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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

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hi<3 okay i am finally writing the new kotss chapter, and once again here is a lil contemplative snippet of tumblr-drabble length as a preview for when i write the whole thing in a day or two!😌💜 (mostly bc i am feeling sleepy and sappy this morning about mickey’s growth and just. cannot get over it.)

hope u enjoy<3

He fucking loved the dog, okay?

When they were first waiting in that overly-bright room in the dog rescue center (or whatever the fuck it was called) with Ian sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, and Mickey had seen the bundle of fur with its paws hitting the ground, a scrawny puppy with a swollen belly and a protruding ribcage— he’d immediately known he was in trouble.

First, because there was no fucking way that Ian was going to let them leave this place without it, since he practically made heart-eyes the second the puppy stumbled its way over to him— and second, because Mickey was absolutely, totally sure that he was going to fuck this up. Even reading the fucking description on the website on Ian’s phone screen, “comes from a troubled past and needs a loving home,” made something twist in his gut— because how the fuck was Mickey supposed to provide something like that?

Mickey didn’t take care of shit like this, like fragile puppies or babies or anything he could mess up— and he especially didn’t let in anything more than he could handle losing, anything soft and helpless and innocent that he couldn’t let slip between his fingers on his own accord. He’d learned that shit early, when whatever whispers and soft traces of touches on his cheeks were ripped away by the pry of Terry’s calloused hands— when one day, when he was fifteen, he and Mandy and everyone else didn’t have a mom anymore. Losing his mom, losing his family after years on the road, even losing fucking Terry those now months ago; all of that shit compounded and pressed on the walls of his ribcage in a way that Mickey himself didn’t really understand, and apparently was oozing out of him in a fucking dog shelter as he stood there frozen, in the face of a helpless frame on wobbly legs with silky grey fur.

For some reason, even though he and Ian had been talking about the dog in the abstract for days now, something about seeing the dog scared him shitless— because taking care of shit was objectively scary, and Mickey was shit out of practice with it. He’d never been good, comfortable, at holding something fragile in his hands, something that he could mess up in a second with a slip of judgement. Mickey was great at getting shit done, but with something like this— well, honestly, he wasn’t sure if he trusted himself enough, to not make those split-second choices that Terry made, the ones that left cigarette burns on his sides and snapped his jaw out of place and left him with so many aching wounds that only became more dark and cavernous through the years.

I’m gonna fuck this up.

What if he got too mad and kicked the dog, what if he fed it the wrong shit and it withered away and became more frail than it already was, what if it ran away or got hit by a car or got fucking shot by a stray bullet in a shitty neighborhood? It felt scary to choose to care about something this fragile, to sign up for the loss and the ripping ache that would follow if Mickey overreacted or fucked something up or made a slip-second misstep. In the Milkovich family, loving was a liability— a promise that someone you cared about could get pummeled and bloodied and beaten in front of you, could get handcuffed and dragged upstate for months or years in the blink of an eye. When Mickey was fifteen, scratching “FUCK LOVE” and “STAY THE FUCK OUT” signs on pieces of cardboard with Sharpies he’d stolen from the dollar store, he’d made a promise to himself to harden himself against that weakness— against that loss.

And then, of course, freckle-faced chicken-legged Ian Gallagher showed up at his doorstep anyways.

So he’d let himself love Gallagher—and eventually he’d let himself love Franny after she plopped herself in his lap one day, wearing a princess tiara talking a mile a minute about monster trucks; and he didn’t even mind hanging out with Liam once in a while on those late nights in the Gallagher house, when Ian would be working a double shift and he and Liam flopped on opposite sides of the couch, watching shitty cartoons in a comfortable silence as the glow from the TV screen flickered on their faces.

But none of that felt like a choice—all of those people, those warm bodies to love, just fell into Mickey’s lap; so it wasn’t Mickey’s fault, really, if shit hit the fan. It wasn’t like he made the choice to love them in the first place— it just happened.

But adopting a dog (or having a fucking kid, like he knew Ian wanted)— that was a choice. That was telling something, someone, that you were ready to take care of them; that you were ready to lose everything when they inevitably got taken away, that you were ready to pour all of your fucked-up bullshit into someone and hope that you weren’t the reason why they turned out screwed up. It just seemed like too much; and in the face of the tiny fucking furball that Ian was cooing over as he sat cross-legged, Mickey’s immediate impulse was to keep his distance and tether himself into the linoleum floor miles away.

But of course Ian had done that fucking thing only he had the power to do, and melted whatever iron walls Mickey had soldered into place with a gentle Mick, d’you wanna pet her?— and of course the fucking dog had to nuzzle her goddamn tiny wet nose into Mickey’s hand, and give a too-trusting lick to his palm as she rolled over onto her back, exposing her vulnerable belly even after whatever fucking dog-fight bullshit she’d been through— and immediately Mickey couldn’t couldn’t see a timeline in which they didn’t wrap this fucking mutt up in a soft towel and take her home to the dog bed in their apartment and get her healthy on gourmet fucking dog food from a monogrammed tin bowl.

So even though it drove him fucking crazy that she was so fucking skinny, and the entire first night when she’d slept curled on the bed he kept waking up and googling the best dog foods and exercise regimens and refilling her water bowl at the kitchen sink like an obsessed fucking maniac— he really couldn’t help it.

Against every instinct, he’d chosen to love when he didn’t have to— and he was starting the realize that maybe that shit wasn’t a weakness.

“So, I hear you guys’ve got a new mascot.”

Tommy was ambling in the front door, right on the dot of their 2 P.M. opening time, with Kermit skittishly following a few paces behind him.

Ian rolled his eyes from behind the bar when he thought Mickey wasn’t looking (fucking traitor).

“Yeah, I think the whole neighborhood knows by now. Someone’s been a little too eager with the dog photos.”

Which— fuck that. So what if he fucking posted a few pictures of Baz to the mostly-defunct Alibi Facebook page that Kev had given them the login info to, some of which featured Baz wearing Mickey’s sunglasses when they were partway through a walk? Nobody needed to know that Mickey alone was behind that shit— Ian liked taking dog photos too, even though they were never as good as Mickey’s, and mostly just featured the moments Mickey was passed out on the couch with Baz sleeping on his chest.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Ian grinned and turned towards Mickey. “Nothin.’ Just nice to see that you’re growing into the whole dog parent thing. Though it is kind of turning into a stage mom thing.”

Mickey furrowed his brows. “Fuck you. The customers love her. It’s good for business.”

Ian held up his hands in surrender, still smirking—which just cause Mickey to shove him gently in his sternum.

“It’s not my fault Baz is the prettiest pit on the fucking Southside.”

In the corner of the bar, Baz was sitting on her cushion that they’d bought at a boujee pet store down the road, to keep downstairs at the Alibi so they could keep her other dog bed upstairs— and when Tommy and Kermit came into the room her ears immediately lifted, her tail twitching excitedly at the new faces. Tommy just gave a wary side-eyed glance to the dog pillow before plopping himself onto his usual stool, but Kermit nervously crouched beside the cushion and gave Baz’s chin a scratch.

“Ey! Paws off the princess until you drop some money on a beer, Kermit. I didn’t haul myself down to the empty bar on a Monday afternoon to watch you pet my fucking dog.”

Kermit shuffled to his usual seat beside Tommy at the end of the bar. “She’s cute. I didn’t realize pit bulls could be so scrawny.”

Baz was already filling out fast in the few days she’d been living with them; but it was true that she was still small and wiry for her age. Mickey made sure they got some sort of fresh dog food shit from the pet store that they had to keep in the refrigerator (even though Ian insisted kibble was fine, like a fucking cheapskate) to get her strength up, and he also got a bunch of fucking vitamins, like salmon oil and shit to make sure her coat was shiny—and yes, okay, maybe he also bought her a badass collar with spikes on it, and maybe he also dropped money on one of those engraved pet tags in the shape of a skull and crossbones that said “Bazooka Gallagher-Milkovich” on it with the Alibi’s address on it. He couldn’t fucking help it; they had a steady stream of cash coming in from crowded nights, they were planning on doing Ian’s karaoke shit once a month, and Mickey felt like they could afford to spend money on shit like this—like they could afford to do this right. And because of Mickey’s doting, even though Ian had started to take Baz for runs in the morning, it was no secret that she liked Mickey ever-so-slightly more than Ian; when they were laying in bed at night Baz would always hop up and curl into Mickey’s side and leave inches between her and Ian, causing a surprised chuckle to escape Mickey’s lips the first time it happened as he scratched behind her ears. Ian just stared at him, with some sappy fucking smile on his face.

“The fuck’re you looking at?”

“Nothing. Just glad we took her home.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but felt a smile creeping onto his lips despite himself. “Yeah. Me too.”

“And I’m definitely not jealous of a dog right now.”

It was later in the evening and the bar was pretty empty, a standard for a Monday night— Mickey had been trying to train Baz to stay on her cushion now that she’d learned how to sit and lay down on command; much to the amusement of Tommy and Kermit, who kept fucking distracting her. If Mickey had his way, he’d train Baz to bark at Kermit whenever he said something stupid (the guy just got on his fucking nerves, what could he say)—but of course Baz had other plans once she realized Kermit was the one of the pair who would pet her, and kept nuzzling her head onto Kermit’s thigh and thumping her tail on the floor.

“I thought pit bulls were supposed to be vicious.”

“Fuck you, Kermit. That’s fucking… dog racist, or some shit.”

Kermit just meekly looked down at his half-empty beer glass, as Ian came in the front door from where he was bringing in the sandwich board from the curb, not expecting any more customers for the night. He reached down to ruffle Baz’s fur along the way.

“How’s our girl doing?”

“Pretty good. Once these assholes get out of here we can called it a night.”

Tommy scoffed at that. “Milkovich, we’re some of your most loyal customers— hell, we’re your only loyal customers. I think we deserve more than insults.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna go drink the day away somewhere else?”

Tommy faltered for a moment, and raised an eyebrow. “Touche.”

“Alright, bozos. Time to pack up. No one else is coming in tonight, we’ll see you tomorrow. Me and Ian have better shit to do.”

Tommy drained the last of his beer, placing a wad of one-dollar bills on the countertop and giving an exaggerated salute. “Until tomorrow, gentlemen.”

When they left the bar and the doors were locked, Ian’s shoulders started to shake with laughter. “Jesus. I never thought I’d be at a point in my life when I’m dependent on the consistent generosity of Tommy and Kermit, but here I am.”

“More like consistent alcoholism.”

Ian smirked, then flopped to sit on a barstool opposite the countertop from Mickey, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Are you fine taking Baz out? I’m kinda tired, wanna get a start on dinner.”

“Yeah, man. Works for me.”

They’d been living with each other in the Gallagher house for months, sure, but they were still new at doing this— at only accounting for each other’s schedules, at divvying up tasks like walking the dog and cooking dinner and doing fucking dishes rather than just coasting on someone like Debbie getting them by. Things were different now— things were settled and quiet, in a way that still made Mickey like he had to rub his eyes extra hard to clear them in the still, dark mornings in the apartment, like he wasn’t convinced this shit was real.

After dinner they sat cross-legged on their bed, watching a movie on Ian’s old beat-up laptop with Baz sitting between them and chewing on one of her toys that squeaked loudly every few seconds (this one was a stuffed animal in the shape of a police officer, because in Mickey’s own words at the pet store, “ACAB motherfucker”)— and later that night, wrapped in the smell of laundry soap on clean sheets and dog shampoo, Mickey slept easily.

Maybe this was something he could trust himself to hold on to.

#catch me laying in bed & ignoring my exams & instead writing This #ily all i hope u are having good thursdays<3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #bazooka gallagher milkovich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #ixm

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 years

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Adrenaline Rush

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1,400 Warning: None Premise: Another stolen kiss. Set after the Kenmore Heist of Chapter 9

______________

“Great work today, team,” Baz said with a grin and a mock salute. “Enjoy your night.”

The last words he accentuated by shooting Ethan a significant look. Thankfully, Lilac missed it entirely, too preoccupied with switching seats to the front now that Baz was being dropped off.

Once alone, they drove in a silence that started off comfortable as Lilac fiddled with the radio. When she couldn’t find a station that pleased her, she switched the audio mode to play CD. The monotonous narration of the latest historical audio book he had been listening to filled the car, which prompted her to scrunch his nose at him.

Ethan chuckled as she turned it off, feeling his shoulders relax. In the silence, he finally thought back on the excitement of the day. There was a part of him that felt reckless in agreeing to her plan in the first place. There was another part, a more insistent one, that thoroughly liked it.

His mind swiveled to thoughts of their kiss, more proof that his carefully constructed conviction was crumbling. The memory of her lips on his, her body relaxing into his without hesitation despite the surprise, made him suddenly aware of how close their bodies were in the confined space of the car.

He could feel her eyes on him and unsurprisingly his body flared with heat. She was thinking about their kiss, too. He knew her well enough to know that with certainty.

The tension thickened until she could no longer take the silence. He also knew she would attempt to dispel it with characteristic humor.

“So,” she started, the smirk evident in her voice. “The great Ethan Ramsey kissing in supply closets, huh?”

“Here we go.” He suppressed a grin of his own, gratified he was correct about her.

Lilac laughed and he could see her hands raise in a gesture of defeat. “I’m impressed,” she confessed. “Besides we all did it.”

Ethan recalled the first weeks of her intern year, when rumors of her and Bryce Lahela were all the nurses talked about. At the time, he felt mildly annoyed that one of his interns ran around stirring up gossip and speculation, even if it made him a hypocrite. Now, he could begrudgingly admit that chagrin might have been something else entirely.

“Jealous, Ramsey?” The question was playful and terribly accurate.

Ethan focused on driving, allowing a grin to break through and shaking his head slowly, concealing nothing.

He didn't care. He was done hiding from her.

“You must’ve been so popular,” she teased. “I almost wish I had been there.”

“Hardly,” he said. “I was obsessively focused and not exactly the friendliest or warmest. I mostly kept to myself. That’s hardly attractive.”

Lilac made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “You are so clueless about the effect you have on people,” she declared.

He chanced a glimpse at her when it was safe to look away from the road. At the same time, Lilac glanced up at him, their eyes locking together like magnets. Her smile was too deliberately coy and if Ethan was being honest, it had the intended effect. He felt his pulse accelerate, a palpable energy sizzling between them. Perhaps Ethan wasn't that clueless because he could've sworn that the way she looked back at him, wide eyes dark with something left unsaid, she was flirting with him.

Eyes back on the road, he decided to play along.

“Jealous, Allende?”

She let out a breathy sort of laugh, one that could ensnare a man forever. “Honestly? Yes.”

He coughed on his reply. Her delighted laugh filled the car, almost musical in the sound of the traffic that whizzed past them.

“I'm messing with you,” she admitted, unaware of how true the words were. “I'm sure young Ethan Ramsey was a hit. Those poor interns never stood a chance.” She shrugged, before adding, “Besides, my mother always says, 'Lo que no fue en tu año no te hace daño.'”

Ethan understood the words and meaning well enough, even if he struggled to formulate a precise translation. It seemed Lilac struggled too for she gave up with a sheepish smile that was entirely too endearing.

