught you? 

“If you watch an evil being done unto someone and don’t stop it, you will be judged for the same crime by doing nothing.” She would say. 

Could you stand there and do nothing? What kind of a person were you? The men around would say you’re a survivor. But is this surviving—torturing a man for information in a petty rivalry? 

When you reach those golden gates and are asked, ‘Why have you done nothing?’, what would you say? 

Because it wasn’t your place to interfere? Because you didn’t want to get in trouble? 

...........

You awake just as a the sun rises and decide this is enough. Only a select few gang members are awake as they stayed up too late and too drunk the previous night. Those who’re up are tending to their own business or had already left.

Walking towards the back of the provisions wagon, you notice he’s alone. Looks like no one’s started the torturing ritual yet. Bill’s talking to Arthur about some stagecoach job over by the horses and Dutch remains shut in his tent with Molly. 

You step briskly as you saw your chance, walking towards the small cooking fire and grabbing a tin cup that rests on the ground next to the warm percolator. 

Looks like Pearson just finished making the coffee. You peek over to his work station and find him deeply focused on preparing today’s stew.

“Psst!” You hear from your right. 

You dare not to look towards the source to avoid suspicion. Discreetly, you turn your head only slightly, pretending to check the hem of your skirt and peek from the corners of your eyes. 

From your downward gaze, you catch Kieran staring at you. You watch him desperately try to get your attention without alerting anyone else. 

Pretending not to hear him, you walk past him with your cup full of coffee and ignore his whispering pleas for water. You stop at the back of the food wagon, hiding yourself behind its large wooden panels. A bucket of rain water sits by a steel dish tub on the table, waiting to be dumped into the tub and used as dishwater. 

You hear Kieran drop his head in defeat behind you. An aching, heavy weight pulls downward in your chest. 

Taking a sip of your coffee, you fake a look of disgust. You take another sip and repeat your act before dumping the contents from your cup. 

Quickly, you dip your cup into the water bucket to rinse the taste from your mouth. 

The cool water touches your lips but you don’t sip, keeping your lips tight against the rim of the cup. 

The coast seems to be clear. No one’s watching or noticing. Checking around you, you dart over to Kieran. He hears your quick steps against the grass and almost yelps in fear. He looks up and sees your face close to his, causing him to drop his eyes and cringe in submission like a beaten dog. He pants pathetically and waits for you to strike him. 

Avoiding eye contact, you grasp his chin and gently prop his head up. He lets out a tiny whimper until you bring the cup to his lips. His eyes grow wide at this merciful gift. The cold metal clanks against his teeth and the cool water rushes through his chapped lips. He feels his throat expand as the water flows like a spring flood rushing through a dry desert canyon, washing away the dirt and dust.  

You continue watching around you for anyone who may come walking and hear him slurp from your hand.  

No one seems to notice, so you move your eyes over to watch him. He sips greedily from your cup, making you tilt it towards him so he can gain every last drop. His Adam’s apple protrudes from his throat in a sharp angle and bobs with every gulp. 

With a final gulp, he exhales in relief and attempts to breathe a ‘thank you’, to which you quickly silence with a finger to his moistened lips. 

“Nothing happened.” You stare at him with such intensity, it’s almost threatening. 

You step away with your dry cup and hear him speak to you in the softest whisper. He mumbles a sweet “thank you” under his breath, nearly undetectable. You smile softly on your way back to your tent until you see a pair of eyes watching you. 

Shit.  

Mary Beth. 

She stands by the rounded table, her hands paused from opening the domino box and watching you curiously. You freeze in place and plead her with wide eyes and upturned brows. 

Please don’t tell. You beg with a silent, sorrowful look. You don’t know what would happen if the others found out, but you’re sure it won’t be pleasant for you. 

A tight-lipped smile grows on her face and she gestures with an open palm towards the dominos. Her invitation is met with hesitation. Can you trust Mary Beth? You haven’t known her for that long and have kept your secrets to yourself. But the look in her eyes show comforting sympathy, not judgement. 

Stepping with bated breath, you bring yourself to the chair across from her. 

Neither of you speak while she shuffles the dominos on the table. The gentle clicking of the ivory rectangles seem so deafeningly loud compared to the unspoken words you pass to each other. 

Mary Beth gives an understanding nod and looks into your eyes with a sweet smile. No doubt she’s gushing at how romantic and noble your simple gesture was to the prisoner. 

You didn’t realize how long you had been holding your breath until you let out a relieved sigh through your nose. You sincerely hope Mary Beth can keep a secret. Sitting here with her, you begin to believe she’s more trusting compared to the others. 

However, you still worry she may not be the only witness to your act of kindness.

.........

Another day passes by and you hear a startled cry followed by angry shouts. The eruption startles you and the grooming brush drops from your hands. Your horse beside you immediately senses your alarm and reacts with a twitch of her muscles and a jerk of her head. She promptly resumes to grazing while you bend to pick the brush off the ground. Holding the brush against your chest, your fingers run against its thick bristles. Your heart rate quickens and you step over to look towards the dead birch tree. A sickening unease washes over you as you watch Arthur, Bill and Dutch surround the Duffy boy. 

You stop in your tracks as you watch Bill hold a pair of iron tongs with a sadistic look on his face. The edges of the tongs are glowing red and sparks fly with every metallic snap Bill makes. Arthur’s broad frame blocks your view of Kieran, but you can barely see his trousers that pool around his ankles. 

Your feet remain frozen in place. You hear Dutch’s voice but your mind doesn’t process his words as you’re too focused on what torturous act is about to happen. 

Tongue fat and lips glued shut, you stand there in the open, unable to prevent Kieran’s frightened pleas from entering your ears.

Just talk, boy. C’mon. Your thoughts scream. An internal conflict burns within you: desperate to intervene but the paranoia warns you’ll be ostracized and labeled a traitor for defending an O’Driscoll boy. 

“All right, I’ll talk!” He cries. 

It’s as if Kieran heard your thoughts. He spills everything. Colm...Six Point Cabin. 

But you don’t feel relief just yet, eyeing a disappointed Bill who still holds the hot tongs close to Kieran’s naked bottom half. 

It isn’t until you see Arthur cut his bonds that you finally loosen the tight fists at your sides. Your fingernails leave marks against the skin of your palms.

Pulling his trousers up to hide his shame, Kieran’s eyes catch you across the way. He sees the fear wash from your face as he follows the men to their horses. He still looks deeply terrified, unsure of whether this ride with John, Arthur and Bill will lead to his execution. 

“Be safe, boys!’ You call to them. 

The four of them, including Kieran who sits behind a disgruntled John, turn to you in their saddles. They look at you as if hearing a babe say its first word. The slight surprise mutes them for a moment until Arthur finally speaks. 

“We’ll be fine, (Y/N)” he says, “Don’tchu worry.”

You watch them ride off down the hill to Six Point Cabin, the location Kieran mentioned. You may not read people as well as others in this gang, but his words seemed true and genuine. You can only hope your instinct is true until the men return, and then you wonder if Kieran will be turned loose...or killed after the job is done. 

You sincerely hope it’s the former.

...........

It’s late afternoon and supper is just ready. The men have been gone for several hours now and your thoughts are no longer kept at bay by busy chores. You don’t hear the subtle hoof beats entering camp, nor the teasing remarks passed between the riders. 

Until a shrill voice startles you from behind, causing you to early spill your dinner. 

“Get this man a bowl!” Bill’s voice yells behind you, “We ain’t found Colm, but this lucky bastard here saved Arthur from gettin’ a bullet in the head!” 

Mumbled voices around the fire exclaim in shock and relief for Arthur’s sake, but little ‘thank-you’s are expressed to Kieran. He steps behind you as you turn to smile at him and Bill, grateful for their safe return. 

You watch him happily grab a bowl of stew and sit on a log next to Uncle, who makes a grimaced look of disgust and moves to a different spot—preferably upwind. 

“Thank you Kieran,” you gently call over, “For saving Arthur.”

He looks to you with those big doe eyes and smiles awkwardly at your statement of gratitude. 

Standing and rubbing your sore hip with one hand, you walk over and extend your bowl to him. He scarfed his food so quickly that his bowl looks almost sparkling clean. 

“Here,” you offer the rest of your dinner, “You sure look like you could eat.”

Kieran stammers, “Oh, no ma’am. I couldn’t do that.”