“Wise woman, your mother,” Ethan commented in response.

The red glare of break lights interrupted any response she may have offered. Ethan stepped on the break.

“Dammit. I forgot there was construction on Congress Street,” he said, mindful of keeping his eyes ahead. Blindly, he reached for his phone and handed it to her. “Do you mind checking if there's other side streets open we can take?”

Lilac opened her mouth, perhaps to argue she could just look it up in hers. However, something on his screen caught her eye.

“No lock code?” she asked with something close to jest. Ethan was certain she was cataloging this in her mental arsenal of jokes about his age.

“There's nothing in there I'm worried about anyone seeing,” he replied, glancing at the rear view mirror.

Except he was wrong.

As he said the words, he remembered the picture set as his home screen. It was a photo of the Biscayne Bay in Miami at dusk, taken by him from the balcony of their hotel room in the minutes before they kissed for the first time.

He was certain she recognized it because she stared at the screen in silence. When he glanced at her, he could see all traces of humor had vanished from her face, eyes examining the picture with recognition.

“This is from Miami,” she said in an oddly small voice. Those eyes he loved so much were fixed on the screen, as though she could not drink in the sight enough. “When we…”

Lilac did not need to finish the sentence to ignite the memories. That night would be seared into his mind forever, not only because it was commemorated on a screen he glanced at every day, but because it was the first time he dared to hope she would want him just as badly as he wanted her.

Lilac emitted a soft sigh, so quiet he almost did not catch it.

She was thinking about that night too.

With a stab of guilt, he realized she must also be inevitably remembering how he’d push her away. He had been so convinced then he knew exactly what was best for her that he never bothered to give her a choice. Ethan had decided for both of them with ruthless and unmoving conviction.

Yet, she was there, right by his side. She had forgiven him when all he did was punish her for his own mistakes. His chest felt tighter with a powerful, all-consuming emotion – one he was too cowardly to admit.

“Ethan?”

But her words broke off into a startled little cry as Ethan abruptly maneuvered into a different lane. The move inspired the shrill honking of several car horns and even one rude gesture from a driver passing them by.

“What are you–”

Ethan safely parked the car on the side of the road and turned to face her. Wide eyes looked at him with a mixture of confusion and concern.

Fueled by the sudden onslaught of emotion and the adrenaline of the day, Ethan caught her face in his hands, leaned in, and kissed her. His fervent lips moved against hers almost as if in anguish, desperately holding her to him as though she might disappear. Although initially surprised, she did not hesitate to respond just as fiercely, her lips submitting to his desperation, her hands resting at the planes of his chest. Her sweet, lush need for him made his heart skip, inspiring his tongue to part her delicate mouth.

When they pulled apart to catch breath, his hands helplessly held on to her, relishing in her warmth. Lilac studied him curiously, a radiant smile illuminating her already lovely face. In the gold glow of the Boston streetlights, she looked ethereal to Ethan.

“What?” he asked breathlessly when she continued to wordlessly stare at him in wonder.

“You've been... loose lately.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows and she huffed a quiet laugh at that.

“I meant, you’re loosening up.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Ethan asked, nipping at her bottom lip when he couldn’t resist the sight of it.

“I like it,” she admitted, sounding deliciously dazed from the small, sweeping kisses he brushed against her lips. “It makes you seem...happier.”

It was not a strong enough word for what she made him feel.

________

Author’s Note: Roughly translated, that Spanish saying means something like “if it didn’t happen during your time, it doesn’t hurt you”. I am obsessed with Ethan knowing/understanding Spanish (among other languages).

Very pointless drabble, I know. But today is a very sad day for my family and I just needed to write to get my mind off things.

If you made it this far, thank you, as always.

My love and gratitude to every single one of you

_______

#Open Heart #Ethan Ramsey #Ethan x MC #ethan ramsey x mc #my writing

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annabellelux · 3 years

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Hey hey hi hello you stunning human.

I’m asking for more deets if my tears ricochet, because I love to watch you talk about it because your passion for the project overflows all of the time 💖💖💖

Hello my love 🥺 you’re absolutely right, I’m obsessed with my tears ricochet.

For those of you who don’t know, my COBB (in which I’m partnered with the lovely and talented @snowverylost) idea came to me when I was listening to my tears ricochet by Taylor Swift. I thought to myself, damn, this song makes me think of a world where Simon actually kills Baz in the final battle, and Baz comes back from beyond the Veil and finds Simon wrecked by it. And, well, I got to plotting immediately.

I haven’t been this excited about a fic since I See You (the very definition of a passion project). I haven’t had a plot as intricate as I See You in any of my other fics (I simply don’t have that kind of time anymore with law school) but I have been working on this project since late October, so I’ve really been able to sit with it and think about it. I’ve had to take some breaks from writing because of other fics I was writing (mostly for you!😂) but I have 16k of the predicted 40k written.

Here’s a sneak peak from Chapter 3 (since I know you haven’t read it yet 😉).

Simon

I feel the day's weight pressing down on my back, making me feel as if I'm drowning in expectations and regrets. I try to absorb the bed's cedar and bergamot smell, to let it bring me some sort of undeserved comfort, but all I feel is a wretched homesickness deep in my chest.

I don't know how I will ever carry on; I'm afraid this grief will always be the biggest and worst part of me. That I will never get past the torment of my guilt—that I will always be, first and foremost, Baz's murderer.

I would do anything to change it.

"Crowley, Snow," says a voice like honey, dripping in exasperation and contempt. "Don't go getting your drool all over my pillow."

I turn around to find him glaring down his nose at me with his arms crossed. He's dressed in the same clothing I last saw him in, but without any of the blood staining his button up or dirt muddying his snug jeans.

Standing there—solid, more real than anything I've ever known—is the last person I'd ever expect to find.

Baz.

Ask me about my WIPS if you want

#WIP Tag Game #Snowbaz #my tears ricochet #simon snow #baz pitch #tw: murder

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 4 years

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30 Days of Carry On

8. How do you feel about Wayward Son?

This may be a question that tends to divide some of the fandom. It’s a challenging one to answer but I will do my best. This may be long and incoherent. I have many feelings.

The run up to the release of Wayward Son felt very chaotic for me. I was disappointed that publishers and amazon had released some books early. I was desperately trying to avoid spoilers and honestly trying to shut down spoilers because having bits and pieces without the overriding, coherent narrative can really be damaging and upsetting and confusing. I wanted to read it without having any dread or concern and the internet made that very difficult, if not impossible. That was unfortunate.

I’d been looking forward to the book and in my head I had spun a very happily ever after happy ending that in retrospect was naive and unrealistic of me. I own that. That’s on me. Because that isn’t reality. It’s not how things work, not with such real characters who have endured so much and who have such diminished or flawed or basically nonexistent coping mechanisms. I know that. I should have remembered that. It’s in Carry On. You can see it.

What’s funny is I think fanfic played a significant role in my having those unrealistic expectations. My own fanfic included. But when I look closer, particularly at my unfinished fic Never Tear Us Apart--my sequel to CO that I didn’t manage to finish before WS--I see that I myself had plans to deal with loss and trauma and communication difficulty and heartache. Long before I read Wayward Son. That fic was outlined and plotted last February. Yes, a lot of it was fluff and romance because that’s just me, but I had plotted out many darker, angsty passages, which in retrospect make a lot of sense because after events of CO it can’t be all rainbows and lavender flavored unicorns because they all have such significant trauma and loss and confusion to process.

I finished Wayward Son at 4 am in a puddle of tears. I was hurt. I was a bit angry. I was heartbroken. The ending left me so wanting more. I know people felt it rushed through things. That the pace felt frenetic. That there were no resolutions of the big issues that affected the main characters. That it left so much open ended. I am not going to disagree because those are valid comments, even though I don’t necessarily feel that way about the book at this point in time. But not at any moment did I feel it was unrealistic in it’s approach to the issues they had. I think the handling of the aftermath of a chosen one’s journey was spot on. It’s the things we don’t think about. How to endure the loss that comes with it. How much one’s identity is tied to that role. How the fallout is magnified and translated and spreads to those around you as well.

I think it was a very sensitive and accurate portrayal of mental health issues as far as Simon is concerned. And Baz. And Penny. They are all struggling. They are all saddled with unhealthy mechanisms of coping. We know that about Baz and Simon from Carry On--Simon with his not thinking about things, Baz with withdrawing and building walls, just to name a few prominent ones. We’d had hints of Penny’s too. When you read Carry On after Wayward Son the clues are all there. I think to me that’s the remarkable thing about WS--that I probably should have been expecting it if I hadn’t fallen so deeply into the romance and firmly placed my rose colored glasses on. It’s all there.

I will say that I loved Wayward Son. I know that’s not a popular opinion. But it’s one I’ve come to over many months of thought, rereads and intense fic writing to process some of it myself. I think I appreciate it more every time. I think I appreciate it more after rereading Carry On. In my opinion it gives us such a real portrayal of the anguish, loss, post-trauma fallout, confusion, awkwardness, shity coping mechanisms that exist in the story and in these characters. It made me hurt. It made me empathize. It made me recognize things that perhaps I had not wanted to face myself. it resonated. It may seem hopeless that even Simon Snow is laid low by these emotions and plagued by doubts about self-worth and his place in the world. But I read that and I see that I’m not alone. That the doubts and thoughts and emotions that challenge me can challenge even those that I think are so much stronger, more capable, more resilient. He’s not weak. He’s not broken. Those trappings don’t define him. He may think he is and that they do but we know that’s not true. So perhaps that’s the case for me too.

I don’t expect others to share that view. We each look at it through our own unique lens. it hurt in so many ways. But it made me think so deeply about so much that I am eternally grateful for that.

Wayward Son did give us intense moments of joy, for which I am eternally grateful. Carry On doesn’t have that many itself when you look back--the magic sharing, chapters 61 and 62. Simon’s return in Chapter 67. The Epilogue. Not much more. In WS we have the fireflies, the renaissance faire, the truck scenes, the Hoover Dam scene, the flying scene, All of those are such beautiful, lyrical, emotionally impactful moments. Tinged with heartbreak but moving and real and in some ways hopeful in their own way. We see a softer, vulnerable Baz. WS shows us what a poet Simon Snow is, in his head. We actually see the depth of their love for each other, blighted though it may be by their communication difficulties, Simon’s depression, Baz’s paralysis as far as dealing with it all, the gulf between them that has grown as they struggle with the ramifications of all that has happened to them and between them. They can say it in their heads--the stumbling block is saying it to each other in a way that is understood. But again not so surprising, considering Simon’s issues with communication in CO and Baz coming from a family that shoves things under the rug rather than discuss them or address them directly.

They’re young. They’re inexperienced at relationships. Simon and Baz skipped straight from enemies, to wary allies, to terrible boyfriends. They jumped right over the traditional getting to know you middle part--they “knew” each other so well from observation over the years, from their obsessive watchfulness and laser-focused attention on each other but they didn’t know how to talk to each other. They didn’t know how to be with each other when things were calm and peaceful. They are traumatized and are doing their best to muddle through and carry on, on their own, without much help from anyone outside their trio. This road trip was the proverbial slap in the face they needed to get out of that rut. Make a change. Face the things that loomed over them.

I’ve reread WS since that first time. Listened to the audiobook. The joy and lyricism shine through on subsequent reads. The love emanates from the pages. No, we don’t get resolution of their issues but Baz has finally broken the wall and said something. Yes, a lot happened to them, in a rapid, frenetic fashion. It’s hard to believe the events of the book occurred over just one week. The last few pages made me ache. But I am still left with hope at the end. Hope that they will find a way to resolve things between them. Solve things for themselves as well.

I will always consider Carry On my comfort book. I turn to it when I need a soothing read, something familiar and loved and welcoming. But there are passages of WS that have left their mark on my soul. Painful but real. Beautiful but achingly so. It is the middle book, the time when things get dark, when all seems muddled and desperate. But there is a light. it will come in the third book. I’m not going to let myself be scared of it. Because whatever it is, I know it will be true to who Baz and Simon are and who they are becoming. I may rejoice or I may mourn but I know I will feel.

And I trust Rainbow. She’s never let me down. She loves Simon and Baz and she said she set out to write an epic love story. I believe in that.

(this is both more personal and much longer than I anticipated)

#30 days of carry on #carry on #wayward son #loaded question #sorry for the novel I wrote here #incoherent gibberish #I have too many feelings #question meme #question 8 #this got a bit more personal than I expected #much longer too

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thehoneyedhufflepuff · 4 years

Note

10. What are some facts readers may not know about Between the Lines?

@ninemagicks

I was just pondering this while I made myself lunch & trying to think of something y’all possibly don’t know (I feel like I yell about this damn fic enough for you to know everything, lol). But then I thought of something! A miracle! (And, since a lot of the times I go off in the fic notes & not everyone reads those, I’ll share a few more things, too...)

In the SUPER early days of plotting this fic & trying to figure out how to make it exciting, I had this terrible idea: Not only were Baz & Natasha brought into Lucy’s A&E after their accident, but Davy was the one who hit them. (I saw a YouTube ad the other day for Margaret Atwood’s creative writing class, & she said something about how it’s totally okay to write shit the first time around & how “the trash can is there for you & God,” or something—I’m paraphrasing—but it was very heartening to hear that & ALSO I’m glad that’s where this idea ended up lmao. The metaphorical trash can of my brain.)

I had Baz mention being on meds in chapter 2 as a sort of off-hand comment, but I didn’t decide to give him on-screen OCD until chapter 5. And I was EXTREMELY afraid of how it would be received. Turns out that’s probably the best decision I ever made for this fic, because I honestly don’t know where it’d be without Baz’s 🍆🧠, or if it’d even be relatable at all. Turns out a monster inside can be more compelling than one who hits your car & runs. At least in this case.

I didn’t have a clue where the fic was going other than Simon & Baz meet in a bookstore & Simon consequently pursues Baz when I started writing/posting. It shows.

Dev & Niall were never meant to 1. Have fairly large roles & 2. Be in a relationship. That happened organically. (By organically I mean Dev was SCREAMING AT ME INSIDE MY MIND about it. A frequent occurrence.) Also there’s a line (or two) Niall throws out in chapter 2 that’s really better suited to Dev, & it really bothers me. I didn’t know my Perfect Angel BB well enough at that point to realize, RIP.

In the beginning, characterizing Dev & Niall was difficult. It gave me those oh, must not actually be able to write because I CAN’T CHARACTERIZE PEOPLE feels. I based Dev’s personality solely off the line Baz throws out in CO about how Dev has a dirty crush on Agatha & that’s why he gave her information about Baz being missing. (Then he slowly became an amalgamation of that & me, lol.) I had no idea where to start with Niall, & instead of characterizing them I made this meme & posted it here (see below). Niall developed a lot more slowly than Dev, but I feel like I have a good grasp on both of them now. Y’all don’t know how much it means to me when you comment on their characterization.