“Please. I’m not that hungry anyway...Hate for it to go to waste. And Pearson never makes enough for everyone.” You give a gentle smirk. 

“Thank you miss,” Kieran blinks. “That’s very kind of you.” 

He holds his bowl steady with his eyes darting nervously across your face as you transfer your leftovers. You nod and start to walk away until he stops you.

“Oh, and miss?” He whispers.

You turn to him, an eyebrow slightly arched at his politeness.

“Thank you for...yesterday.” 

“Don’t mention it,” you smile. “It’s the least I could do.”

Little do you know when you leave, Kieran feels eternally blessed by your act of kindness. It may not seem like much to you, but to him that showed your true soul. This world is brutal and unforgiving, but your empathy and tenderness is what gives him hope and comfort. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

[chilling-seavey]

Passchendaele WW2 Extension - Where We Were and Who We are to Become

September 12, 1945

Evelyn always whistled when she baked. Maybe it was a bit the piano student in her but it always seemed to brighten her spirits with a little tune on her lips. In her tiny London apartment, she had just slid her own birthday cake in the oven when the phone rang.

She wiped her hands off on the tea towel and hurried to the wall where the phone was hung and picked up the receiver, “Hello?”

“Evelyn.”

It was her mother.

“Oh, Mama, hello. I just put my cake in the oven. I know you suggested waiting until at least the day before but I don’t mind. I was just far too excited-”

“Evelyn,” her mother’s voice was quiet as if she was whispering into the phone and she sounded like she was crying, “it’s your brother.”

Evelyn swore her heart stopped in her chest and she gripped tighter onto the receiver in her hand, “What about him, Mama?”

“He’s come home, darling. He’s home safe.”

“What?” Evelyn choked out.

“He’s home. Charlie’s home.”

Evelyn didn’t need one more piece of information, “I’m on my way.”

She pulled the uncooked cake out of the oven, nearly threw it on the counter, grabbed her purse, and was out the door in an instant. Her legs couldn’t carry her fast enough but the city traffic wouldn’t have been any better so she resorted to running across the sidewalks of London to the train station.

Evelyn made it back to her childhood home on the earliest train she could ��� clocking in from apartment to porch in a record 45 minutes – and rushed right inside without even a knock. Elizabeth had seen her daughter running up the driveway and had stood up to meet her in the hallway but Evelyn pushed right past her and around the couch to where her brother and her father were sat.

One look at her big brother and Evelyn was stopping in place, her breath shuttering in her chest at the sight of him. He was older, that was for sure, but he wasn’t what she expected. He looked tired and frail and terribly frightened.

Evelyn was exactly how Charles had expected her to look. He left her as a girl of merely eighteen and he returned to her as a woman of almost twenty-five. She was grown now and she was beautiful and it shattered Charlie’s heart to have missed so much of his little sister over the last six years. His quiet crying fell back into emotional weeping and he curled into Daniel’s side shamefully.

“Charlie.” Evelyn whimpered, dropping her purse to the floor and she gently sat beside him on the couch. Her hand hesitated in the air a moment as if she were afraid to touch him but then she set her hand against his arm, “It’s okay, Charlie.”

She glanced up at their father as if needing to ask for permission to console her older brother but Daniel just held open his arm and she shuffled up close. She rested her head on Charlie’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around him, her brave big brother, and let her silent tears fall into the sleeve of his uniform. He had always been there for her for her whole life, Charlie was her protector from the moment she was born, but now he was the one needing her. Evelyn was grown up enough now to understand that…and to understand that no words had to be spoken to show it.

The Seavey’s sat on their couch together for at least an hour; parents holding their two children and thanking God for their safety and for allowing them the privilege of getting through the hardest six years they ever had to endure.

When the initial shock had calmed down, Elizabeth remade some tea and Evelyn helped her bring the teacups and the biscuits into the parlour. The two women paused for a moment together in the kitchen and shared a quick hug and a few tears before returning to their family.

Charlie refused to let go of Daniel and no one dared to ask him to stop – especially not Daniel. The young man rested with his cheek against his father’s chest, right over his heart, and clutched his shirt in his fist until he was creasing the fabric. Daniel only pet his hair and held him close without a word. Elizabeth couldn’t read her husband’s expression as he stared down at their son in his arms.

When Charlie was able, he sat up to have his tea; the china cup trembling in his hand as he lifted it to his mouth to sip carefully. Daniel tended to him without second thought, holding a hand to the back of his head and helped to guide his son’s shaking hand so the tea wouldn’t spill all over him.

“Good boy.” Daniel whispered.

Charlie only whimpered through his next breath and let Daniel set the teacup down on the coffee table. Elizabeth had turned the photographs back around while Charlie had been distracted in his initial return and now he stared up at the frames on the mantle with a flat expression, scanning each one as if it were his first time seeing it.

“Biscuit, Charlie?” Evelyn asked softly, holding out a small square tea cookie to her brother.

“Let’s not rush him, buttercup.” Daniel said gently.

“It’s okay.” Charles mumbled and carefully took the cookie from his sister. He took a tiny bite from the corner and savoured it in his mouth like it was the most delicious yet dangerous thing he had eaten his whole life.

His family watched him silently.

He ate half of the biscuit and then set the rest back on the saucer on the coffee table.

“What do you want to do now, darling?” Elizabeth asked.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.” Charlie spoke as strongly as he could but his voice wavered and broke at the end.

“We know.” Elizabeth tisked pitifully and set a comforting hand on his back.

“I was…I was distracted…” Charlie discreetly glanced down to his hand on his lap where the ring engraved with RB was tucked around his right pinky. The family held their breaths, the three of them knowing who that ring belonged to perfectly well. Charlie continued, “I was distracted and was shot down over enemy lines and…they took me prisoner.”

Evelyn curled up into her brother’s side as he recalled his last few months.

Charlie took a trembling inhale as he spoke to the floor, “They wouldn’t kill us because that would cause their prisoners in British control to be killed and they didn’t want to risk that but they…they kept us in a camp. I tried to write to you…I swear that I did…but…but we weren’t allowed. They barely fed us and they…they tried to treat us like…like we were nothing. I was…I was just waiting to die because a few men starved to death in the night and…and I didn’t know the war was over until the Russian’s liberated the camp a fortnight ago. I…We were in there for months after the armistice and…and I couldn’t write you. I didn’t think…I didn’t…I didn’t have anyone!”

He broke down in sobs, hiding his face in his hands as his whole body trembled and shook.

“Richie’s dead and it’s m-my fault!” Charlie wept loudly.

Daniel pulled his son’s hands from his face and gently but strongly turned him to face him, holding his cheeks in his palms, “You look at me, Charles Christian.”

Charlie blinked away his heavy tears to meet his father’s concerned expression.

“I wish I could have told you this the moment your brother died in your arms but I can only offer this now. That was not your fault.”

“Yeah, it was!” Charlie nodded helplessly, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. “I was flying…I didn’t help him unbuckle…I could have…I could h-have-”

“Christ.” Daniel breathed to himself, trying to compose himself to somehow offer consolation to his son. He closed his eyes and took a breath before looking at him again. Charlie sobbed, his grown-up face still cradled in his father’s hands. “They have made you sit in this self-decided guilt for far too long. I know it well, Charles. I know it far too well. You don’t have to say one word to me and I know you cried yourself to sleep every night in that camp and I know that despite them starving you, you still refused to eat because the sight of food made you sick. I know that you hated every breath you took because he wasn’t there breathing with you.”

Charlie sobbed louder, nodding quickly.

“And you look at me right now, Charles Christian.” Daniel ordered with nothing but pure love in his voice.

Charlie sniffled as he stared pathetically at his father with his same light blue eyes, waiting for him to continue.

“I will tell you every morning and every night until you believe it; what happened to Richard is not your fault. You are not a bad person because of it and I am damn sure you did everything you could to try and save him.”

“He didn’t let me take him to the nurses station!” Charlie cried.

“But you held him, didn’t you?”

Charlie nodded.

“And you told him you loved him, didn’t you?”

Charlie nodded again.

“And you still remember the things he wanted you to pass on for him, don’t you?”

Charlie nodded, nearly drowning himself in his tears, choking over each breath.

“I know.” Daniel said. “Because you are a good brother and a good man and a good son and you make me so damn proud every single day of your life. Don’t you forget it.”