I often worry that I haven’t given Simon enough attention in this fic but I’m not entirely sure what I mean by that 🙃

Hi, my name is Ashley & I have obsessive-compulsive disorder. It’s intensely difficult to write about in prose—to explain the unexplainable—but I’m so glad I have. 💜

🦖💛💙🦖

writer asks from this list 💜

#asks #btl behind the scenes 👀 lol #between the lines #what goes in the trash can is between you & god #my fanfiction #writing schtuff #writing probz #my deniall bullshit #snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #🦖💙💛🦖

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angelsfalling16 · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3 of Just Wanna Be Happy

Chapter One

Read on ao3

Summary: After a night of drunken party games, Baz tries to remember what happened and whose number is on his arm while also dealing with the fact his two best friends aren’t talking to each other anymore.

Word Count: 2076

***

Simon

Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to this game, I think as the first person spins the bottle. There isn’t anyone here that I particularly care to kiss, but somehow, I ended up agreeing to play it anyway. Luckily, the bottle doesn’t land on me and I’m safe. For the moment at least.

Everyone else seems to be much drunker than I am, including Baz, which is surprising because he’s always so put together. It’s weird to see him just let go like this.

I’ve been watching him quite a bit tonight, and as the night goes on, he seems to loosen up more and more. I was surprised that he decided to play the game. This kind of thing seems beneath him.

I’ve had one drink that I’ve been sipping on all night, but I’m beginning to think that I’m a little too sober for this and wish that I had drunk more. Everyone else is happy and cheering, and I seem to be the only person hoping the bottle doesn’t land on them. I’m not sure what I’ll do when it’s my turn to spin.

Penny is sitting a few people down from me, and when she spins, it lands on me. We move towards each other and kiss each other on the cheek. A few people boo, but I just shrug and return to my seat and watch the rest of the game go on.

Baz’s friend, Niall, is next, and when he spins it, the bottle lands on their other friend, Dev. I expect their kiss to be as innocent as mine and Penny’s just was, but I’m shocked when they kiss full-on and stay locked together like that for so long that a couple of people begin to shift uncomfortably. Finally, someone pulls them apart.

I watch curiously as Niall whispers something to Dev and they both stand up and leave the game, disappearing into a corner of the room to be alone. Baz nods at his cousin with a raised brow, and a few people cheer, making me wonder if they were one of those couples that everyone except those two saw coming.

Must be nice. I wish that I was that in love. Sadly, I’m alone.

When it comes my turn to spin, the bottle lands on a girl I barely know, and we kiss briefly before the game continues on. It isn’t as nerve-wracking as I thought it would, but it also isn’t pleasant. I take another sip of my drink.

I watch various other pairings kiss, and a few lone people trickle away, either to get a drink or tired of kissing people they don’t like.

Baz has kissed three people so far. Two of them were guys, one of whom he kissed for an unexpectedly long time, much longer than either of the other people. The kiss with the girl was chaste and barely a kiss at all. I don’t know why I find this such an interesting an observance, but I begin to wish Penny was sitting next to me so that I could talk to her about it. (Though, she’d probably accuse me of being obsessed with him again.)

I’m just about to leave the game, too, when it’s my turn to spin again. I sigh. One more kiss can’t be that bad. I watch the bottle spin round and round in the middle of the circle before it begins to slow. I keep my eyes on it the entire time, and when I look up to see who it landed on, I just barely keep myself from gasping aloud.

Baz.

We silently move towards each other, meeting in the middle of the circle, and I’m almost certain that he’s about to hit me rather than kiss me. He’s looking at me the way that he does right before he starts a fight, and I brace myself for the impact of his fist.

But then he’s leaning closer to me, his eyes falling shut, and my heart does this little flutter.

It’s a weird feeling. It’s definitely not how I’m supposed to feel when the guy who hates me is about to kiss me, but in all honesty, I don’t hate him back.

It’s quite the opposite actually. Not that I’ve ever told anyone that. I haven’t even told Penny yet. Agatha and I just broke up not too long ago, and Baz hates me anyway. I don’t see a reason for anyone to know about how I feel. It’s not like anything will ever come of it.

This one kiss is the closest I’ll ever get to actually being in a relationship with Baz, so I lean in to meet him, my fingertips pressed to the floor both to steady me and to keep myself from fisting the front of his shirt and pulling him closer.

His lips are incredibly soft when they meet mine, and I jut out my chin to kiss him more firmly. He pushes back, and I’m pleasantly surprised by the fact that he hasn’t pulled away yet. The kiss lasts just a little bit longer than I expected it to, but Baz still pulls away sooner than I want him to.

I don’t look at him as I return to my seat, thinking that it’s about time that I quit the game. I stand up, running my fingertips lightly over my tingling lips. I want to remember that moment forever. Kissing Baz was better than I ever could have imagined.

A part of me wants to stay in the game in the hopes that I’ll get to kiss Baz again, but I don’t want to risk the chance of kissing someone else. The game has dwindled down to just a handful of people anyway.

The rest of the game breaks apart soon after I quit. The party is beginning to wind down, and I’m waiting on Penny to say goodbye to someone so that she can take me home when I catch sight of Baz out of the corner of my eye. He’s watching me not so surreptitiously, and I decide that I want to take a chance. If it doesn’t go well, I can always say that I was drunk. (Even though I’m not.)

Before I can move, though, he starts making his way over to me. He’s got this look of determination on his face, and I think that he’s chosen to hit me after all. He stops just in front of me and doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Hey, Baz,” I say, shifting my weight awkwardly, unsure of what’s happening.

He shakes his head, and before I can ask what that means, his hands are on my hips, and he backs me into a wall. He still doesn’t say anything, but then he’s leaning down, and I gasp as I realize what he’s doing.

He kisses me, and I’m not sure what this means, but I kiss him back. After a moment, I feel his tongue run along my bottom lip, and I part my lips to allow him in. When his tongue wraps around mine, I can taste the alcohol on him, and I realize the only reason he’s doing this is because he’s drunk.

That knowledge hurts, and I’m just about to push him away when he pulls back on his own.

“Goodnight, Simon,” he murmurs, and just like that, he’s gone, leaving me standing there feeling dazed and confused.

“What was that about?” Penny asks, stepping up beside me a moment later.

“I think I have feelings for him.” It’s not really an answer to her question, but I needed to tell someone the truth. I’m tired of keeping it locked up inside me.

“Does he share that sentiment?” She asks, her eyes falling on where he’s standing a few feet away.

“No idea.”

“Did you at least give him your number or something?” Leave it to Penny to be sensible.

“No.”

She rolls her eyes. “Here.” She pulls a permanent marker out of her bag and hands it to me. (It’s amazing how many odd things she can carry in that bag.) “Go give it to him before he leaves.”

I jog over to Baz, and without a word, I reach for his arm and scribble my number there. I write ‘call me’ underneath, and because I’m an idiot, I add a little heart. I think about writing my name there as well, but if he’s too drunk to remember that it’s me tomorrow, then it’s probably for the best.

I turn away before he can say anything, and I follow Penny out the door, a small grin building on my face. This night has given me a bit of hope that I never thought I would have.

***

I ended up crashing at Penny’s house last night. Sleeping on her bedroom floor was better than going back to my current foster home. They probably didn’t even notice I was gone. I can’t wait until we graduate and I can move out on my own for university.

I got up early this morning to leave, though. It’s always too crowded in her house, and I didn’t want to intrude more than I already had. I tried to get Penny to come with me to get breakfast, but she said that she planned to spend the entire day in bed.

I step inside the diner a few blocks from Penny’s house, and it’s packed, which isn’t too surprising for a late Saturday morning, but there aren’t any tables open. Even all the seats at the bar are taken.

Deciding to wait a few minutes to see if a spot opens up, I glance around the restaurant. That’s when I see Baz and his friends sitting in a booth at the far side of the diner.

I know it’s a really bad idea to walk over there, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I had hoped that Baz would have texted or called me this morning, but I woke to find no missed texts or calls. Maybe he decided to have breakfast first.

I know that’s just wishful thinking, but my stomach is rumbling, so I decide to take a chance and ask if I can join them.

I shouldn’t be so surprised when Baz scowls and turns away from me, but I won’t say that it doesn’t hurt. Dev tells me to have a seat, and he seems to be acting a little too friendly to me, seeing as we’ve never been friends.

I sit down, and a few moments later, a waiter comes to take my order, his eyes falling on Dev every few seconds. It’s odd but I write it off as nothing, too tired to really care. I order a stack of pancakes with some orange juice and lean back against the booth.

I glance at Baz while I wait for my food. He reaches for his glass of water, and I can see that his arm is bare. He scrubbed my number off already, which means he probably doesn’t plan on calling me.

I was a fool to think he would.

The waiter comes back with my food, but I’m no longer hungry. I want to leave, but that would be rude. Plus, I can’t just let Baz win. I can’t let him scare me off. So, I pick up my fork and force myself to eat.

The silence at this table is deafening. I would think it was because of me, except they didn’t seem to be talking to each other before I came over.

It’s strange to see that Dev and Niall aren’t sitting next to each other after the way that they were all over each other last night. I’m curious about what happened, but it isn’t my place to ask.

This breakfast is awful. Not the food - the food is great - but the company. I wish that I had kept walking and eaten at a place closer to my house. Anything would be better than sitting here replaying last night over and over in my head while Baz ignores me.

I was stupid to give him my number. He was drunk, and it didn’t mean anything. And as the backs of my eyes start to burn with tears of anger, I begin to wish that I was anywhere but here, even my small bedroom at home.

This was all a big mistake.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #carry on #wayward son #rainbow rowell #snowbaz fanfiction #my writing

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 5 years

Text

The Black Swan

Chapter 4

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 4834

Chapter: 4/17 (All chapters)

Summary: Baz and Simon get to know each other more.

Read on AO3

AN: This is a shorter chapter but I still hope you all like it!

———————————————

“Your highness? Sir? Prince Simon? Simon!”

Simon jolted fully awake, fire still burning in his mind. Three different pieces of parchment were stuck to his face, which he quickly peeled off. He had to blink the blurriness from his eyes. The swirling colours slowly came into focus, twisting and turning until they converged into the concerned face of Miss Possibelf. Simon smiled weakly.

“Good day, Miss,” he said.

Miss Possibelf straightened up, both hands on her cane. “Forgive my impertinence, your highness. I didn’t mean to disturb you, I was only worried for your health.”

Simon heart hurt a bit. Miss Possibelf had woken him up many times when he passed out in her class. It should be normal. But now he was officially a full time prince, not her student. Why did being a prince mean everyone had to take three steps away from him? “It’s really fine, Miss, don’t worry. How are you?”

Her lip quirked up imperceptibly. She didn’t smile much, being a serious older woman, but she smiled at Simon. She once said Simon was the only student who ever asked her about her day.

“I am well, your highness, I’m humbled by you asking.” You shouldn’t be humbled, or even grateful. This should be normal, Simon thought. “Just looking for some new teaching materials in the royal library.” She tilted her head. “Excuse my impertinence once more, your highness, but are you alright? You seem very...worn.”

Simon turned to full length mirror behind him. Why a library needed a mirror was beyond him. Maybe David liked admiring at himself while he worked. Simon certainly didn’t like it. He was an utter mess. Matted hair, dark eye circles, a general ghostly appearance. David thought training was getting to him. Simon knew it was actually because he had spent every night for over a week in a mysterious lake, talking to a mysterious boy. But no one could know that. Baz had made that very clear. And Simon certainly wanted to listen to him. On top of Baz adventures, there were the nightmares...

“Just trying to keep up on all my princely duties,” Simon said with his biggest smile. He had gotten good at pretending he was better than he was. And honestly, what else could he tell her? Simon hadn’t told anyone about Baz, or his nightmares, not even Penelope. It was all...too much.

Miss Possibelf frowned slightly. She really was concerned. “If you say so. I wish you good health, your highness.”

Simon kept smiling. “You too, Miss.”

She gave one more nod before disappearing into the shelves. Simon looked down at his work, if he could even call it that. It was mostly scribbles and smudges. He was supposed to be taking notes on Watford military policy, in preparation for any supposedly oncoming war, but all words turned to soup in his tired eyes. Simon thought he was bad before when he was just looking for Baz. Now that he had found the mysterious swan boy again, his life now completely revolved around him like the sun circling the Earth. He savoured every minute he spent with Baz, and when he wasn’t there, Simon just thought about going back. He thought about Baz, with his clever tongue and deep grey eyes and strange life. What was the word for that?

Obsession. Fuck, Simon might be obsessed. Obsessed with Baz and his mysterious existence. But he was also excited, elated, looking forward to something for the first time since Mage’s School. That more than made up for his exhaustion.

During his mental storm, Simon had been sketching on his notes page. The black smudges formed the vague outline of a bird. A swan to be specific. With charcoal wings reaching up towards the heavens. Simon hadn’t seen Baz’s bird form again for awhile, but he’d never forget. He wanted to remember everything about Baz.

———————————————

“Uh, favourite flower?”

Baz scoffed, smirking from under thin strands of raven hair. “Really?” he drawled. “Is that all you can think of?”

Simon shrugged up high then let his shoulders slump back down. “I don’t know. You must see some cool flowers in the forest. You have to have a cool favourite.”

“I suppose,” Baz sighed, looking out at his lake. “Well, there’s some purple flowers deep in the woods. They glow beautifully at night.”

The other boy’s head snapped up. “Oh I saw those! My friend picked a few first time I was here. She called them uh...” He rattled his brain for the past knowledge. Strange names of flowers weren’t something he tried to remember. “Um...hyminthus candelis?”

Baz raised one eyebrow impossibly high. “You mean hyacinthus candentius?”

Simon snapped his fingers and pointed at Baz’s face. “That’s it!”

Baz pushed the digit away with his index finger with a resoundly unimpressed expression. “Yes, and your attempt at latin terrifies me.”

“How are you more posh than me when you live in a lake?” he grumbled under his breath, using a stick to trace patterns in the soft mud.

“What?” Baz’s eyes flicked over to him, slightly suspicious.

“Nothing.” Simon twirled the stick in his hand, then hurled it out into the lake. It nearly hit a white swan, making the bird honk and flap its wings. Simon winced. “Sorry!” he called out.

Baz chuckled. Just a slight sound of amusement under his breath. “He can’t understand you, you know.”

Simon shrugged. “Yeah, but still, I nearly hit him. That’s mean.”

“He’ll forget it tomorrow. They don’t exactly have long memories.”

An idea struck the prince’s head like a lightning bolt. “Wait,” Simon exclaimed with excitement, “can you talk to them? As a swan?”

He glared with his piercing grey eyes. “I’m not answering that.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” Baz grumbled. He crossed his long arms over his chest. Simon flushed with embarrassment. He looked at the muddy ground, digging his boot heel in with a slight squish.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Uh, it’s your turn, I guess.”

Baz made a contemplative noise. He leaned back on his arms and stretched out his lanky legs, bare feet touching the muddy edge of the lake. Baz was always barefoot. Simon wondered if he actually owned shoes or just chose not to wear them. Living in a hidden lake probably didn’t require shoes. Still, a person should have shoes.

“What’s your favourite activity?” Baz asked. “Besides bothering me.”

Simon scoffed and poked Baz’s big toe with another stick he’d found. “Fuck off, arsehole.” Baz bumped the stick away, a small smirk on his mouth. “And I don’t know. I don’t do a lot of stuff. Eating? Sword fighting?”