“It hurts so bad!” Charlie sobbed.

“I know.” Daniel pulled him close and wrapped his arms around his son, pressing a kiss to his cheek before clutching him to his chest. “It’s going to hurt every day for the rest of your life but it will get easier.”

Charlie, a grown man of twenty-seven laid helplessly against his father’s chest, crying into his shirt and clinging onto him like he was his only salvation. And Daniel held him close, not saying a single word, clutching onto his son as if his touch could take away his pain.

He stared over his shoulder to his daughter and his wife, Evelyn easily curling up with her brother to try to console him and Daniel held his two children securely. His eyes raised back to Elizabeth who was crying herself too but she smiled a tight but honest smile to her husband and reached a hand out to set over his one that was wrapped around his son.

“You…” she sniffled slightly, trying to keep her voice quiet for only him to hear, “You are the most incredible man I have ever known.”

Daniel held back his own tears for the sake of his grown-up children and mouthed an “I love you” to his wife which she returned. As the family held each other on the couch, Daniel let his tear filled eyes drift over to the mantle, lingering on the Victoria Cross sitting in its bed of velvet and the framed photograph of his brother smiling back at him.

His worst fear had come true: the evil of humanity wrapping itself around his son’s heart until his joy was suffocated out of him. An experience he swore never to even wish onto his worst enemy.

[grizztomysam]

NSFW Grizzam Photoshoot AU Rough Outline Draft...kind of

Sam Eliot co-owns Gelb-Eliot Studios with Becca Gelb a highly sought after photographer, many have dubbed the next Anna Liebovitz, who’s worked with top brand editorial and fashion conglomerates. Best friends since middle school, they both built their growing empire from a makeshift dark room in Sam’s closet when they were both 14 to a sprawling beauty of a studio with breath-taking views of Central Park and two other locations under contractual negotiations in Paris and Milan. While Becca is the artistic eye of the duo, capturing and immortalizing beauty for the masses, known for her risque black and white portraits, the more provocative and raw the better, Sam helps edits and finalize their projects and help reign in her occasional mad starving artist moments when she goes off on tangents about art should not be monetized and no one understand or knows how to appreciate good things anymore without being pretentious. But most importantly he travels to the corners of the world (if he has to) to scout and find the next Gelb-Eliot muse. 

It’s nearing the end of the year and Gelb-Eliot Studios is still in the initial stages of their next anticipated project. However, instead of the usual gallery showing, Becca wants to try something new..some sort of art installation and ramblings about a dream she has. She has a name already picked out for the project, a very unusual thing since that detail usually came to her literally nights before a show, and the biggest quirk is that she refuses to share what it was or what the project is even about with Sam. He won’t lie and say he’s not feeling certain frustrations, occasional angry signnage had been exchanged between the two because of the sudden secrecy from Becca’s part, but he relents and knows he’s off to god knows where to do his thing and bring back a fresh face that Becca will do her magic on. 

But the thing with Becca and Sam is, they have this almost 6th sense instinctual connection. When they were younger their mothers swore they were twins or something with how scary connected they were. So Sam knew, even with the vagueness from Becca, which to be honest was how they worked together anyways, he would go out and look and when he found her or him, he’d know without a doubt Becca would agree. After years under their partnership he’d yet to be wrong.

Enter Grizz Visser, starving writer and poet. Literally and figuratively. 

He’s desperate to be published, a handful of manuscripts fill his ratty old briefcase, an aged but beloved thing that he own’s that is of any worth. The bag had been grabbed in haste after before being kicked out from his parents house 8 years ago at 17. Being gay and coming out to a bigoted, angry and unforgiving father was a dangerous thing to keep in close quarters. It had been his late grandpas..a good, kind and just man. He knew for sure would have embraced him as he was...no judgement or hate. But life is cruel and things are what they are. He never attended college like he’d dreamed and desperately craved for, being cut off was hard and he had scholarships but not enough to keep him afloat. So he worked the odd job here and there through out the years. Trying to stay above water. And he wrote. He wrote to keep himself sane...hoping one day there would be a story worth writing about that the world would be willing to read. 

Sam comes back after two weeks in Europe finding no one. Becca has reclused herself like a hermit, nothing new, so he didn’t even bother briefing her on the fact they lowkey might be screwed if their deadline was to be in a month or so.

But the universe is funny, at times...cruel always, but there are rare moments it gets generous and will bestow upon the lowly mortals, gifts. 

The universe and irony..lovers at best..two peas in a pod really. Oh the irony that one he’s been looking for was right under their nose, in the same borough no less.

Sam sees him from across the park, pen in hand, dark hair askew from the light breeze, despite his attempts at smoothing it down behind one ear. His mouth still had the same quirk that Sam had often dreamed about. Lips he’d wish he could taste, lick and bite in his fevered state most nights after a rough day at school, when he’d lock the door to his room, finally breath and just let himself go and be reckless with his thoughts about the taller, older, dark haired junior in his english class, who he was adamantly sure was straight despite Becca’s gaydar saying otherwise. Dreams always bordered on obscene, made him blush scarlet after he’d finish, feeling pathetic and emptier. Obscene they were always because in his young desperate mind he’d argue if he viewed Grizz as a sexual object, and nothing more, he could separate any romantic feelings. Romantic feelings were dangerous. They were on the cusp of like...and like could manifest into love. And Grizz was the type of boy he could definitely fall for.

In another life perhaps. 

So he’d objectify Grizz in his thoughts, the dirtier the better. Because he’d tried before, but it was futile at removing any trace of Grizz from his mind. And he refused to think about thoughts where Grizz held him, or Grizz laughed at something he said. 

Or Grizz loved him. The hurt would be too much.

But the shame after was cripplingly. Left him curled into himself, angry, with such a want to run and fall to his knees begging for forgiveness and maybe...

But you can’t wish for things that could and would never happen.

Grasping and searching for a needle in a haystack when you realize too late there never was a needle to begin with...his mother would always say. 

And after Grizz had suddenly and mysteriously disappeared mid of his junior year he’d finally let it go. Cried for a good month or so. Becca didn’t ask questions but knew enough. Was there to hug away the tears and hurt as best as she could. And then he threw himself into school and helped Becca cultivate her passion. And the rest was history.

Except now here he stood, gaping like some lunatic. Forgetting what breathing is anymore. And Grizz is sat a few feet away on a park bench, in a oversized stripped wool hoodie, an old tattered brown briefcase by his thigh, and looking mother fucking, breathtakingly beautiful.

And why does his hands sting all of a sudden. Oh right cuz he’s digging his nails into his palm and has drawn blood because he’s a literal cliff edge away from running, screaming, and fainting or all three.

But also an insane part of him, this loud fucking nagging voice he has assigned as Becca’s voice thoughout the years, he’d liken to how he remembered Minnie Mouse sounded like when he was four and watched Saturday cartoons with his dad, except more shrill and grating, is telling him Grizz is the fucking one. 

He’s found their muse. 

------------

A taste people...Imma write this.. all if it kills me...there will be smut...it will be dirty as fucking hell but they are also of age as in late 20s soo... so be warned..bUt god damn those pictures have put me off kilter so I will not even apologize anymore. I am just writing out my feels because its either that or screaming out the window and that option might cause a public disturbance and probable jail time...so...yuh

FUCKIN SOOOOOOOOO.....

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Watford Cove

Chapter 5: not so typical love song

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 5365

Chapter: 5/13 [All chapters]

Summary: Baz goes to Simon's house to work on the project.

Read on AO3

AN: So as some of you may know/remember, I work at an amusement park. I was supposed to work today but it's literally raining all day so the park is most certainly closed. Which means I can post early! Hooray! This is personally one of my favourite chapters. I enjoyed writing it quite a bit, though I had trouble writing Baz's emotions. The boy is a weird self destructive mess and it's difficult getting that across lol. Finally, we learn a bit more about Simon. Plus some fluff, of course. Hope you all like it!

Tagging: @wayward-son-61​ @lunar-lover394​

———————————————-

“Where are you going?”

I lazily turn towards Mordelia. She’s standing next to me with her arms behind her back, rocking on her heels. The picture of an adorable, unassuming child. You can hardly tell she's a brat.

“Out,” I reply.

“Mum says you go out too much.”