“Is that why you carry this silly thing around? For fun?” Baz poked at the sword strapped around Simon’s back.

“Nah, that’s for protection. In case I find something strange and dangerous in the woods.”

Baz scoffed, running a hand over his loose hair. “Pretty sure the only strange thing you’ll find in these woods is me, Simon. And I don’t think I’m dangerous.”

Simon had to agree. Baz was cold and sarcastic, not dangerous. “True. Still, I like to keep it around. Just in case.”

“Hm.” He traced his index finger up and down the brown leather hilt. “May I see it?”

Simon immediately stiffened. Instinctively, he wanted to say no. His sword was probably his most precious possession. It had been given to him along with his wand when he was 11, the day he was officially made Heir of Watford, and he’d kept it close ever since. Sword work was one of the few things he was good at. Of course he wanted to keep his greatest tool close to his chest. But he also wanted Baz to trust him. So Baz would let him keep coming, so he would possibly tell him more about his strange situation somdeday, so he would just keep talking to Simon period.

“Sure,” Simon said cautiously. “Just, be careful, it’s sharp and-” Baz unsheathed the sword in one smooth move and stood up. He held the blade high in the air with a single arm, steel glinting in the magical lights. Simon’s eyes went impossibly wide.

“Heavy...” he said under his breath. His chest suddenly felt very tight for some reason.

Baz lowered the flat on the blade onto his opposite hand, examining it with careful eyes. He traced along every knick, which there were many of, because it was Simon’s sword. He swung it back in forth and tossed it between his hands with complete ease. Simon’s jaw slowly fell down. It had taken Simon years to do that. Mind you, he was eleven when he first started training, but still, it was...very impressive.

“Hm,” Baz said calmly. “Arming sword, solid steel, good leather, at least a century old but well maintained. I’ve read about these sort of weapons in books but I’ve never seen one in person. Interesting.”

“Y-You’re really strong.” Simon was still in quite a bit of shock.

Baz smirked from behind his light curtain of hair, grey eye glinting almost mischievously “You’d be surprised the amount of strength it takes to fly even a short distance.”

Simon opened his mouth, ready to ask more questions about flying and what it was like to be a swan and anything else he could. But, he thought of when Baz shut him down, tonight and every other night. He didn’t want that again. Maybe it would better to just listen, not ask.

“Cool,” Simon chuckled. “Guess it can have other uses.”

Baz’s smirk became closer to a real smile for a split second, but it was fleeting, like a puff of wind on a hot summer day. His face went blank again. “So can you actually fight with this thing? Or is it just for show to scare off the big bad monsters?”

Simon scoffed, glaring up at the other boy. “I can use it. Could you?”

“Maybe.” He swung it lazily back and forth. “I’ve read quite a bit about sword fighting techniques. I could most likely copy them.”

“Reading is way different than doing, Baz.”

“Hm, true.” He swiftly flipped the sword around, offering the handle to Simon. “Show me.”

Simon’s eyes bulged out. His heart was hammering against his rib cage. “What?!”

“You say you know how to use it, so show me.”

“D-Do you want me to attack you?!” Baz was magical, but that didn’t mean he was invulnerable.

Baz dramatically rolled his eyes. “No, you dolt. Attack the air. My death wish isn’t that extreme.”

The way Baz said that made Simon’s gut twist. It fell so easily from his mouth, too easily. Did Baz really not value his life? That didn’t sit well with Simon. Not at all.

He took the sword from Baz. It was a comforting weight in Simon’s hand. A familiar form of power, since it was the one Simon tended to go for instead of magic. He stepped far away from Baz, who stood with his arms crossed and a critical eye, and took the standard fighting stance. Legs apart, knees slightly bent, one arm behind his back since he didn’t have a shield. And he attacked.

Simon slashed, cut, and stabbed the empty air. His feet moved across the soft grass like lightning, kicking up clumps of Earth into the air. The steel glinted and shined with every phantom strike. He tried to imagine an opponent to fight, someone he could justify all this damage to. A training dummy? A foreign knight? Baz’s mysterious cloaked imprisoner? In the darkest part of his mind, the one he tried to keep quiet, Simon almost saw the silhouette of King David in front of him. But he quickly shoved that thought away. He couldn’t think of him like that. Simon needed David as much as David needed him.

Over the course of his little exhibition match with nothingness, Simon had shuffled forward almost to Baz’s cottage. He stopped before cutting in a sizable chunk out of the wall. This was Baz’s home, Simon couldn’t damage it. So he stopped, his tired arm falling to his side, breathing heavy. When he looked at Baz, a tiny part of him hoped for a grin. Sadly, Baz’s face was still very blank. However, the usually pouty corners of his lips were pulled up slightly. In their days together, Simon realised that was about as genuine as Baz’s smiles got.

“Hm,” Baz said, like the amateur scholar he acted as, “colour me impressed. You do know how to use it, at least against the open air. Not sure how you’d do against a real opponent.”

Simon shrugged, idly swinging his blade before sticking it in his sheath. “Well, I’ve been told I’m okay. Guess you can’t see me duel.”

Baz’s mini smile turned into his smug smirk. He spun on his heels and walked towards a tree. When he returned, he held two long sticks, and promptly threw one at the other boy. Simon scrambled to catch it. When he looked up, Baz had his legs apart and stick pointed out, still smirking.

“En garde,” he said.

And he lunged forward. Simon barely parried the attack off. He stumbled away. Baz took the opening, jabbing at him again. He was technical, precise, like a snake waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He obviously had no mercy, so Simon wouldn’t show any either then. He went into his fighting stance and parried away Baz’s attack, then he pushed forward, forcing Baz to give a lot of ground. Simon could see his expression shift. A slight turning down of his thin lips, a flickering of fire in his grey eyes. He tried to lunge forward with a jab at Simon’s side, but Simon was an experienced swordsman. He’d duled King David once and almost actually won. He knew how to sidestep the targeted attack, then swung his stick back around with all his might. He almost hit Baz, and Baz just barely blocked it, but still stumbled from the considerable force of Simon’s attack. Baz’s position was obviously unsteady. He was so focused on getting the most precise attacks that he’d disregarded his own stance. Simon took advantage. He pushed forward, then used his shoulder to knock into Baz with all strength. The other boy fell flat on the grass with a wheeze. Simon pointed his stick right above his slightly crooked nose. He couldn’t help but grin, the adrenaline of victory coursing through his veins.

“Do you surrender?” He said mockingly.

Baz glared up, his eyes grey slits of contempt. “I suppose I must.” He lifted up his hand. “At least help me up.”

Simon instantly took it, rough skin scratching against his. He hoisted Baz to his feet, and the other boy wobbled a bit. Simon grabbed his forearm to steady him. He could hear Baz inhale sharply. He immediately stepped away, putting a respectable distance between the two of them. Baz dusted off his already dirty trousers.

“Well,” he sighed, “I suppose you’re right. Reading is far different than doing.”

“Yeah,” Simon chuckled. “But you’ve got the right ideas. You could be really good.”

Baz’s brow quirked up. Simon thought he must practiced doing that looking in the pond. “Oh? Is that so?”

Simon slowly nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“In that case, think you could teach me?”

He nodded without hesitation. It was another excuse to come back. Another excuse to see Baz. Why wouldn’t he take it? “Yeah, sure, if you want.”

Baz picked up his stick once more. “Then let’s try again. This time, tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

Simon copied him. He gave the stick a dramatic spin of his wrist. “As you wish.”

———————————————

And so another thing was added to their routine. Simon would stumble into the hole, Baz would be by his lake, and they would say hello. Then they’d immediately pick up their sticks and duel, with Simon correcting Baz’s few mistakes. Eventually they would end up by the lake again, asking their questions. Over and over, nights and nights, and Simon felt somehow closer and further away from Baz all at once. Any question he asked was deflected. What little information Baz offered was surface and bare. Nothing of his past, who he was, why he turned into a swan. I felt like their sparring. For every step Simon took forward, Baz took one back. And Baz never stepped towards him.

“Shift your feet,” Simon said. “Make sure your weight is evenly distributed.”

“Why?” Baz asked. He liked to ask “why?” a lot during sparring lessons. A single statement was never enough for Baz. He needed to know the reasoning, the logistics, the deeper mechanisms of it all. He reminded Simon of Penelope in that way. A true academic, never satisfied with simple knowledge, always searching for more.

“Because, it makes your movements easier, you’re less likely to fall or be knocked over, and...” Simon made show of dodging Baz’s jab by leaning back so far and bending his knees so much that his hair grazed the grass. He sprung back up with a wide grin, satisfied by Baz’s slightly open mouth. “You can do that.”

Baz nodded slowly. He was astounded, though he did his best to hide it. “I see. Can you teach me how to do that?”

Simon shrugged. “Maybe. I sorta taught myself, but I can try to show you.”

“Wonderful.” He successfully parried Simon’s attack. “I’m curious, where did you learn to fight like this?”

This was a more invasive question than Simon was used to from Baz. He hadn’t offered much of his past, in fear of Baz finding out about his reluctant royal status. Maybe he wasn’t the only one being cagey about their background. But...he still wasn’t going to tell Baz everything. “I, uh, learned at the Mage’s School. They teach you magic and sword fighting.”

Baz inhaled sharply. His body became very stuff. “You’re a mage?”

“Yeah, but a pretty bad one. I tend to blow stuff up. I’m better at sword fighting.” Simon’s heart seized, remembering what Baz’s main experiences with mages must be. “But I’m not like him!” he blurted out. “Not like...that guy, with the cloak. I-I’m not gonna...cut your hair off or something...” Or turn you into a swan, he left unsaid. He still wasn’t even sure if the Cloaked Man was even the one responsible for Baz’s “condition”. But it didn’t matter. Simon wouldn’t do that. Not to Baz, not to anyone.

Baz made slight chuckling noise. “Don’t worry, Simon, I won’t suddenly hate you because you’re a mage. I don’t think you’re like him.”

Simon twisted his hand around the fake hilt of his fake sword. “Oh. So...what’s he like?”

“Is a one handed sword more effective or two handed?” Baz asked quickly. He looked pointedly at the lake. Simon wasn’t very good at social cues, but that was deflecting if he’d ever seen it. She shuffled his feet, kicking up grass. Simon had stepped forward, and Baz had stepped back again. No matter how close he walked Baz pulled away.

But maybe Simon had to stop stepping forward. Like his annoying diplomacy textbooks said, “it is better to offer the hand of peace than push someone to war.”

So Simon offered his hand.

“Y’know,” he said, mindlessly stepping around the grass. “I knew this guy back at the orphanage I grew up in.” Baz’s head snapped up, looking truly, genuinely confused. “He always pushed me around. He told me what I should wear, should eat, should do, even when I was allowed in our room. I tried to tell our Matron about him but she never listened. She never listened to me about anything. No one did. So I, uh, learned it was better to keep my mouth shut, and I just did what he said so he’d stop hurting me.” Simon chuckled sardonically. “It’s no wonder I’m bad at talking. Never got that much practice. I’m better now though. Especially after getting out of there and going to the Mage’s School. Things aren’t perfect but I guess it’s better. At least I’m not around that guy anymore.”

Simon gulped down the massive lump that had suddenly manifested in his throat. He swung the stick back and forth, slicing the air with a tiniest hisses. It was the only noise in the lake for a long while. Simon debated whether he should just climb out of the hidden lake to curl up and die of embarrassment in his bed. It would be safer, right?

“He’s like that too,” Baz said quietly. Simon’s head snapped up this time. Though the other boy’s face was mostly hidden by a curtain of black hair, Simon could see his mouth, already turned down at the corners naturally but now pulled even further into a frown. His face seemed to be made for pouting. “He always tells me what to do. You saw so, what with my hair and all. Usually he comes every few weeks to check on me, make sure I’m still here, give me books when I ask. I don’t know why he’s like this, or why he feels the need to control me all the time. I’m not even sure why he keeps me here. It’s not like a man in a cloak with no name is liberal with explanations of himself. Sometimes...” He took a deep breath. His closed eyes spelled calm. But everything else about him spelt tense. “I wish I could just be rid of him. But I know I can’t.”

“W-Why not?”

Baz’s lips went from a frown to a full on impressive scowl. “Because, if he’s gone, there will be no one who knows anything about my curse. He told me that. It’s not like he’ll reverse it, but it keeps me scared enough to not try anything.”

The ground felt wonky for a second. Slowly, Simon took a step closer. And for once, Baz didn’t step away. Though a small distance still remained. “You...you’re cursed? That’s why you...change?”

Simon expected another deflection, as precise as Baz’s impressive blocks during their duels. But Baz just nodded slowly. “Yes,” he muttered. “‘When the sun rises a swan, when it sets a human again’. That’s exactly what he said. It’s how I’ve been for years.

Simon’s jaw fell slightly open. Years, an undefined but obviously lengthy amount of time. As if he couldn’t feel any worse for Baz. “I’m...I’m sorry,” Simon whispered. “That’s awful.”

Baz turned to him, scowling with blazing eyes. “I don’t need your pity,” he spat, then stomped over to sit next to the lake, knees pulled up to his chin.

Simon’s stomach sank into the centre of the Earth. He cautiously walked towards the lake as well, sitting a good few feet away. “Sorry. N-Not like I was sorry before. Sorry I said something bad. I didn’t mean to pity you. It just...sucks. But I guess you already know that, what with...living with it...”

“Exactly,” he grumbled.

“Yeah...sorry I was an ass.”

Baz made an indistinct noise, but his legs stretched out slightly, a bit of tension leaving his muscles. “Apology tentatively accepted.”

Simon stretched out his legs too, leaning back on his arms. “So, you’re only human at night?” Baz nodded. “Then...maybe you could fly away as a swan and turn into a human somewhere else?”

Baz glared over his shoulder. That glare sent shivers down Simon’s spine. “Of course I’ve tried that. I’m not an idiot. What the man didn’t tell me in his incredibly vague curse was that I’ll turn into a swan when the sun rises no matter where I am, but I only become human again when I’m sitting in this blasted lake at night.” He threw a small rock into the water, sending tiny ripples across the blue surface. As if one pebble would destroy the entire offending pond. “Stupidest prison ever,” he muttered.

And tragically effective one, Simon thought. It was the worst kind of magic, created solely to hurt and torture someone. Simon couldn’t imagine living like that. Tasting freedom, just to have it ripped away when he could enjoy it. He almost said “sorry” again, but held his tongue. He just nodded and said nothing. Baz’s face softened minutely, and he nodded back. it seemed Simon made the right choice.

“So,” Baz said flatly. “You grew up in an orphanage?” His tone was so neutral it was hard to tell what he meant when he asked.

Simon nodded. “Yeah. Got left there when I was a baby. No clue who my parents are. But I got adopted at eleven and I’m not sure I care who they were anymore.”

Baz scoffed, low and deep in his throat. “You shouldn’t. They gave you up. Fuck them.”

For some reason, that brought a smile to Simon’s face. There was something refreshing about someone saying outright what he’d always thought deep down. “Yeah, you’re right. Fuck them.”

Baz’s mouth quirked up. He threw another stone into the lake. It splashed and rippled “Your turn.”

“Hm?”

“Your turn, for a question.”

Oh. Sparring time was done, question time now. Simon was always excitedly nervous for his. His tongue sometimes felt too big for his mouth, even more useless than usual. And it certainly felt so right now. “Okay. Uh, favourite food?”

“Hm,” Baz traced curvy lines in the mud, “I like mint pies. The woman who used to take care of me, she made them sometimes. They were very good.”

So Baz had someone to take care of him. At least he used to. That was good. Everyone should have someone to take care of them. But it created more questions. “Mint pies are cool. How long did she take care of you?”

Baz shook his long, bony finger, still smirking a bit. “Ah, ah, it’s my turn.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“It’s quite alright. Now, why do you like sword fighting better than magic? I would think magic would be quite fun.”

Simon shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s easier to hit things than remember words. I’m bad at words.”

“I think you’re alright.” Simon couldn’t help but smile. His body felt warm. “Not that I have a lot of company to compare you to.” Of course. Baz couldn’t compliment without an insult tacked on.

“True,” Simon chuckled. “But, y’know, I still am a mage, even if I’m bad.”

Baz turned to him with an eyebrow raised. “Okay? So?”

“So, I think maybe I could...help you, with your curse. Find out about it. Maybe...even how to break it.”

Baz’s grey eyes went wide for a moment. They looked like full moons. But just as quickly, they got smaller, and his face became blank. He turned back towards the lake. His expression was entirely unreadable. It was like staring at a statue.

“Sure,” he said with zero inflection, “if you would like.”

Simon’s eyes went wide. He didn’t expect it to be that easy to get permission. “Really?”

“If you can find anything, good for you.” He didn’t sound too excited. He didn’t sound like anything. As if all the emotions were sucked right out of him. Simon didn’t like that. He preferred Baz’s smirk and teasing lily. Was it wrong that he liked one sort of Baz and not the other?

“O-Okay. I’ll tell you if I find anything, alright?”

“Fine.” He went to his feet again, swinging his stick into sword-mode as he walked away. “Let’s have one more round before you have to go.”

He said it so matter of factly that Simon couldn’t protest. He scrambled to follow. “Alright.”

They took their stances. Simon was the first to attack. He lunged forward, Baz blocked, and they repeated it again, and again, and again. Baz was still overly methodical, but he was learning. He learned fast.

Maybe when Simon broke his curse, they could duel on the palace training ground. Simon would like that. He’d like to show Baz one of his favourite places. He’d like for Baz to have his freedom.

———————————————

Simon banged on the door twice, but very loudly. It would be enough for Penny to hear. He listened as the steps stomped closer and closer. The door flung open. Penny glared with tired eyes and serious bed head.

“What the fuck, Simon?” she asked, voice raspy and sleep tired. “Gods, have you slept?”

That was a fair question, because he hadn’t, and he probably looked it. Simon was sure he came off as positively mental, what with his dark eye circles, panting breath, and wide manic smile. He ran incredibly fast from Baz’s lake. His lungs were still burning. “Not important right now. Pen, I gotta ask you something.”

“It’s barely sunrise. What on Earth could you need to know this early?”

“Penny,” he said, trying to sound ominous and grand, “what do you know about curses?”

———————————————

AN: So I know not too much happens here, but I feel like it's necessary to help build up their relationship and show Simon and Baz trusting each other more. Also I love writing the duels lol. Hope you enjoyed it! Next update comes Thursday, and I'll be posting a request fic tomorrow :D

#carry on #snowbaz #carry on big bang #cobb 2018 #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #fluff #angst #fantasy au #the black swan #mysnowbazfic

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oddsnendsfanfics · 6 years

Text

But That Makes You Family Pt. 3

Genre: Fan Fiction (Animal Kingdom) Pairing: Craig Cody/OFC Warnings: Drinking, Death, Sexual Content, Language, Drugs Rating: R Length: Chaptered Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: Once again thank you for those who have given feedback.

Catch Up Here

“Olivia has been avoiding me.” Craig made his declaration, hands on his hips.

“Can you blame her?” Pope looked over his shoulder at him, little to no interest in his tone.

“Dude, she's been busy. Lay off.” Deran defended, as Craig knew he would.

“Busy? Ah yeah?” Craig pressed, leaning against the counter top, he singled out Deran. “And how many times have you saw her, since she was here? Huh?”

Deran had met Olivia the last three mornings, the surf was good, and they'd had a standing appointment with the cove. Craig knew it, everybody knew it. They had been meeting there since they were kids, setting out before the sun was up.

“Once or twice.” Deran shrugged.

“Once or twice.” Craig repeated, his annoyance growing. She'd told him that they would discuss him meeting Corbin, how were they to discuss shit if she didn't return his calls. “And how many times have you saw Corbin?”

“Once or twice.” Deran kept his answer.

Cornering Deran had been the only way Craig knew how to deal with the news Olivia had delivered, since then Craig had been doing everything he could to try and intentionally piss off his little brother. Whatever, Deran had better things to do than watch Craig throw a tantrum. If he wanted to see his kid, the rules were simple. Grow a pair. Get somewhat sober. Go see him.

“Once or twice. That's real fucking nice.” Craig slapped his hands together.

“If you're that upset go talk to her.” Pope chimed in with the obvious. Craig obviously knew where she was. “Stop being a big baby and go talk to her. But be nice, otherwise you're going to ruin it.”

Pope's advice to talk with Olivia had been straightforward and didn't leave much room for interpretation, unless you were Craig. Parked on the side of the street, he had a clear view of the house. Parked next to the garage on a spare patch of land was a small air stream trailer, a jetset blue Jeep Renegade – with Connecticut plates. A well manicured lawn with the perfectly maintained walk way made the two story house look homey and inviting.

Through the windows Craig couldn't see too much, only a few shapes and shadows through the sheer curtains that were expertly covering the windows. If he sat here long enough he may gather the courage to text Olivia, asking her to come out and meet him.

He'd invite her out, driving down to the strand, or maybe they'd drive and drive until they reached he hills. He'd vent about Smurf and J, tell her about life in general, and how much he had missed her. In return she'd tell him about life on the east coast, how she missed him, and what she hated the most about winters. They'd be free and able to talk and talk. Eventually, he'd ask about Corbin and Olivia would tell him everything he needed or wanted to know. Craig would turn around, driving her back, before he left she'd lean over the side of the scout and kiss his cheek. Waving him off in the rising sun.

Holding his phone, Craig sat watching the house. What if he asked her to come out and she didn't want to see him?

Lime green wasn't the best colour to try and hide, especially sitting on the side of the cul-de-sac. Craig Cody had never been the brightest man, despite that, he was a career criminal surely he had enough sense to know they could spot him from space in that thing. Had his mother taught him nothing?

It was getting late, the sun had set and the sky was that rich blue that crept into black, the first few stars of the night were beginning to show. He had been sitting there for the better part of two hours, Craig wasn't known to be a patient man.

“Olivia.” her mother sauntered into the den where her daughter and grandson were on the sofa, watching whatever sitcom was currently running. “Mind taking out the trash?” She nodded toward the door. “Now?”

“I can do it.” Corbin sat up.

“No, you're going to get ready for bed. I'll do it.” Olivia kissed the top of his head, messing up his shaggy brown locks. She had been at him for months to cut his hair, but he liked it long. The apple didn't fall far.

Glancing out the window, Olivia sighed. She could have gone out by now, she should have gone out by now. Craig was stupid enough to sit on the side of the street, no doubt having put a pound of coke up his nose by now, waiting would do him some good.

Across the street the door opened, a quick flood of light emerging from the house, in the middle was a distorted shadow, and then the porch light illuminated the front of the house. Motion censored. Craig should have known, Carolyn Bridges was always a bit of a hippie. One of the keep the planet clean and energy efficient types.

Through the shadows of the street lights, Craig shifted uneasily in the driver's seat, he had a clear view of Olivia. Marching toward him, her eyes locked on his the closer she got. Wrapped in a soft shawl, her flip flops smacked against the pavement on the way to the car.

"When did you take up stalking?" She asked tapping the hood of the scout.

Sitting up, Craig leaned over the door, his hair partially blocking his view. "I was in the neighbourhood."

"Sure. Right." Olivia nodded halfhearted. "Get out of the car, Craig."

Olivia stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for Craig. He was moving at a snail's pace, for somebody with legs that long he sure took a while. Standing beside the scout, Craig shoved his hands in his pockets waiting for the scolding.

"Come on." she nodded toward the air stream parked in the corner of the yard.

“Huh?”

“Come on, I want to talk. But not out here.” Olivia gestured to the wide open street. In code it meant she didn't want nosy little boys gawking out bedroom windows. Olivia was buying her time on Craig and Corbin. Craig could be staved off until the right time. Corbin on the other hand was best left in the dark, until the time was right.

“He's home?”

“Yeah, but you're not going inside. Not right now.” Olivia pulled a key from her pocket, unlocking the trailer.

“Nice set of wheels ya got.” Craig commented looking over the small Jeep.

Olivia hummed. She liked it. “It got us here, it'll get us home. Gas is great in this thing.”

“I can't believe you drove from fucking Connecticut? Are you insane? What if you'd broke down?" Craig turned, looking down at her.

Olivia sighed, rolling her shoulders to relieve the tension that was mounting. "But we didn't. Besides, if we had I would have called triple A."

"You couldn't be normal for once in your fucking life? Who takes a kid, an old trailer, and drives them across the country?"

"You'd be surprised how many people drive across the country. It's a great way to spend a summer vacation, besides this isn't old. It's vintage. And who are you to talk? Huh? You do shittier things every day, need I remind you that is why I have custody and you have never been allowed to meet my son?"

"Our." Craig mumbled, wisely shutting his mouth when Olivia glared at him.

Not another word, Craig ambled into the trailer behind Olivia. Stooping to clear the ceiling, they did not make these tin cans for tall people. Inside was cozy, if Craig were the type to use that word. A large bed lined the back wall, with a bunk in the front. Cupboards, a sink and stove lined one side. A small table with bench seats and a fridge along the other. The bright yellow and white paint scheme were set off by rich reds and warm browns. Craig was impressed.

“Welcome aboard.” Olivia moved some magazines off one of the benches making room for Craig.

“It's...nice.” Craig commented flopping onto the bench, the cushions were thick and comfortable. He thumbed through the stack of magazines on the table, gathering that they had been brought to entertain Corbin. There was a lack of electronic entertainment in here.

“Thanks, my dad helped me restore it. We took it all back to the original interior, only took six months.” Olivia boasted. “This is the first time we've had her out, really had her out.”

Craig lazily nodded, flipping through the latest issue of Motocross Action. Olivia had always bitched and whined about his bikes, she hated them. Craig had heard every excuse.

“Ugh, Corbin is obsessed with that magazine.” She groaned shaking her head.

“Does he have one?”

“Fuck no.” Olivia scoffed leaving her post holding up the counter. What kind of mother did Craig think she was? Smurf? Hell no. She had sense. "So," Olivia stood on her tip toes, reaching into a small space over the cupboard. Craig leaned back on the bench seat, enjoying the view. It was a rookie move, watching her shorts ride up. "May I ask why you're casing my parent's house?"

Grunting she gave a small jump and snatched the baggie she had been feeling for. Clutched in her hand, Olivia smiled triumphantly, showing Craig the bag of loose green. Sliding a pack of papers from her back pocket, she made herself comfortable on the other side of the folding table.

"I wasn't casing the place." Craig placed a shiny zippo on the table, his offering to the cause. Olivia's tongue darted across the edge of the paper, expertly rolling the joint. Her silence was stronger than words.

“My mom said she saw Pope, not long after Baz,” Olivia didn't bother to finish the sentence. What Carolyn hadn't told her daughter was that she saw the eldest Cody often. Andrew would come by the coffee shop that Carolyn owned. Once a week he would come in, sit in the same corner, and have his coffee.

“He told her that you were in Mexico. Doing a job?” She wasted no time getting to the good stuff.

Deran would tell her what Craig was up to, when she needed to know. Or if it was something that would suddenly leave her son fatherless, in another sense of the word. Most of the time, Olivia didn't want to know what they Codys were up to. If anything went sideways, she was better off never knowing. Mexico had never come up during her calls with Deran.

If Craig missing for a few weeks didn't filter into conversation then it meant one of two things. He was doing a job or there was a woman. Craig and Olivia were long over, never to begin again; Deran had decided that keeping those details from Olivia were for her own good. In some twisted way.

“Nah.” Craig answered shifting around out of awkwardness. “I was down there trying to get a business going, tequila.”

“A tequila business? Really? Wow.” Olivia laid one joint on the table, rolling another.

“Yeah, a friend and I went down. Didn't really get anything off the ground, but that's business.” Craig scratched his nose. He hadn't told Olivia about Renn and he sure as hell wasn't going to tell her about Nicky, although he was sure Deran had told her plenty.

“A friend.” Olivia wiggled her eyebrows. “Female friend?” Craig blushed whether he was aware or not. “Ah! You got a girlfriend, you're not telling me about, Craig Cody?” She teased.

“You uh, you seeing anybody?”

“I've had a boyfriend here and there.” Olivia answered sliding the first joint across the table. “You know how it is, every now and the you need to scratch that itch.” she winked.

“They all okay with Corbin?”

“Of course, I wouldn't bother to have someone around if they weren't good with him. Or if he didn't like them.”

“Good.” Craig's brow was furrowed and his eyes on his hands. “I'm never sure what to tell people, guess I don't tell them anything.”

“So you've never told your girlfriend? What's she going to think?” Olivia wasn't entirely surprised that Craig would keep this detail to himself.

“Naw, she isn't the mommy type. She wouldn't be a bitch about it or to him, but she isn't into the whole happy family, let's have kids thing. You know?” Craig tapped his knuckles on the table top. “Besides, we're not serious and she's out of town.”

“Hmm.” Olivia hummed picking up the joint and lighter.

She had never wanted to be that type either, funny how things change your plans. Lighting the joint, she waited for the right moment to take a puff.

“You been at Smurf's much? I thought about dropping by the other day, but wasn't sure you'd be there.”

Craig barked a laugh. He had been avoiding Smurf's as much as he could, all while watching the place like a hawk. Coming home to find Deran's father there had thrown a wrench into everybody's plans.

“Fuck no. I know that Deran talked to you and..."

"I know about Billy showing up." Olivia exhaled, the pungent smell of weed filling the trailer, in a white cloud. "Deran told me."

"Yeah, well, it's not a good idea for you to come around, Livvy. Not while that asshole is there."

"Then I won't come by the house." Oivia shrugged passing the joint to Craig.

Craig never thought he'd see this scene again, sprawled out with Olivia, huddled up in some space hiding from the outside world. A joint being passed back and forth between them, while all of their troubles left.

"Smurf if going to shit a brick, having Billy in her house." the idea of Smurf having no control over her household was tickling - perhaps it was the high.

"The good news is, she won't be worried about you showing up, now."

"Smurf doesn't have to worry about me. I don't want trouble, I'm simply here on vacation with my son." a coy smirk crossed Olivia's face. “You know that I'm harmless.”