I do feel a bit bad about that. Daphne does legitimately care about my well being. “Well, you can tell her I’m not going out drinking. She can stop worrying.”

“Drinking what?”

I sigh. Right, she is still seven years old. “Nevermind. I’m just going to do schoolwork at someone’s house. I might be home for supper or not, I don’t know.”

“Okay. When can I ride on your motorbike?”

I smirk and buckle up my helmet. “Let's wait until you can reach the pedals. Then we’ll talk.”

Mordelia pouts pathetically. I ruffle her hair, which only makes her pout become an impressive scowl. I flip down my visor with flare and rev my engine. I give Mordelia a salute before driving off down the country road.

Simon’s house isn’t that far from mine, actually. Maybe a twenty minute ride, the way I break the speeding laws. I zip down the hill at ludicrous speeds, and keep that pace up across the country roads until they become moderately paved. Soon I’m on the sparse outskirts of Watford Cove, not the bloody fucking wilderness like mine. A much nicer place to live in my opinion.

Only a few minutes in, I arrive at the address Simon texted me. The house is actually quite posh. It’s not the terrible extravagance of the Pitch mansion of course, but it’s nice. Red brick, white shutters, some fancy curtains. There's a silver mailbox at the end of the drive with "Salisbury" painted on it in annoyingly bright green letters. The handwriting looks childish, as in a child probably wrote it. The initials "LS" are under the words like an artist's signature. Hm, interesting.

I park my bike in the driveway then make my way to the oak door. The doorbell chimes deep and loud. There’s some steps and soon it swings open. Oh. This is...not Simon. Because Simon is not an older greying-blonde woman.

This woman reminds me of portraits my own grandmother. She was also tall, straight backed, and respectful looking. But my grandmother never showed an ounce of happiness. This woman has a very kind smile on her face though, her wrinkles more from the expression rather than age.

“Hello,” she says kindly. “May I help you?”

“Um, I’m here to see Simon.”

Both her blue eyes and smile widen. “Oh right, Simon said you were coming. Simon! Your friend is here!”

There’s a crashing sound, like someone falling on the ground. Rapid steps come down the stairs until a beaming Simon jumps to the bottom.

“Hi Baz,” he says breathlessly. “Glad you found it.”

“I have Google Maps, Salisbury,” I deadpan, but with a smirk.

“Oh yeah, right, let’s go.” He motions for me to follow him inside. I nod to the woman. She looks up towards the stairs, hands on her hips.

“Simon,” she says with mock accusation, “are you not going to introduce me to your friend?”

Simon freezes halfway up the steps and whips his head around. “Oh right! Sorry, Gran. Um, Gran, this is Baz. Baz, this is my grandmother, Ruth Salisbury.”

I reach out my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Salisbury.”

Her brows rise up in surprise. I suppose she didn’t expect politeness from a guy wearing a black Ramones shirt, leather jacket, and ear piercings. But she still takes my hand. “Pleasure to meet you as well, Baz. You two have fun.”

Simon scoffs. “It’s school, Gran. We’re not supposed to have fun.”

“School can be fun if you try, darling. Maths has made me very good at cards.”

“And you fleece Mrs. Jones every week at your games, I know. We gotta go.”

“Yes yes, go do your schoolwork. Don’t break anything.”

Simon and Ms. Salisbury smile good naturedly at each other as we go upstairs. He runs at a breakneck pace, nearly tripping over the green carpet. I follow more slowly, looking over the walls. Unlike my house, there are many personalised things. Landscape art, funny knick knacks, and some pictures. There’s one of Ms. Salisbury with an older man, who I assume to be her husband. Next to that, there’s the couple again but in their younger years. A boy and girl stand in the foreground, both as blonde as Ms. Salisbury. The last one at the top of the stairs is obviously the two kids as teenagers, grinning with arms around each other. The woman looks weirdly familiar. Her freckles, they remind me of...stars.

“Baz, c’mon!” Simon yells.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming. You’re quite bossy today, darling,” I say teasingly. I hear his gasp, then fall into a coughing fit.

“I-I just want to start working.” His voice is still a bit hoarse.

“Alright.”

I saunter down to the hall Simon went down. I step into his room, and...well, I’m not sure what else I expected. The bed and desk look old, but everything else is new. The floral blanket, the multicoloured rug, the IKEA shelf filled with comics, all quite fresh. The walls are bright blue and covered in posters. Troye Sivan, Lana del Ray, Hayley Kiyoko, and assorted pastel coloured art. Equally pastel clothes are spread out across the floor. The whole room is so...bright. It sort of hurts my eyes. I’d prefer everything a bit darker. I guess I like Simon’s colour palette in small doses, just not all in one room.

I look up. Simon’s at his desk. I finally notice that he’s wearing a new shirt. It’s like the sunflower one, but pink and with bright red rosebuds instead. It works with the copper undertones of his hair. He looks perfect in it.

“Pretty,” I whisper.

“What?” Simon asks sweetly.

Fuck, I hope my face isn’t as red as his shirt right now. “Um, nothing.”

He looks confused for only a moment then shrugs. “Okay. I woke up late and forgot breakfast, so I'm starving. Want some of this? For brain food and stuff.” He holds up a mint aero bar. My smile is instantaneous.

“Sure. Mint aeros are my favourite.”

He grins to his ears. “Mine too!

I sit in the chair next to him. He breaks off a large piece for me. We eat the chocolate at the same time, but Simon gets some around his mouth. (Of course he's a messy eater.) I want to slowly lick it off his cheek then kiss him so hard we run out of breath. I quickly look away to resist temptation. “So, you got the project up?”

“Oh yeah!” He turns back to his laptop. I see that the desk is covered in scribbly note paper, candy wrappers, and nail polish bottles. He’s got almost every colour in his preferred pastel shade. He’s actually wearing the pink one right now. It matches his shirt. I have to keep myself from making an out loud comment again.

“So I’ve started making the powerpoint,” Simon says, bringing up the application. “And I think we should start with Watership Down. The actual place. Cause it’s like, the most important setting right?”

I bite my tongue, because I...disagree. Strongly. Watership Down should be in the middle, because it is the end of their first journey and the beginning of the next. It’s important to illustrate that, I think. But he doesn’t know I would think that.

“Sure, cool,” I mutter.

“O-Okay. Then, uh, for characters, we should start with General Woundwort.”

Wrong, very wrong. He’s important, sure, but others should be discussed first. Maybe Hazel, Bigwig, or Fiver. Fuck, Bluebell should come before Woundwort.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I hope there isn’t a strain in my voice.

“Awesome! And I thought for analysis, we could talk about the archetypes and shit.”

No! Archetypes are Jungian! We’re supposed to do Freudian! Oh, fuck it.

“Give me that,” I hiss, snatching the laptop away. Simon blinks at me confused. I type furiously, barely thinking really, just spouting out the knowledge I have onto the slides. Some of the stuff is very smart but not well put, so I redo the wording. Not good with words, just like Simon said. I don’t know how long it takes, but when I’m done, I put the laptop back on the desk with my arms crossed.

“There,” I say curtly.

Simon looks through it, jaw falling open wider and wider with every slide. I shift away. Christ, this is embarrassing.

“Holy shit,” Simon whispers. I wait for him to start laughing, or yelling because I change his work. But he just turns to me with big awe filled eyes. “You’re...really smart.”

My cheeks must be as red as tomatoes now. I scoff and look at the Hayley Kiyoko poster. “Yeah, whatever.”

“No, no, I mean it, Baz. This is bloody brilliant! You’re super smart!” His brow furrows. “Why do you never show up to class? You could be getting As in like, everything.”

I press my lips together, digging my nails into my bicep. “I don’t care about school or grades. That’s all.”

“Really? You just, don’t care?”

“No, I don’t.”

Simon sighs, and I hate how close to pity it sounds. I don’t need his pity or anyone else’s. I made my choice a long time ago, and I don’t regret it. Well, I mostly don’t regret it. Certainly don’t regret because of where I’m going when term is done. Not at all...

“So, uh,” Simon says rapidly, obviously trying to break the forming tension, “I'm also mostly done the drawings. I’ll scan them later and put them in the presentation if you like them.”

He pulls out a sketchbook from his desk and flips through the pages. He shoves it in my face once he’s found the right one, making me jolt back in my chair. I snatch it from him.

“Christ, Salisbury, let me actually look,” I chuckle.

“Oh, sorry, sorry.”

I look at the picture, and it’s my turn to be awestruck. It’s...amazing. Rough, raw, a bit messy, but amazing. He’s captured Watership Down in just pencil. Sure, it’s just a hill, but Simon has drawn it from the perspective of the rabbits, so it looks looming and majestic. There are little shapes at the top, and I realise it’s a few of the rabbits looking out into the distance. A cute and perfect addition.

“Wow, this is incredible,” I say with absolute reverence.

Simon blinks at me. He seems genuinely surprised. “R-Really?”

“Yes. You’re very talented, Simon.”

“Oh, uh, well, thanks. I’m...really glad you think so.” He fiddles with his fingers nervously. “There’s a-a couple more if you want to see them. Three pages after.”

I flip through a few more pages. There are a lot of rough, abstract sketches. They look more like feelings than specific things. Waves of smoke, angry scribbles of pencil, over and over. He must do that a lot. Eventually, I land on what I think I'm supposed to see. It's obviously Fiver, based on the photo he showed me. But it's not an exact replica. It's a gorgeous interpretation. He's emphasized Fiver's large, sad, all knowing eyes. You can almost see everything terrifying and wonderful happening in them. To say I’m impressed doesn’t really cover it.

I go to the next page, and I immediately recognise it as a scene from the animated movie. When El Ahrairah, the first rabbit, was given physical gifts to survive predators from their fictitious god Frith. This one is in colour, and somehow even more stylised than the movie. El Ahrairah himself is a deep rich brown with grey loops, the sun is swirl of orange and yellow, and the sky is ripples of vibrant blue. The same colour as his eyes.

“These,” I say, “are perfect, Simon.”

Simon chuckles nervously, fiddling with his fingers. “I’m glad you think so. Think Miss Possibelf will approve?”

“If she doesn’t, she’s completely incompetent. And I don’t think that’s true.” I absentmindedly turn to the next page. It’s the start of another unfinished drawing. It’s of someone’s face. Someone with sharp cheekbones and dark wavy hair. Wait, is that-

Simon snatches the book and quickly flips it closed. He hides half his scarlet face behind the leather cover for a long moment, until he nervously coughs and lowers it. “Okay, good,” he stutters. “Glad you think so. I, uh, guess we’re done now. Man, we really could just do most of this over text.” Mother of God, must he keep doing that hair tuck? It’s torture.

“I suppose that's true," I chuckle.

"Wanna hang out?" He asks very quickly, gripping his sketchbook with ghost white knuckles.

I shouldn't. Fuck, I really shouldn't. I should go home, avoid him, keep my toxic self far away from Simon. But fucking hell, I'm weak for this boy, and just weak in general.

"Sure." My voice stays impressively neutral. "Any ideas?"

Simon twists his lips, looking around the brightly coloured room. His eyes drift down to my hands and he smiles mischievously. “I could redo your nails.”

I look down at my hands. Well, my nails are definitely chipped. I forgot to repaint them a few days ago. I look back at him with a raised brow. “I doubt you have a bottle of my ‘Chanel Le Vernis in Gris Obscur’, Salisbury.”

“Nah, definitely no Chanel. But I got some pretty good stuff from the drugstore.” He lifts up some obviously cheap but pretty nail varnish bottles. They’re all his pastels colours though.

“Not really my style.”

He shrugs. “Maybe you’d like to try something new?”

I bite the corner of my mouth. The colours hurt my eyes a bit. But he looks so adorable with that hopeful grin and glint in his eyes. I sigh, and put my left hand out. “Very well. I want your darkest shade though.”

Simon literally bounces with excitement. “Awesome! So, uh, how about...” He messes around with the bottles, almost dropping a few. Eventually he settles on a pale blue. “This one, and,” he holds up a unused looking dark grey, “this one? We can alternate.”

“Hm, sure. That grey doesn’t really match your style, though.”

He shrugs. “Eh, came with the set. Glad it did. It, uh, matches your eyes.” He looks pointedly at the desk instead of my face. That’s good though. I don’t want him to see the blush that’s spread across my cheeks. “Now gimme your right hand.”

I do as he says, placing it on the desk. He puts down some paper towel then pick up his nail polish remover and cotton balls. I have the exact same supplies at home. He reaches towards my hand, but quickly hesitates. He’s shaking actually. I can’t blame him. Every time we’ve touched, it’s been accidental or very quickly. This is different. This isn't a shoulder pat or playful shove. This is long and sustained and purposeful. And I may not be showing it, but I’m just as nervous.

“I can take it off myself,” I say quickly, reaching for the bottle. But Simon pulls it away.

“No no, I’m good. Just sit there and look...badass, alright?”

My lip twitches up. He’s so sweet. I leave my hand where it is. “Very well.”

Slowly, shakily, he slips his finger under mine. His skin is callused but still much smoother than my rough palms. It feels weird, but very nice. Almost electric. He dabs the cotton ball on the nail, rubbing off all my high end black nail polish. Huh, they look odd. it’s been awhile since my nails have been clean. After wiping them dry, he starts on with the blue. It’s a nice colour. Not something I would pick, but I can see the appeal. Simon drags the brush against my nail slowly but surely, making sure the coat is even.

“Hm,” I say, “you’re good at this.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. “Self taught. A lot of trial and error, y’know? Took me ages to figure out how to do my right hand.”

“I learned from YouTube videos. Those makeup gurus know their shit.”

“Huh, smart. Oh, y’know what.” He stops painting and spins in his chair. Even with his back to me, I now he’s fiddling with his phone. Suddenly, the honeyed voice of Lana Del Rey is resonating through the room. He spins back with a grin.

“Your weird music is necessary?” I raise an eyebrow for sarcastic emphasis. Simon chuckles.

“Yeah, helps me concentrate. And it’s part of my continuing effort to convert you to good music.”

“Oh, is that your grand mission?”

“Yup! Slowly pull you away from all those screamy boys with bad haircuts and towards the beauty of Troye and Lana.”

I scoff. “You keep trying that, darling.”

He gives me a shy but sort of playful look from under his long eyelashes. “I certainly will...darling.”

Oh shit. I hope my complexion hides my blush enough. I smile back and try to look calm, hiding the storm in my chest.

We switch between chatting and companionable silence. Though Simon is never truly quiet. He hums along with the song, or makes noises of contemplation and frustration while trying to get my nails right. His hands slowly get less shaky, which helps. When we’re not talking, I take the opportunity to just watch his expression. How he sticks his tongue out in concentration, and his brow pulls together, and his face adorable pinches together when he gets something wrong. He always tries his best to fix it though, even with his clumsy fingers. It’s really sweet. Just like him.

I'm so unbelievably fucked.

“And...there!” He pulls back with a flourish. “Topcoat and everything. What do you think?”

I examine my hands. Huh, the blue is actually nice on me. And he’s right, the grey matches my eyes. It’s very well done. Maybe black isn’t the only colour I should use. I look up. Simon is staring at me wide eyed, chewing on his lip, leg jittering.

“It’s wonderful,” I say. “You did a marvelous job, Salisbury. Maybe you have a future as a nail artist.”

His nervous expression breaks, thankfully. I’ve found I prefer his grin to his genuine agitation. Blushing smile? Adorable. Wide eyed leg jittering? Not so much. “T-Thanks. Maybe...you could do mine sometime?”

Our eyes meet, and there’s no deception there. He’s always so genuine. It’s amazing. “Sure," I say before thinking. "If you can learn to like black.”

She shrugs. “Well, if you can learn to like blue, I guess I can try black.”

He grins, and I grin back. There’s a stretch of silence. It builds between us, making the air thicker and thicker. I’m torn between what I want to say and what I should. That I want more from this, more than just winks and smiles and “darlings”. But I know it can’t work. Simon should know that. I should tell him, all of it. But...he'll hate me. For not telling him about Switzerland, for using him like a plaything, for being an utterly stupid reckless prick. Can I handle him truly hating me?

“Simon, love! It’s nearly supper! Are you and Baz done your work?” Ms. Salisbury’s voice carries quite well. It jolts me from my depressive pit. Simon sighs and leans out towards the door.

“Yeah! Be down in a minute, Gran.” He looks at me, and I swear I see genuine sadness. “Looks like it’s time to say goodbye.”

I try to hide my own disappointment. “Yeah, looks like it.”