Craig rolled his eyes. Olivia was harmless in the way a spider web was to a mosquito. She was there, taunting and waiting, one slip and you were caught up. She knew too much and Smurf didn't have the balls to do a damn thing about it. Not even Smurf was willing to cross the step-daughter of a District Attorney. Olivia had solidified her spot in Smurf's good graces, when she had her step-father go to bat for Pope. Andrew got off light with the jail time that he'd done, all thanks to Doug Bridges.

“Corbin and I are here for a nice vacation. I don't care about Smurf and her shit. If it weren't for Corbin, I doubt I'd even have the time for you.”

"Were you serious about me meeting him?" Blue eyes hooded and sincere, despite the glassy high. Craig wrinkled his nose, taking another puff from the joint, holding it out to Olivia. “I want to meet him, Livvy. Let me fucking meet him.”

Tilting her head to take a closer, more in depth look, Olivia took a puff, holding the smoke in her lungs. Blowing out a breath of smoke, she could see it now. The resemblance between Craig and her son. Corbin had the same hooded eyes, bright blue and sparkling. His nose and smile, all Craig. Even his wild mess of long hair, was Craig.

"Yes, but first there are some rules." Olivia leaned forward, hovering over the table and Craig. "It's late, we'll talk about this later. Go home."

Standing Olivia walked to the door, pushing it open with a grunt she stood holding the metal door. Taking the hint Craig slowly gathered himself and rose to his feet, stooping until he was out the door and could return to full height.

"Can I..."

"Night, Craig." Olivia waved and pulled the door shut.

Left in the yard, Craig cursed and kicked at the paved drive way. So that's how she was going to do this? Invite him in and then toss him out? Who did she think she was, anyway?

@noobchic, @ivarlothbroks, @sparklemichele, @klinger-verseau , @hows-my-hair , @grungyblonde , @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly - if anybody else wants a tag, feel free to ask :)

#but that makes you family #craig cody #craig cody fanfic #craig cody x ofc #animal kingdom #animal kingdom tnt #animal kingdom fanfic #animal kingdom tnt fanfic #ben robson #character fics #bless whoever made that gif

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arituzz · 6 years

Text

Famous Last Words 4

-SNOWBAZ-

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Summary: When your family was a wreck and your perfect girlfriend just left you for your irritating classmate, the only way to carry on was to make a truce with the enemy, right?

High school AU in which Simon and Baz pretend to be boyfriends to save Simon’s love life.

Chapter word count: 4.3k

Rating: T

Tags: High School AU, fake boyfriends, mutual pining, fluff, a little bit of angst (later on), music, theater, rock band

Also on AO3

Thank you @velvetnoodle for being my amazing beta :)

Simon loved music.

Growing up with his father didn’t allow him to enjoy music properly, so when he started at Watford High, the Drama Club was one of the things—if not the thing—that made Simon fall in love with the place. Joining the Drama Club and performing musical scenes made him put a name to that strange sensation he had when he was around flowers, or when he remembered something about his mother. It made him feel home.

Simon didn’t love music because he was good at it—which he inexplicably was—or because it was entertaining. Simon loved music the same way the leatherback turtle loved travelling through the oceans. Or the same way a wizard loved magic.

He loved being surrounded by music. Casual, ambient music: People singing in the corridor, someone spontaneously dancing between classes… When Simon sang or danced in a theatre representation, it made him a part of something bigger. No one loved music like Simon did, he was sure about that.

Simon’s music sense wasn’t like Penelope’s. When Simon had asked her how she managed to dance like she did—Penny danced like no one else—she’d described it as having a bottomless well inside her; the energy, the rhythm, the steps, all of that was deep down inside that well; and buckets and buckets of it would draw up for her — as much as she needed, as long as she stayed focused.

Agatha liked music, too. She did ballet and was on the school chorus. But Simon wasn’t sure that she loved it. He knew she liked the Café better than any class at Watford. Simon was under the impression that music sounded less like a passion and more like an obligation to Agatha.

And then there was Baz. Obviously, he was a brilliant musician—he just had to excel at everything he tried. Simon had always known Baz was bloody good at the violin. He used to sneak on him during his violin lessons. “Light a match inside your heart,” he’d heard Baz say to one of his classmates, who was having difficulty. “Then blow on the tinder.” Simon remembered thinking how oddly charming it sounded, coming from Baz. It worked for that student, but it never did for Simon.

For Simon, music was nothing like that. Going onto the stage felt exactly like exploding. Or going nova. Simon didn’t understand the basics of dancing, nor did he use any voice-warming techniques. He just needed to go up there and let himself go off.

Mitali Bunce—Penny’s mum—was the Drama professor, and, every year, she made them perform a different play for the school’s Leavers’ Party. This year it was Grease. Simon had the leading role, along with Philippa Stainton. It was also a tradition to keep it a secret until the day of the play. No, seriously, last year, they were playing Simon’s favourite musical, Oliver!, and Simon got the main character’s role. When Penny’s mother discovered he’d told her about it, she’d made Simon play Fagin. Professor Bunce was dramatic like that. (He never told her that, in the end, he actually enjoyed doing Fagin’s role.)

Penelope hated drama as much as her mum loved it, Simon knew that. But, for some reason, Penny had taken pity on him in first year and, since then, she always helped Simon memorise his lines. He didn’t know how he’d survive this year without her.

Normally, rehearsal coincided with the last hour of football practice—Simon was only able to see half the training session from the school roof. This year, though, they had to start rehearsals one hour later so that Niall, who was also on the football team, could join the Drama Club.

Baz had football practice on Mondays and Wednesdays, and violin lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays until 6 pm. Simon spent the time with Penny in the library while Baz was in violin class. (Or rather, Penelope forced him to sit for two hours straight while she helped him with homework.) On Mondays and Wednesdays, Penny had dance lessons—thank music—so Simon watched Baz play football until it was time for rehearsal. Then, Baz would drive him home.

Since he’d come back to school, Baz had been trying to hide the fact that he was limping on his left foot. (His best leg, Simon appreciated, thanks to all the years he’d been watching Baz play football.) This year, Baz opted for training his right foot, but, even from the roof, Simon could see him wincing. Simon wondered if Baz’s injury had anything to do with him being in prison. Did he have a fight with another inmate? If he was half as insufferable as a cellmate as he was a deskmate, Simon was certain the answer was ‘yes’. Or maybe it had more to do with the reason he was in jail in the first place. Baz would have to tell him eventually, right? After all, they were boyfriends now, and boyfriends tell each other things like that. Of course they weren’t really going out together but Simon still had the right to know. Otherwise how was he supposed to help him? But Baz was like that; when Simon thought he knew absolutely everything about him, the next day he came and did something that completely threw Simon off. Simon was sure he did it on purpose.

Since first year, Simon liked to draw Baz while he was on the pitch. Except he wasn’t playing football in Simon’s drawings: In one of them, he was running from a chimera; in another, Baz was a magician who could make fire appear in the palm of his hand. He had a whole sketchbook just for Baz.

Penny had told him many times he was obsessed with Baz, Simon had argued he just liked to keep his enemies close. “That doesn’t mean you have to carry them in your school bag,” she’d said.

Simon was curious about what Baz did while he was in rehearsal. Did he just wait in the library? No, Premal—the librarian, and Penelope’s brother—had told him he wasn’t there, when Simon had asked him. Then what? Did he spend the hour smoking on the roof? Yeah, that was most likely it, Simon thought. Of course Premal could also be lying to him, since he was Davy’s pet. But it didn’t matter; whatever Baz did, he always came for Simon when rehearsal ended and then he’d drive him home.

xxx

One Tuesday, Baz’s violin class was cancelled, so he drove Simon home two hours earlier.

Simon’s grades kind of directly depended on those Penelope-imposed “study” sessions, but he couldn’t ask Baz to wait two hours and then drive him home.

“What is it, Snow?” Baz asked, parking the car before the house.

“What?”

Baz stopped the engine and turned to look at Simon. “You’ve been quiet the entire ride.”

Simon shrugged. “I always am.”

“I meant more than usual,” Baz said, pursing his lips. He reclined his elbow on the windowsill of the car and turned his head so that his chin rested on his hand. “Whatever. I’m not interested, anyway.” Baz made a dismissive gesture with his free hand. “Just get out.”

Simon ignored Baz’s last words. “It’s my homework.”

“What about it?”

“Penny always helps me,” Simon said. “But it’s okay. I guess I’ll manage.”

Baz abandoned the window to face Simon again. “No, you won’t,” he said with a sneer. Simon tried to mimic Penny’s patented scowling face, but failed. Because, he knew it. Baz was right. Baz turned his attention towards the steering wheel, grasping it with both his hands, even though the ignition was still turned off—even though he only used one hand to steer it while driving. “I can help you,” Baz murmured.

Simon masked his surprise, his fingers toying with the laces of his hoodie. “Cool.”

After exiting the car, Simon opened the door to his home, hoping his dad wasn’t there. Baz looked hesitantly from the doorstep.

“Are you… afraid of my house or something?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Snow,” Baz growled. “You haven’t invited me in.”

Simon chuckled. “What are you, a vampire?” It would make sense, Simon thought. Even though his skin was dark, Baz was unnaturally pale. And his canine teeth were longer than average, so Simon couldn’t be one hundred percent sure they weren’t vampire fangs. Simon imagined himself drawing Baz as a vampire and tried to save that mental image for later.

Baz rolled his eyes. “I’m being fucking polite,” he snapped. “That might also sound like fantasy to you.”

“Alright,” Simon said, holding the door for him. “Please, do come in, milord Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” he parodied, exaggerating a reverence.

“Fuck you, Snow,” Baz said as he walked through the door. “Don’t ever call me Tyrannus again.” He sent a death glare towards Simon’s direction.

Simon burst out laughing until he had to stop to catch his breath.

After that day, Baz ended up at Simon’s every day after school. Except on Fridays, in which Simon helped Ebb with the flower shop and Baz was occupied with band practice.

At first, Baz had enough patience to help Simon with his homework. But Simon had mastered the art of procrastination years ago and their study afternoons soon devolved into drawing afternoons for Simon and violin practice for Baz. (Luckily for Simon’s grades, he still had the study sessions with Penny.)

Listening to Baz playing the violin in his room was like travelling back in time to fifth year. It felt like he was sneaking on him again, as if Simon was witnessing something that wasn’t meant for him. At first, he was awestruck. Simon would pretend to draw while he looked at him stupefied. (He’d also save the mental image of Baz playing the violin so he could draw it later.) Further on, Baz’s music inspired Simon to draw. (Castles, dragons, magical creatures…)

After Baz was long gone, Simon liked to go over all the drawings again before falling asleep, like a lullaby. It was the only way he could actually sleep.

xxx

It was a Sunday morning—or it should have been, but time worked differently for Simon on Sundays, so it was probably past noon—when Simon found himself compiling a mix CD. (Which was unusual for him, as he used his computer to listen to music at home.)

It started as an experiment. He created a new playlist on iTunes and put his favourite songs there. At first there were only songs from Halsey, Troye Sivan and Twenty One Pilots. After that, he added some of the songs from his favourite musicals, plus the songs he had to perform for the school play. He took a blank CD and inserted it into his computer to record it.

Simon paused before clicking the button.

He had another playlist he’d recently made. One named ‘Baz’s songs’. Simon considered mixing both playlists into one CD. But he discarded the idea and pressed ‘burn’.

While the computer did its work, Simon went downstairs to prepare himself a couple of sandwiches for breakfast-lunch-dinner. When he got back to the room, the CD was ready.

Simon picked it. He took a sharpie and named it ‘SIMON’S MIXTAPE’. Then, he put it aside and recorded another one. This time with both Simon’s and Baz’s playlists.

When it was ready, he named it and proceeded to listen to it while he drew.

When he woke up the next day, Simon realised he’d fallen asleep with the mixtape on. That meant Davy hadn't come back home the night before, either. It wasn't unusual—he used to stay away for extended periods of time when Simon was younger. But Simon kind of had hoped those days were long past. Even though Simon knew it was foolish, there was a part of him that missed his father, that still wanted to do father-son things with Davy. But the facts were there: Simon barely knew him; he saw him more like a distant relative than a father figure. And, it was kind of too late to change that now.

Yeah, Simon couldn’t help thinking how things could have gone differently, but that was pointless now. Plus, he had other people he cared about. Like Ebb and Penny; or Rhys and Gareth; even Trixie. Also, Agatha.

And yes, maybe Baz too.

xxx

On Friday, Simon overslept. He’d been drawing for hours the night before and he didn’t hear the first two alarms going off. He wasn't running late—Simon was never late to school—but he wasn't as early as usual, and Simon feared he might miss breakfast. So, when he realised it was raining outside, he didn't bother to go back for an umbrella and just began to walk fast.

"Snow." Simon turned around to see Baz's car stopped in front of the traffic lights. "Don't you have an umbrella?" Baz's window was zipped down and the rain soaked his leather jacket.

Simon ran a hand through his wet hair. "Yeah... At home."

"Of fucking course," Baz said, massaging his temples. "Get in."

"It's okay, I..." Simon started, raising his hood and putting it over his head.

The traffic lights had turned green, but Baz was still stopped. "Just get in, Snow."

A few of the cars behind Baz's started honking at him. Baz gave them the finger.

"Okay," Simon said, hopping onto the car.

Baz murmured something Simon couldn't hear and rolled the window up. He slotted the gear into drive and, with the delicacy of a nine-toed troll, he hit the accelerator and drove all the way to school without saying another word.

xxx

Breakfast was the second best thing about Watford. Simon had to thank Baz for driving him to school that Friday, otherwise he would’ve probably missed it. And a day without morning scones was bound to be a terrible one.

Simon's life at school hadn't changed much since he’d started dating Baz. Sure, people posed a lot of questions at the beginning, but the novelty soon died out and they were left alone. (Baz's sneers might have had something to do with it, too.)

“Simon, your hoodie is soaking wet,” Penny pointed out from beside him.

“Right,” said Simon, finishing his scone. He yanked at his hoodie and pulled it off. The shirt he was wearing below moved up, as it always did, exposing the skin over Simon’s hips. He jerked it down and resumed eating the buttered scones.

Baz swallowed, looking weirdly at him. Simon assumed it was because of his messy hair, so he tried—unsuccessfully—to flatten it.

Penny had the ghost of a smile on her face, like she was remembering a joke she’d been told a long time ago.

The rest of the school day went rather smoothly and it was soon time to go to the flower shop.

xxx

“Snow,” Baz called, tossing his cig onto the—already dry—ground of the parking lot. “Where’s your hoodie?”

Simon noticed it was the first time he’d seen Baz smoking that day. He didn’t like him smoking at all, but he had to admit that was progress. Big progress, in fact. “Uhm…” Simon paused, stopping before the Jaguar. “It was so wet that I left it in the locker,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “And then I sort of forgot about it.”

“How could you forget it? It’s fucking December,” Baz spat, as he searched for the car keys inside the pockets of his dark jeans. “We can go back.”

Simon lifted his shoulders into a shrug. “I’m always warm,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

Baz opened the door but didn’t get inside. “You walk home after work, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yeah…” Simon replied, from the other side of the car. He leaned against the Jaguar and folded his arms on the roof, resting his chin on them. Even though Simon knew Baz had band practice until late in the night, it looked as though he was going to offer driving him home after work.

Instead, Baz said, “For fuck’s sake, you’re shivering.”

“I’m not...” Simon wanted to protest but he realised it was true. “I—”

Baz took off his jacket. “Here,” he said, casually tossing it to Simon. “Take my jacket.”

Simon knew it was only a jacket—only three words: take my jacket—but it felt like so much more. Baz never lent his jacket to anyone. Not even Niall.

Simon put it on, less because he was cold and more because he wanted to know how it felt, and got into the car. “Thanks.”

Maybe it was because of this whole cold vibe Baz gave off, or maybe because he hadn’t noticed until then that the jacket was wool-lined on the inside, but Simon had expected it to feel cold. It didn’t. At all.

Simon zipped it all the way up, slyly breathing in that familiar smell of cedar and bergamot. He looked at Baz while he drove, taking in his black T-shirt and the way the muscles in his arms rippled as he steered.

Baz was fucking fit. He’d always been. And, Simon had to admit, he did look cool. But, even though driving his father’s Jaguar made him look bloody attractive, Simon still prefered him on the bike.

Shoving that thought away, Simon turned the music volume down and questioned Baz about something that had been bugging him since Baz had come back: “Why are you limping?”

“None of your business,” Baz spat, sparing him a quick glance.

“Is that why you don’t ride your bike anymore?” Simon asked.

“I told you, it’s being repaired.”

“So long?”

“Yes, Snow,” Baz said, irritated. “I hate to burst your stupid little bubble, but things take fucking time.”

“Can you just—”

“No, I can’t,” Baz cut him.

“Can you stop being mean for just one second?”

“Then stop giving me reasons.”

Simon sighed in frustration and kept silent for the rest of the ride.

It wasn't until Baz had the car parked in front of the flower shop that Simon remembered the mixtape. He'd put it into his schoolbag on Monday before leaving for school, and had forgotten about it.

“I made this,” he said, taking it out and passing it to Baz. “So we can listen to it in your car.”

“No way,” Baz said, but took it anyway. “Simon and Baz’s mixtape?” he read. “What the fuck?”

Simon shrugged. “My favourite songs… and yours… mixed.”

“We’re not a couple, Snow.”

“But we are a couple. Technically.”

Baz discarded the mixtape in the glove compartment, with the rest of his CD’s. “Only in front of others,” he said.

Simon was playing with the zip of the jacket. “Imagine Agatha gets in your car.”

“Why would Wellbelove get on my father’s car?”

“I don’t know.” Simon shrugged again. “To take her to her ballet classes?”

“You know that will never happen.”

“But it could happen,” insisted Simon.

“I said no bloody way, Snow. I don’t want to hear your stupid music,” Baz growled, and looked away into the traffic.

“Fine,” Simon said, walking out of the car.

It wasn’t until he entered the flower shop that Simon realised he’d left the mixtape in the car. He turned around to see if Baz was still there but he was already gone.

xxx

“Nice jacket,” Ebb welcomed him as he entered the flower shop. “Is that your boyfriend’s?”

Simon nodded, feeling the heat of a blush tinge his cheeks. “Yeah.”

“You remind me of him.”

“Of Baz?”

“No,” Ebb said, absentmindedly. “Nico.”

“Nico?” Simon asked, confused.

“My brother.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Ebb’s eyes were teary. “He left a long time ago.”

“Left? Like, to another country?”

“No, no. He just left to another place.”

“Can you visit him?”

Ebb nodded. “Once a year.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes… Well, let’s not talk about sad things, yeah?” Ebb said, wiping her eyes. “Look at you, you look gorgeous. Fi will love it when I tell her.”

It was remarkably easy for Simon to forget that Ebb was married to a Pitch. She was just too good to be part of that family.

Simon gave her a smile.

Ebb didn’t talk anymore about her wife nor her brother that day.

They worked on Baz’s gift: A pot with basil and rose seeds planted in a way that, given time and proper care, would grow to form a heart shape. Since the pot was made of chalkboard, Ebb asked Simon to write something nice for Baz.

“Like what?” Simon asked. He grabbed a chalk and wrote the first thing that came to mind: Flowers grow here.

“Try writing something from your heart,” Ebb said, patting Simon’s shoulder. “It doesn’t need to be now, you can always change it later.”

Simon couldn’t tell her it was all fake. That there was really no valid reason for them to make that gift for Baz. Although Simon supposed he could give it to him as a thank you present for being his fake boyfriend.

xxx

Eventually, Simon took off the jacket. As he arrived home, he considered the best place to keep it. It should meet two conditions: a) Easy access. (For he was going to use it frequently.) b) Hidden from—Baz’s—sight. (For he was never going to return it.)

The wardrobe would do, he decided.

Simon began the bad habit of wearing the jacket all the time when he was home. Davy didn’t ask him about it, he probably didn’t even notice. But that wasn’t new. The strangest thing was that Baz hadn’t asked Simon to give it back.

Simon was practicing one of the scenes he had to do for the school play, when the doorbell rang, indicating that Baz had arrived. It was four in the afternoon, like every Saturday.

When Simon got to the door, Baz greeted him with a snort.

“What?” Simon asked.

“You’re a terrible Danny Zuko,” Baz scoffed.

Simon wondered if Baz had heard him practicing but he knew he couldn’t be heard from the street. Unless he had like, super-hearing powers or something. Then it dawned on him he was wearing the jacket and that might be the reason behind Baz’s conclusion. Shit, he mentally cursed.

“Wait,” Simon said when they were already upstairs, before entering his room. “How do you know?”

“How do I know what?”

“The play.”

Baz stopped on his tracks and swallowed. “Because you told me, obviously.” He looked at the wall.

No, Simon hadn’t told him. He hadn’t even told Penny. (He wouldn’t risk a repeat of last year.) It had to be someone else who’d told Baz. Was it Niall? What if Baz was flirting with Philippa and she’d accidentally revealed it? Should Simon be jealous about that?

Simon decided that yes, he should be jealous if Baz was flirting around with other people. They were supposed to be boyfriends.

Baz settled on Simon’s bed and started silently doing homework. Since Baz already knew about the play, Simon sat on his desk and continued practicing his lines, hoping he wouldn’t mind.

xxx

“That’s cool baby, you know…” Simon paused, failing to remember what came next. “You know…”

“You know how it is, rockin’ and rollin’ and whatnot,” Baz finished for him, exasperation creeping into his voice. “You’ve gone over this line ten times now.”

“Yeah, sorry…” Simon apologised, scratching the back of his neck.

“How can you have the leading role with such poor memory?”

“Guess I’m good,” Simon shrugged. “I’m better when someone helps, though.”

“No,” Baz said, dryly. “I’m not— No,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Just, no.”

“It’s fine. You don’t have to,” said Simon, and resumed working on the scene.

After ten minutes of Simon struggling with that same line, Baz gave up. “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he said, standing up and abandoning his homework. “Fine, I’ll fucking help you.”

When they were done with Simon’s lines, Baz resumed working on his homework. Simon took his sketchbook—his regular one—and started drawing.

It was easier for him to draw while Baz was playing the violin, he discovered it inspired him greatly. But Baz hadn’t brought the violin today.

Simon started his computer and opened iTunes and put the playlist he’d used for the mixtape. “Do you mind?” he asked Baz.

Baz sighed. “Whatever.”

Simon started drawing a little boy playing with a red ball. As he progressed with the drawing he realised it was himself when he was younger. He didn’t like it. Not finding any more inspiration, Simon closed the sketchbook and put it away.

When he looked back at Baz, Simon almost fell off his chair: Baz was lying on Simon’s bed, his face was half buried in his textbook, his hair hanging loose. His stomach rose and fell in a soft rhythm. He was sleeping. Cherry and Scone were one at each side of him.

Cute, Simon thought. And then, without thinking it, he took out his other sketchbook—the one with drawings of Baz—and began drawing the scene before him.

After some minutes, Baz made a soft sound and Simon jumped, fearing he would wake up and catch him drawing him. (Simon was certain that if that happened, Baz would finally fulfill his threat of giving Simon a Viking’s funeral.)

Baz didn’t wake up, but Simon hid the sketchbook anyway. He grabbed his phone and, very quietly, took a photo of Baz and the cats. For later.

Simon tried without success to do some homework before Baz woke up.

“Snow,” Baz said, rubbing his eyes. He was visibly angry. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I tried,” Simon lied.

“Fuck, I have to go,” Baz cursed, gathering his things in a rush.

“Where?” Simon asked.

Baz cocked an eyebrow at him. “Home?”

“Right,” said Simon. “I’ll see you on Monday, then.”

“Bye, Snow.”

After Baz left, Simon resumed the drawing of him and the cats until he fell asleep.

-TBC-

(snowbaz fic masterlist)

#snowbaz #carry on fanfiction #snowbaz fic #thanks for reading

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andonewillbringhisfall · 7 years

Text

I Wanted It to be Real

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

‘You have to sit with us at meals. I’m not talking to Dev and Niall.’

‘I wouldn’t ask you to.’

‘You can’t flirt with Agatha.’

Baz sits down on his bed, staring me down. ‘Neither can you.’

I turn so we’re face-to-face and cross my legs. ‘And you have to be nice to my friends.’

‘If I’m sitting with you and being civil to you, then you have to at least try not to embarrass me with your table manners.’

‘Then you have to eat,’ I say. I don’t know where that one came from. ‘And you have to pull out my chair, since you’re such a gentleman.’

‘Fine,’ says Baz. ‘You have to open doors for me.’

‘You have to call me darling,’ I say, snickering.

Baz grimaces. ‘There’s a line, Snow.’

I lean forward. ‘You can’t call me Snow.’

He sighs. ‘I can still call you Snow in our room. Also, you can’t accuse me of plotting, trying to kill you, or being undead.’

I bite my lip. I guess I shouldn’t tell him that I heard him say it himself. I probably shouldn’t tell anyone else, either.

‘But you’re all three,’ I quip.

‘I’m not plotting to kill you, Snow,’ he says. ‘Then I’d have to pretend to cry over your dead body and I just don’t think I could put on a convincing performance.’

I open my mouth to say something – ungrateful git, I’m the one doing this for him – but bite back my response.

‘Truce,’ I say instead, holding my hand out over the space between our beds. ‘No plotting and no politics until this is over.’

Baz purses his lips. ‘You can’t talk to the Mage,’ he says.

‘I can’t just not talk to the Mage,’ I say, dropping my hand. ‘He’s my mentor. He’s the leader of the school.’

‘Fine,’ says Baz. ‘No talking to the Mage about politics or the Old Families.’

‘What if he talks to me about politics or the Old Families?’

‘Then you change the topic, or make some excuse to leave.’

I open my mouth to protest, and then sigh. ‘Fine.’ The Mage is probably too busy to talk to me anyway, and if he does, it’ll be about the Humdrum. ‘Same goes for you, then.’

‘Deal,’ says Baz, and holds out his hand. We shake on it, and Baz stands up to leave.

‘Wait,’ I say. ‘What do we say when people ask us how we got together? You know they will.’

‘We tell them all those years of antagonism were just our feeble attempt at hiding the fact that we’re desperately attracted to each other,’ Baz says, ‘obviously.’

‘Oh.’

‘Also,’ he adds, just before he leaves. ‘Everyone knows you’ve always been obsessed with me.’

The door slams shut behind him.

‘Fuck you,’ I say to the empty room, glad he can’t see me blush.

The first morning of our fake relationship, we walk down to breakfast holding hands.

‘Take my hand,’ Baz commands as soon as we step out of our room.

‘Now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh – okay.’ I hold out my right hand, and he takes it with his left. His hands are cold – I guess it’s what I expected, since he’s a vampire and all – but it shocks me at first. He brushes his thumb over the back of my hand once, so softly it was probably an accident, and I hold my breath.

It’s weird, holding hands with Baz, walking into the dining hall side by side. Everything feels wrong, out of place. But I’m not sure I dislike it.

Heads turn when we walk in together. Penny and Agatha look shocked for a second and then turn to each other, whispering furiously. Dev and Niall are at Baz’s usual table, with matching slack-jawed expressions. I snicker.

‘Something funny?’ Baz says.

‘Everyone’s staring,’ I whisper back, and he gives me a tiny smile and squeezes my hand, shifting closer to me.

Right. Fake boyfriends. I can do this, even though Baz smiling at me with his eyes all soft and crinkled at the corners is the most confusing picture I’ve ever seen. I gulp.

‘Good morning,’ says Penny when we reach the table.

Baz lets go of my hand and pulls out the chair, gesturing for me to sit.

‘Thanks,’ I mumble, feeling myself turn red. We both sit down.

‘Good morning, ladies,’ Baz says to the girls. ‘Did you have a good night’s sleep? Not up too late studying, I hope?’ He looks at Penny when he says the last bit.

‘Nope. Didn’t need to be,’ she says, then waves her arm at him. ‘But that’s not important. You two have a lot of explaining to do.’

‘Yes, well, Simon and I are together,’ he says casually.

I lean over. ‘We’re not lying to Penny and Agatha,’ I hiss.

Baz rolls his eyes. ‘Whatever you say, darling.’

I fight the urge to look away. ‘Fine, can you pass the butter, sweetheart?’

Is he blushing? Can Baz even blush? His cheeks might be a bit pink, but then I think I might be imagining it.

‘Sure, babe,’ he says, no hint of irony in his tone, and passes me the butter.

‘Thanks,’ I mumble. Damn it. I think that means I lost.

I look up and realise Agatha’s almost convulsing in silent laughter, her shoulders shaking and her head in her hands.

Baz leans over, placing one hand on my shoulder and talking in a low voice. ‘Don’t look so shy, darling.’

I feel his breath on my ear, and I shiver. Baz gives me a winning smirk and pulls back. It’s completely unfair that he can’t blush and my face is flaming like I’m about to go off.

‘Don’t call me that,’ I say finally.

Baz grins. ‘Changed your mind, have you?’

‘It’s just, it’s too weird,’ I say. ‘Just call me Simon. Please.’

‘Sure, Simon,’ he says, taking my hand again. ‘Whatever you want.’

As soon as we get back to our room, Baz drops my hand and takes three steps away from me. I pretend like I don’t notice or care, marching over to my desk to grab the books I need for the day.

‘New rule,’ I say. ‘No pet names.’

‘You were the one who suggested it.’

I growl. ‘I know. I wasn’t being serious.’

‘Fine by me,’ says Baz.

‘Also, next time someone says we look cute together, you have to at least pretend you think it’s a compliment.’

‘It took me by surprise, Snow,’ he says. ‘That’s all.’

It took me by surprise too, but I didn’t look as disgruntled as Baz did when the sixth-year girl said it to us, right after breakfast.

‘Well, you have to act like you actually like me,’ I insist.

Baz holds my gaze for a long moment, and then turns away. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I don’t even know how to begin.’