He bounces out of his chair, then offers his hand. I inhale sharply. Did not expect that. But after only a second of hesitation, I take it. He pulls me to my feet with ease. I’m still disturbed by how much his strength excites me.

“C’mon, let’s get you back on your motorbike, Pitch.”

“Should get you on it one day,” I say under my breath.

“What?”

I straighten up, hands in my jacket pockets. “Nothing, Salisbury.”

We walk down the stairs quickly. Well, Simon more jumps down them. He’s a never ending ball of energy. Ms. Salisbury is at the bottom.

“How was the work, you two?” she asks sweetly.

“Wonderful!” Simon chirps. “Talked about bunnies and stuff, and Baz let me do his nails.”

My brow shoots up to my hairline. I can’t believe he’s so open about this. If I told my father or Daphne the same, they would not say anything at best and lecture me at worst. But Ms. Salisbury looks positively elated by Simon’s words. “Oh, marvellous. Finally you can practice on someone other than me, love.”

Simon rolls his eye. “Yeah, like you don’t like it.”

“Of course. But it’s good you have another guinea pig. May I see your work?”

Simon looks at me in silent question. I shrug in response, then hold out my hand for his grandmother. She flips the glasses down from her head. “Amazing job, Simon. You’ve gotten so much better. And it looks great on you, Baz.”

“Thank you, Ms. Salisbury.”

She pulls away, waving dismissively. “Please, call me Ruth. Now, Baz, will you be staying for dinner?”

“Uh.” I turn to Simon. “Am I staying for dinner, Simon?”

Simon’s face turns red. “Oh, sure, if you want.”

I shrug. “I’m certainly in no rush to get home, and if it’s no trouble.”

“Oh it’s none at all,” Ms. Salis- Ruth says, waving her hand dismissively.

“Then I guess I’ll stay for supper.”

Ruth claps her hand once loudly. “Wonderful! Let me put out another setting.”

She saunters off to the kitchen. I decide to actually take off my jacket and boots and stay awhile. Simon leans in close to my ear, making my pulse spike.

“Hope you like roast beef,” he whispers. “It’s the only thing Gran knows how to cook well. Grandpa was a chef, and she’s been on her own since he died, so she’s never had to cook anything else. But she’s been learning more since I’ve got here.”

I shrug like he does. “I think I’ll live.”

“Good to hear.”

Simon leads me to the small dining room table. When I go to the left side, Simon grabs my hand and drags me to the right. I jolt slightly. Wow, that’s bold for him. Not that I’m complaining. I sit next to him as Ruth brings out a platter of delicious smelling meat and mash potatoes. Simon immediately shovels the food on his plate, licking his lips like a starving animal. I on the other hand take only a few slices delicately just like my mother taught me. But Ruth gives me an odd look.

“Are you not hungry, Baz?” she asks.

“Um, no, I am,” I reply slowly.

“Then please, take as much as you like. I always make a lot because of Simon’s endless appetite.”

Simon rolls his eyes, speaking with a mouth full of roast beef. “I’m a growing boy!”

“Growing monster more like it,” Ruth chuckles.

Huh, okay. I decide to be polite and take some more. Dinner proper starts, and it's...weird. My family is never this talkative at supper. We’re mostly silent and sullen. But the Salisburies are the exact opposite. Ruth and Simon chat, though Simon has trouble responding through all the the food in his mouth. (The boy has zero manners. It’s adorable.)

“So, Baz,” Ruth asks, facing me, “how’s school for you? I’ve only ever heard about it from Simon and Miss Penelope.”

No one’s ever asked my opinion of school either. I shrug. “It’s alright. Not my favourite place to be, of course. I think English is my favourite subject.” I tap Simon’s foot under the table. His breath hitches slightly, and he flashes me only a small smile. But it’s enough.

“Glad to hear so. Simon loves English too. He’s always eager to get to first period for Miss Possibelf’s class every morning.”

I flick my eyes over to Simon. His cheeks are flushed as he bites into his roast beef.

“Hm, glad to hear I’m not the only one who loves literature.” I let my voice drawl a bit, hopefully enough for Simon to notice but not Ruth. He doesn’t look up from his food, but I feel his toe tap my foot. And once again, it’s enough. Everything Simon does seems to be enough for me.

“I’m just glad Simon’s adjusting to Watford,” Ruth sighs. “It’s not easy moving schools most of the way through the year.”

Simon sighs in return. They sound almost exactly alike. Though Simon is more exasperated. “I told you, Gran, I’m fine. My grades are much better than last term.”

“There’s a good reason for that.” Ruth aggressively stabs her beef, and Simon looks sad as he nods slightly. This is the only crack in Ruth's kind demeanour I’ve seen all day. It’s strange, and the curious brainiac in me wants to know more. But the sensible part knows to just keep eating my food.

“Hey,” Simon chirps, “did I tell you about the kid who gave himself a wedgie in gum class yet?”

Ruth’s playful smile immediately returns. “No, I don’t believe you have.”

“Oh man, it was hilarious! Baz you’ll love this too.”

I lean my cheek into my palm. “I’m sure I will.”

Simon launches into the rambling anecdote, using mostly weird noises and illustrative hand gestures instead of words. Ruth and I both laugh along genuinely. This is the first time I’ve enjoyed a family meal in ages. It may be unusual, but it’s certainly not unenjoyable.

Soon enough, dinner is over, and Ruth brings out dessert. They’re sour cherry scones from Pritchard Bakery. Simon takes three immediately and starts slathering butter all over them.

“You like scones?” I ask mockingly.

Simon nods, scone crumbs all around his mouth. “Uh-huh. Gran got me some my first day here. They’re absolutely incredible.”

“My cousin owns the bakery, you know.”

His eyes go impossibly wide. “Really?! Could you get me some free samples?”

I shrug, a playful smile on my face. “Maybe.”

“Simon, you eat enough, you don’t need any more,” Ruth kindly berates. Simon frowns.

“There’s never enough scones, Gran.”

Ruth and I exchange an understanding look. Maybe I will bring him to see Cousin Pritchard before I go though. Something to make him happy before I’m gone.

Soon enough, Simon’s eaten all the scones, the dishes are done, and it’s my time to go. I’m a gentleman, I know when to take my leave. Simon and Ruth walk me out of the house.

“It was lovely having you, Baz,” Ruth says. And I have to admit, I’m a bit taken aback. Most parents and/or guardians aren’t this friendly to me. Dev and Niall’s parents barely acknowledge my existence nowadays, and they’ve known me since I was a baby. It’s a warm feeling I never thought I’d miss.

“Thank you for having me, Ruth,” I reply, smiling graciously.

“Anytime. Simon, feel free to invite him over again.”

Simon smiles sweetly at me, cheeks unabashedly scarlet. “Yeah, okay. Maybe we should meet up before the presentation on Wednesday?”

I nod, hoping my cheeks aren’t as bright. “I think I’d like that.”

Because I would. I regretfully very much would.

“Awesome! See you later!”

My lip twitches up without thinking. “See you.”

I get my helmet on. I don’t rev my engine as loud as usual to be respectful. Simon waves with his entire arm, while Ruth’s looks more like the queen. I salute in return. (That seems to be my thing now. I’ve embraced it.)

As I drive back towards my home, my mind stays with the Salisburies. With nail polish, roast beef, and a sense of peaceful happiness that lingers in me long after the house is in the distance.

I get to the Pitch hill and just sit there, looking up at the looming little bastard. I know what I’m supposed to do. Go back to all the misery there. But fuck that. I turn to the left, not back towards Simon’s, but at least somewhere my father isn’t. Somewhere I can keep this feeling for a little longer. And maybe get really pissed.

———————————————-

“Basilton! Where have you been?!”

If I didn’t already have a migraine, I’d assume my father’s voice had just given me one. Going on a two day bender will do that to you. I stop walking but don’t turn around. Honestly, I look like a wreck right now, and I don’t want him to see it.

“Away,” I say curtly.

“Away where?! We haven’t seen you in days! No calls, no mail. We’ve been worried sick!”

I groan and turn on my heels finally. To my utter surprise, he looks genuinely concerned. His eyes are wide and his hair is disheveled, like he’s been running his hands through it. Huh. Actually worried about where I’ve been. That’s a first.

“Well, I’m home now,” I sigh. “Happy?”

“Certainly not.” He puts his hands on his hips like a pissed off school teacher. “I’ve been getting calls from your school. You’ve missed almost all of your classes, including tests and projects. I thought we had an agreement.”

I whip around, scowling with as much menace as I can muster with a hangover. “No, you gave me an ultimatum. And I refuse to be threatened into doing what you want, Father dearest.”

I start stomping away again, but we Grimms refuse to not have the last word. “Are you sure you haven’t just been...distracted, Basilton?”

I stop halfway up the stairs. The tone of his voice could imply many things, but I have a sinking feeling I know what he means. I chuckle, shaking my head. “Daphne told you about Tuesday, I suppose.”

“That you brought a boy over to our house without our knowledge? Yes. And I find it a bit disrespectful that-”

“That I what?!” I yell, probably louder than I should, considering it’s late at night and I have four younger siblings. “Dare to be gay?! Sorry it’s harder to ignore my sexuality when I’m actually acting on it.”

My father takes a deep breath, something he always does when he’s trying to keep his slipping composure. “Basilton, that is not what I meant.”

“Oh really? So you’re actually okay with me bringing guys around? Maybe I’ll start having big gay nightclub parties in the receiving room.”

I can see my father losing his cool. Bit by bit, his perfect British man composure is slipping. It’s the effect I certainly have these days. “That would not be appropriate, Basil. And I merely meant that maybe this ‘Simon’ is distracting you from your studies and causing your poor grades.”

For a second, I don’t know whether to laugh or be furious. Fire bubbles in my gut, my fingers curling on the bannister. Yup, let’s go with righteous fury. I stomp down the stairs and push my face into his.

“No,” I growl, “Simon is not at fault. You are. You are the catalyst for all the things I’m doing now, Your bullheadedness, your pride, your prejudi-”

“Oh for God’s sake, Basil!” He roars. “For once in your life take some goddamn responsibility for your own actions!”

I step back a bit. I haven’t seen him this outwardly angry in a year, but he’s practically seething. If he was the kind of man to throw a punch, he would have just clocked me. But instead he just stares me down in an attempt to intimidate. That won’t work.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, turning on my heels and stomping towards the door.

“Where are you going?” he calls after me.

“Out!” I turn to glare at him. “And I’ll be back when I feel like it!”

I make sure to slam the door very loudly, hoping my message is clear. I know exactly where I want to go. And who I want to see.

———————————————- 

AN: Is Baz being a total brat here? Yes. Is his bratiness sorta justified? Also yes. Things are complicated. And finally we meet Ruth! I loved reading everyone's comments speculating about Simon's home life cause this was planned from the start lol. But why is Simon living with Ruth? Well, that will be explained shortly. Tune in next time for answers :)

Chapter title is from "Alfie's Song" by Bleachers.

[love-for-ever-more]

I wanna feel love: Part 5

A Deacury fic

John was relishing his moments of closeness with Freddie having him in his arms when he heard the phone ringing from downstairs. He gently and very very carefully laid Freddie down in his bed trying not to wake him up and slowly dragged the covers on him.

Despite the phone ringing, he took his time and caressed his forehead with his fingertips and felt that his fever had been reduced. He gently kissed his cheek and then closed the curtains before tiptoeing to the door.

He answered the phone and then went to his room to pack his suitcase for his journey. He didn't feel so excited about this trip anymore, he preferred to stay here and take care of Freddie. Maybe he could visit his family one of the upcoming weekends, next month perhaps. He wasn't sure about that either.

He got down again and called Veronica. He explained to her why he didn't make to visit her earlier in the morning and was relieved to hear that she wasn't hurt for standing her up nor angry. They chatted for some minutes and John promised to visit her as soon as he would return. She was a nice girl and he liked her. As a friend.

When he started dating her, about four months ago, Freddie was already behaving differently. He had turned into an introvert and that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing to John, thinking he himself was one if Freddie's attitude wasn't that larger than life attitude; that John adored seeing. So considering that, it was a bad thing.

'He is deeply preoccupied with something and he doesn't want to talk about it, at all.. he is more reserved than ever and his effervescent self is nowhere near. I wonder what's eating him up..' he thought as he entered his room again.

His suitcase was half ready when he found a two-year-old picture of him and the boys, among his t-shirts inside one of his drawers. He remembered that day very clearly. It was a strangely warm day during March '71, some months after their acquaintance and they had gone for a picnic in a small forest outside Surrey. Freddie was wearing a tight, light blue, satin pair of pants and a short-sleeved satin shirt, in the color of the August full moon. He looked stunning.

'Stunning as always' John whispered.

They all had a gorgeous day, that day; they laughed at Roger's half-baked apple pie - his only responsibility for the day- they laughed when a gadfly got trapped in Brian's jungle hair and all of them forgave Roger for letting them starve when they heard him say " Oi Bri! Do you think it's better to be a gadfly or get bitten by one?"

And of course, he had a great day cause he spent it sitting next to Freddie or hiking next to Freddie or laying on the grass beside Freddie's constant complaints of dirtying his clothes. When they returned home it was late evening and John had offered to do Freddie's laundry. They all had dinner together - made by Roger with Brian's help 'just in case' as he had said-

At the end of the day, Freddie walked John back to his flat cause "you're only twenty, darling! You're so little! What if anything happens to you?" but John felt too flattered to complain; though he knew Freddie would also be in trouble if anything happened to them, on their way.

'Freddie is always protective towards me... I just wish I could protect him from everything that tortures him and causes him so much pain and discomfort' John was brooding over his friend's behavior. 'He feels lost and he needs help, standing back on his feet' he thought, zipping his case.

The doorbell startled him. He put the photo on his pillow and rushed downstairs to open the door. He wasn't eager to see the person behind it. Not that he didn't like that person, he was jealous of that person.

John and Mary had never been close friends. They were hanging out with the same people very often but it was never just the two of them. Therefore, there wasn't much to talk about with her. They hardly ever addressed to each other directly and it was always Freddie who initiated any talks between the two of them. Much to John's delight, they weren't seeing each other as much as they were a year or so, ago. She had stopped spending every night in Freddie's room and John was happy he didn't have to leave his room at 2 or 3 in the morning in order not to hear them making love. In fact, she hadn't been in Freddie's room for over a month.

But now, he could feel his jealousy creep up again in him. Having to endure the thought of them sleeping together in the same room and bed seemed insufferable. Not to think about them kissing, cuddling or having sex...

He once more wished he could stay here this weekend, looking after Freddie or just sitting on a chair next to his bed only to make sure he felt comfortable enough or safe enough to enjoy his sleep.

'Stop being selfish, you idiot!' he groaned 'you should be happy for her loving him. He deserves all the love in the world.. that should be enough for you'

He sighed heavily and at the second knock, he faked a smile and opened the door.

"What a dismal weather this is!" she hurried inside and immediately took off her soaked trench coat.

"God! It's only 3am and it looks like it's 8 in the evening! It's horrible out there, I tell you! I thought I had to rent a boat to get me here..it's only a miracle I arrived" she exclaimed and threw her hands in the air in a dramatic way.

"Umm hello" John said when she had sat on the couch. She was so absorbed in her little sketch she forgot to greet him.

"John! Hi! I'm sorry for all this but try passing the street and you will understand me... How's Freddie?"

"Well, he's sleeping now"

"I'd like to see him" she stated and got up.

"Maybe it's better to let him rest for now. Would.. would you like something to drink?" he replied, not knowing why he replied like this.

It was her boyfriend, after all, he couldn't prevent her from seeing him anyways.

"Nonsense!" she refused

"I'll go up, now!"

"Ok. I'll come with you" John said quietly and followed her upstairs to Freddie's room.

Freddie could hear their small talk as they were climbing up the stairs. The second knock had woke him up but he had stayed in bed. He decided to act as if he was still asleep so he could avoid seeing Mary a bit longer.

He turned his body to face his wardrobe and closed his eyes, as soon as he heard the doorknob turn.

"When did he get sick?" Mary asked when she entered.

"This morning" John answered, motioning her to keep her voice low.

"Then why didn't he come to me last night?" she asked again, slowly sitting beside him.

"I don't know. I thought he did" John mumbled.

"Where does he vanish to?" Mary asked but John didn't answer her. He, too, didn't know.

Some minutes of total silence passed and the only sound Freddie could hear was the heavy downpour, pitting the walls of the house like bullets and the violent gust of the wind rattling along the housetop. Freddie tightened his grasp on his covers but stayed motionless.

"John" he heard Mary talk again, "do you know why Freddie keeps distance himself from me?"

John didn't answer that question too.

"It's been quite a while since we-" Mary continued.

"Mary, look, I'm sorry but I don't know anything.." he sounded more upset than he wanted. "I think we should let him rest. Let's go downstairs.." he sighed.

"He trusts you, you know. More than Roger and Brian" she said as she got up. "Are you sure he hasn't told you anything?"

John shook his head and led Mary out of the room, closing carefully the door behind them.

Freddie let a deep sigh when they left the room. He stayed there and listened to the sound of the rain. The silver glow of a lightning penetrated the wooden shutters and the sharp, loud crack of the thunder made him almost jump. "My God.." he whispered "how's Deaky gonna travel in such a weather?" He shifted in his bed for a while but his weariness caught up with him once more... He didn't want to fall asleep.. cause every time he dared to slumber he relived his experiences with Greg.

His cruel words, his violent movements, his rugged ways of alluring him.. every unpleasant feeling used to come back in his mind when he was ready to fall asleep or worse when he was sleeping.

Pleasure and lust mixed up with tears and pain, orgasms followed by shame, late sneak outs from Greg's place because of Greg's incompetence to feel something beautiful for him or even offer him a simple hug right after they had sex not to speak about waking up together.

'Why can't he feel something beautiful for me? Why does he feel ashamed of me? Why do I have to be a damn fuck for him?' These questions were pinned in his mind, so many whys.. so much pain and regret... Nothing of all these had to do with love. He understood that.

"He only sees me as a piece of meat.." Freddie sighed "He doesn't even touch me when we are fucking...I finish myself off.. How pathetic is that?'' he spat feeling sorry for himself. "I don't deserve to be treated like that" he whispered and despite trying to hold it back, the pain came out like an uproar from his throat in the form of a silent scream. 'Will I ever be able to feel loved?' he thought and secretly wished John had stayed with him. He felt calm with John next to him.

Tears burst forth like waterfalls soaking his face, once more. Every ounce of his strength was gone, the heavy cloudiness in his heart was directly rivaling the heavy cloudiness in the sky. He cried himself to a restless sleep once again.. blurry images of Mary and Greg haunted his mind once more.

'Why can't you be more like the others?' Greg's voice echoed 'turn around and bend over', 'no... I said no kissing'

And then Mary's image appeared 'we're made for each other.. why do you want to leave? Stay here with me... I love you so much'

Freddie kept turning around in his sleep unable to get rid of all those images...

The horrible laughter of Greg's roommate making fun of him, came back along with his horrible words 'I wouldn't let him come near me... unless he was bent' and Freddie felt so small and unprotected.

He moved in a defensive crouch, hugging his legs in front of his chest covering his face with his hands trying to hide from the tall and extremely slim figure who was getting closer to him. A bright light coming from behind the man made it difficult to see his face. The unknown man stood in front of him, looking down on him as if he was a giant. Freddie's body was shaking, his mind was in confusion.. he must have been burning from fever..he must be in delirium.. but this dream felt so real.. the dark figure kneeled next to him just a few inches away and hesitantly pulled Freddie's hands off of his face. Freddie felt his heart beating like crazy as he felt the other man's breath touching him. He kept his eyes closed out of fear of not knowing what to expect when he suddenly felt a light kiss on his forehead. His heart stopped as he felt the warm breath on his cheeks and the unknown man's lips brush over his brow. And then the man receded back slowly, taking Freddie's agony, with him. He whispered something as he was getting up on his feet again but Freddie couldn't hear it. He started shaking again when his mind cleared and he realized he wasn't sleeping and that.. wasn't a dream. He slowly opened his eyes and with a timid voice, he mumbled the unknown man's name.

"John.." he managed to make himself audible enough and he saw him turn and face him.

He took a step closer to Freddie again and kneeled next to him for the second time.

"Freddie.." he lisped "How-how do you feel?" his mind was deluged with questions 'did he feel the kiss? Why did I do it? Why kiss him? What's he gonna think now? Does he think that I took advantage of him? Why kiss him? I probably scar-'

He was absorbed in his thoughts when he suddenly felt Freddie's lips gently brush his own.

You could hardly call it a kiss cause there wasn't the slightest movement on either side..their breaths mixed together and the only common point between them was the slightest brushing of their lips.

John felt his heart flutter in his chest as Freddie put a small tinge of pressure on his lips. He kept his eyes open and indulged in Freddie's view right in front of him. His breath was stuck in his throat as his eyes traveled on Freddie's black thick eyelashes, on Freddie's nose... He had dreamt this moment for so long and yet he couldn't react.. now that it was happening.

A tiny smile formed on his face and he felt Freddie's lips disappear.

"John.." Freddie mumbled again "I think I'm burning" that brought him back, out of his astonishment.

"Um... let me... let's turn on the light and get you the thermometer.." John fought to find the right words.

Freddie nodded and closed his eyes again. 'Did I kiss him? Did he kiss me?!' he wondered '..or is my mind playing tricks?'

John took his temperature right away.

"It's 98F... do you feel any better?"

"Not really...I-I feel..tired...I wanna go back to sleep.. but every time I close my eyes I.." his voice trailed off and finally stopped.

"You will feel better I promise" he smiled. "I got you some clean clothes in case you wanna take off the bathrobe and.." he swallowed hard "Mary is downstairs..in case you need anything. Ok?"

"Oh.. she is?" he tried to fake a surprise.

"Yeah..she came about an hour ago..I-I have to leave now..it's gonna be difficult to find a taxi in such a weather"

Freddie sighed heavily "ok.. will..will you call tomorrow?" he asked quietly and sniffled his nose in his sleeve.

"Of course I will.. you know that.." John smiled.

Freddie wearily smiled back "John..is it possible for you to stay for a while till I fall asleep?"

"Of course" his smile widened as he sat on the bed next to Freddie watching him closely fighting to hold back his sorrow. He wanted to take Freddie's hand in his own but decided against his will... he was afraid maybe it was too much.

When Freddie brushed his hand against John's and left it to rest there, touching his, he couldn't help anymore and he gently took it in his own holding it firmly but tenderly.

John saw him fall back to sleep in a matter of seconds with a small smile on his face and stayed there looking at him with his eyes full of love engulfed by his wildly beating heartbeat, lacking the courage to be expressed... He curled his lips into the most delicate and dainty smile and quietly left the room.

                      ~ ~ ~ ~

It took John about an hour to get to the train station and about twenty minutes to make his way to the right platform. Through many rushed sorrys he found an empty corner to stand.

'Let's hope there won't be a delay..' he heard someone say to someone near him.

'Most departures got canceled..' someone else said angrily. 'I was supposed to travel at 3.40.. but I've got no money to go anywhere, so I'm forced to wait here'

'It's dangerous to travel with a weather like this..they know what they're doing..have some faith people' a third person joined them.

Hundreds of people were around John but he only wished he could see a very specific one among them. The one who couldn't get out of his mind and was always in his heart.

'Hopefully, we'll be playing in front of such a huge audience one day' he wished and his mind drifted on Freddie prancing on stage, treating their audience with an amazing performance and an even more amazing Queen repertoire, 'or maybe even bigger' he smiled.

He leaned his back against a lamppost and tried to observe the people around him. The loud voices, the rushed people with the irritated faces...everything seemed out of order and yet everything seemed in their place... The heavy storm hadn't stopped all afternoon, it was getting stronger yet and made John close his eyes, to block the pandemonium around him. Freddie's face appeared, whispering with his mellifluous voice sweet I love yous to him. John sighed dreamily..he couldn't get enough of these I love yous...

Suddenly a loud voice coming from the speakers managed to muffle the continuous and chaotic hubbub and informed them that all departures had been canceled due to the bad weather until further notice. John sighed frustrated "why took them so long?" he mumbled and grabbed his suitcase, ready to give a fight to get a taxi.

It took him more than an hour to return home and when he opened the unlocked door of their house it was almost 9:00pm. He left his suitcase beside the door and took off his coat and his shoes. He noticed a lambent glow emanating from the fireplace being the only light downstairs. The gentle crackling of the burnt wood was breaking the dead silence inside the house.