We sit together in classes, sometimes holding hands under the desk, sometimes leaning over to check our answers with each other. That is, me leaning over so Baz can help me figure out what the hell I’m supposed to be doing. And he lets me. He’s endlessly patient with me, explaining things over and over in this low, steady voice I don’t recognise at all. He doesn’t mock me when I botch up a spell or an answer, telling me instead to try again.

‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘You’ll get it. You just need a little more time than the rest of us.’

I’m fully aware that he’s still calling me slow. But he’s doing it nicely, somehow, and even though I know the niceness is only an act, it doesn’t hurt when he says it like that.

By the end of the first day, the entire year knows about us. People keep coming up to congratulate us and tell us how cute we are together.

‘I always thought you two hated each other,’ says Rhys.

‘We’re both very good at pretending,’ says Baz. I’ve never seen him speak to Rhys before, but I guess dating me suddenly makes him approachable. ‘Probably too much for our own good,’ he adds, slipping an arm around my waist. I lean into him without even thinking about it.

Rhys laughs. ‘I’m happy for you,’ he says, and then wheels down the hallway in front of us. There are still a few other stragglers around, so Baz keeps his arm around me as we follow him out to the courtyard.

‘I like this better than fighting,’ he says.

I sigh. ‘Me too,’ I say, looking up at him so our noses are just inches apart. And I mean it; I like when he’s gentle with me, and I like not having to watch my back all the time, knowing he’s right next to me.

By the end of the week, the entire school knows. According to Baz, this means that word has definitely gotten back to his family. I want to ask if he’s spoken to them, if they gave him a hard time about it, but he won’t talk to me about it when we’re outside the room and he’ll barely talk to me at all when we’re inside. Except to update me on how far he thinks the rumours have spread. And to tell me what is and isn’t acceptable. (Pet names are off limits. Hand-holding and arm-touching is fine, but I can’t touch his hair. I can ask him to bring me more scones, but I can’t try to make him eat. Gentle teasing is the only form of flirting allowed. Anyone who asks too many questions gets the death-stare until they leave us alone.)

It’s been… it’s actually been great. Baz talks to Penny and even Agatha a lot during meals, so nobody minds if I’m quiet. He debates magickal law with Penny, and talks about mutual acquaintances with Agatha. She even tells him about her Normal friends and the things she likes better about her Normal life, and he listens.

One time when the four of us are studying in the library and the girls get distracted looking through one of the books, I lean into Baz, so close my chin is almost resting on his shoulder.

‘Is this the real you when you’re not actively trying to be a git?’ I ask, smiling like I’m teasing him, even though I’m completely serious. ‘Or is this you trying to be nice when you’re actually a git?’

Baz rolls his eyes. ‘Fuck off, Snow,’ he says.

‘Simon,’ I say immediately.

He sighs. ‘Fuck off, Simon.’ He tugs lightly on one of my curls, pulling it behind my ear. I want to protest – he’s allowed to touch my hair, but I’m not allowed to touch his? – but I can’t bring myself to do it. (The truth is, I don’t mind.)

I notice that I didn’t get an answer, but it’s time for us all to pack up and go down to dinner, so I don’t push it.

While Penny’s gone to talk to her roommate (probably complaining about the pixie dust again), Niall slips into her empty seat, his gaze flicking from Baz to me. I grab Baz’s hand instinctively.

Niall gives us a lazy smirk. ‘This is fake. Right?’

I pull my hand out of Baz’s grasp. ‘You haven’t told them?’

I guess it explains why we never talk to his friends, even though they always used to sit together at meals and in classes. Not that it matters; Niall’s figured it out anyway. I don’t really know what we’re doing wrong. Niall’s smirk is confident, like he’s absolutely sure, like he knows it’s impossible. Why is it so impossible?

‘No,’ Baz says, and takes my hand again. I gape at him. ‘Simon’s my boyfriend.’ And he leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

‘Are you fucking with me?’ Niall says. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Of course I’m serious,’ Baz says, tightening his grip on my hand. ‘He’s… I don’t care if you have a problem with it. Or the Families. I choose him over everything.’

Oh. How does he do that? How does he always know the perfect thing to say?

I shift closer to him, touching my forehead to his shoulder, one arm around his waist.

‘Baz,’ I mumble. I feel the weight of his palm on my back.

‘Oh, Crowley,’ Niall’s voice says, and then there’s a screeching of chair legs on the floor, and he’s gone.

I lift my head. ‘You’re a sap,’ I say. I don’t want to let go of him just yet.

‘Shut up.’

‘The great Basilton Pitch, hopeless romantic,’ I say. ‘Who would’ve thought?’

‘Shut up or I’ll dump your sorry arse,’ Baz says, shoving me off him.

I laugh. ‘I don’t believe you.’

Baz doesn’t answer, and I follow his gaze to where Niall is walking back to their usual table. He says something to Dev, and they both look over at us.

At the same time, Baz and I reach for each other’s hands.

I’m fighting a smile as we climb the stairs of Mummers House, hands still tightly clasped together.

I like this. I like us being on the same side, for once, and Baz telling Niall off for me. I should probably tell Baz. I want him to know that I don’t like fighting, that when this is over I think we should keep the truce.

The door closes behind us and I’m about to say it, but then Baz drops my hand and steps away, his expression stony.

‘I don’t trust them,’ he says. ‘Dev is my cousin, Niall tells Dev everything, and they both belong to the Old Families.’

‘I – oh.’

‘We don’t tell them,’ he says. ‘Alright? Not them, not anyone else except for Bunce and Wellbelove.’

‘Fine. Of course,’ I say.

‘Good.’

He disappears into the bathroom.

I stand there for a long minute, staring after him, before I turn around and head back down the stairs. I don’t want to be in the room with him, refusing to look at me or talk to me. I can’t stand it, not after what just happened in the dining hall. I run back down to see if I can catch Penny before she leaves for the Cloisters. I find her outside on the footpath.

‘Simon,’ she says, not looking surprised to see me. ‘What happened back there?’

We change direction and walk out towards the Great Lawn, huddling in our jumpers against the chill. I explain what happened with Niall, and tell her word-for-word what Baz said about us.

‘Crowley,’ she says. ‘I choose you over everything. He said that?’

‘Yeah.’ I stick my hands in my pockets and duck my head.

‘That’s… kind of beautiful.’

‘Yeah,’ I say again.

‘And he kissed your cheek.’

‘He did,’ I agree.

Penny raises an eyebrow. ‘I find that… surprising. Don’t you have rules, or something? I’ve never seen you do more than hold hands.’

‘We do,’ I say. ‘They’re mostly Baz’s rules. We didn’t say anything about… kissing.’ I’m blushing again, I just know it. ‘We hold hands whenever we’re outside the room, but then he still acts like he hates me when no-one can see us.’

‘Do you think he hates you?’

I bite my lip. ‘I - Of course,’ I say quickly. ‘We’re enemies. We’re still going to have to fight each other.’

Penny walks on silently, nodding, and I know she noticed that I hesitated.

‘As for the rules…’ I say. ‘I don’t know. I’ll probably have to kiss him eventually, right? Niall already thinks we’re faking it. People will realise. Niall will realise if we don’t.’

‘Mm,’ Penny says.

‘It’ll be weird,’ I say. ‘If we don’t kiss. I don’t even know if… it’s definitely not in the rules. But he kissed my cheek, and that wasn’t in the rules, and we’re dating. So. I’m gonna have to kiss him at some point, right?’

I look at her for confirmation.

‘Simon,’ Penny says. ‘Do you want to kiss him?’

I gulp. ‘Yeah,’ I say. (Because it’s the truth.)

‘Then I think you should go for it.’

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on fanfiction

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miss-sad-marshmallow · 7 years

Text

Don’t Forget About Me - Chapter 1

Fandom: Carry On by Rainbow Rowell

Pairing: Simon Snow and Basilton Pitch

Summary: AU where Simon and Baz already had a thing before Carry On, but someone changed their memories and made them forget.

Wordcount: 2209

Warnings: nightmares, Mentions of blood, murder (in a dream) (If I missed any, I’m sorry but I can’t really think of any more? Please tell me if I did miss any)

Genre: Angst, fluff

Chapter: 1/?

First chapter of my first multichapterd fic! I hope you like it!!!

chapter 1 | chapter 2

Baz

Black ink covers the pages. Lines are forming the shape of his curls. His bronze curls. The ink is flowing out of the pen as I am moving my hand over the paper. I hold my hand still for a moment, before I continue to colour his eyes. His blue eyes.

I am not a good artist. I’m not bad at it either. I can draw realistic animals, I like drawing landscapes and sometimes I even make portraits. Everything I draw or paint is good, but not beautiful or breathtaking. It’s not like Simon Snow.

The only thing I’ve grown to draw almost perfectly is his face. Simon Snow’s features are burned into my mind. All the nights I have been lying on my side, staring at his face. All the times I glanced over at him in school, all the times I watched him laugh with his friends, get angry at me, cry himself to sleep.

I know his face better than anyone's. Better than my own.

I was just starting on his freckles when I hear the door open. My eyes widen and I slam my book close.

Just in time; Simon Snow is standing in the door, his arms holding a ridiculous amount of books. Behind him I can make out Penelope Bunce’s curls. Simon squints his eyes at the book in my hand, but Bunce shoves him the room in, taking his chance to interrogate me. For once, I’m thankful for Bunce’s existence.

“What are you going to do with all those books? Plot against me?” I ask and scoff. Snow has some kind of obsession with me plotting against him. I am never plotting against him, but I rather have him think that, than him knowing what I actually think about him.

Simon frowns. “That’s your job, Baz. We have a history project.” He throws his books on his bed, Bunce following his example and throwing even more books on his bed. I lift my eyebrows at them. “Do you need that many books for one project?”

“Well, we both have a different project, so we need twice as many books.” Bunce explains, and she lets herself fall on the little space that is left on Simon’s bed. She stretches her arms and yawns. Simon stands between our beds and looks troubled. There is no space left on his own bed, and he looks considerably at my bed. I see him thinking and stop him before he can sit down.

“Oh no no no you are NOT sitting on my bed.” I wave my hands in protest, almost letting my book fall out of my hand. My grip on the covers tightens, and I let my hands fall in my lap again. Simon sighs, and then he sits down on the floor, legs crossed.

From my position, I have a great view on his bronze curls. They are always gleaming, like the sun is directly shining on them. And no matter what he’s been through, whether he’s been fighting through the woods or he’s had a football match, they are always perfect and soft. One of the hardest things in life is not winding my fingers through them. Oh, I want to do that so badly.

I must’ve been staring at him (I do that all the time, but most of the time he’s sleeping, or he just doesn’t realize), because Bunce clears her throat. My head jerks up to look at her, and I quietly curse myself for letting my guard down.

“Well… we should get started, right?” She says and sits up. Her curls dance around like fairies.

Simon looks up at her and nods. Then they both look at me, like they’re waiting for something. I frown, but then I realize that they’re waiting for me to leave.

I scoff and get up. “I’ll leave you then. I can’t be in a room with that many stupid people.” I’m talking rubbish. Neither Simon nor Penelope are stupid, I know that damn well. Simon is stupidly brave, but he is intelligent in his own way. And Penelope is one of the smartest kids at school.

The only stupid one in here is me;

Stupidly in love.

I walk past Simon, and my leg brushes against him, leaving a burning fire there where it touched him. I swallow and ignore the impulse to ruffle his hair with my hand. Instead, I open the door and close it behind me.

I only realize that I left my book there when it’s already too late.

Penelope

Simon closes the door to the bathroom, leaving me alone in the room with only our books. I try to read the book I’ve been holding in my hands since Baz left the room, but I can’t turn down my curiosity. What was Basilton Grimm-Pitch doing in that book of his? He held onto it was if it was his life. Maybe it is. You never know with vampires - if he really is a vampire.

I try to focus on the text, but the letters start to dance on the pages and all I can think of is the book. Baz’s book.

I sigh and put the book down. It is obvious that Baz doesn’t want Simon to see the book. Maybe, if I just don’t show it to Simon, it won’t hurt baz. And if he really is plotting, it is only better if I know.

I take a deep breath and reach out to the black covered book that is lying on the blankets of Baz’s bed. I hesitate for a moment, but then I think ‘fuck it’ and pick up the book.

I lean back against the wall of Simon and Baz’s room and open the book. It had blank pages, before someone - a.k.a. Baz - drew over it with a black pen. It’s a sketch of a bird. It’s not bad, just the average drawing talent. Was Baz so afraid of criticism that he hid his sketchbook? I lift my eyebrows in a skeptical gesture. A weird person, this Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

I continue to look through the book. It has a lot of simple sketches; animals, landscapes, sometimes little notes. I almost decide to put the book down when I get to a page with a face I recognize. Simon’s face looks up at me from the page. It is better than the other sketches. It isn’t perfect, but it is shockingly accurate; the shape of his eyes is right, the constellation of his freckles, the way his curls fall, it is just as the real Simon Snow. I wonder whether Baz had a sample - maybe Simon let him use him as a sample. I highly doubt that - Simon would never sit still long enough, and surely not for Baz.

I turn to the next page. It’s a sketch of a cat. There are plenty of cat sketches in his book. I turn page after page, and the amount of portraits of Simon are shocking. They get better every time, untill I can hardly tell a difference between the real Simon and the drawing.

I get to the last drawing - the one Baz was probably working on. It’s a picture of Simon looking up - probably at the sun, considering the lighting -, laughing. His curls fall over his eyes, but they are still glowing - like the real Simon’s ones. On his cheek, where already a few freckles are drawn, is a dark line. I realize it was probably when Simon and I came in. We must have scared Baz.

I frown. Why has Baz so many drawings of Simon - and why are they so accurate? I know that Simon doesn’t have a lot of pictures - let alone pictures of himself. Where does Baz get his samples from? The only way he could get it this accurate is by knowing Simon’s face perfectly.

Suddenly I imagine Baz lying in bed, looking at Simon before he falls asleep. Being a vampire, he can probably look better in the dark than most people. I can see Baz sitting in the dining hall, looking at Simon and Agatha holding hands. I can imagine him lying in bed, frustrated by being so close to Simon but being so far away at the same time.

Everything is starting to make sense.

Simon

I can feel Baz’s eyes on me while I’m lying in bed, eyes closed, pretending to sleep. We have done this countless times. Watching each other sleep, pretending to sleep while the other watches you. Sometimes I wonder if we ever sleep. Sometimes I ask myself why we do this. Why neither of us can trust the other.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we weren’t enemies.

I must’ve fallen asleep eventually and must dreaming right now, because I am sure I didn’t walk into a forest. I’m surrounded by the familiar trees of the forest of Watford. A white fog is floating over the ground, making it impossible to look farther than five trees. I turn around in a circle, but there’s nothing but mist and trees. The forest is quiet - too quiet. There should be the sound of animals and the whistle of the wind. But there is only silence. Dark, heavy silence.

Until a scream cuts through the night.

I turn to the direction where the sound came from. It was close - closer than I’d like to believe. I squint my eyes, trying to make anything out in the dark.

A silhouette is walking out of the fog, dragging something behind it. I can’t make it’s face out, but the body isn’t very big.

The person steps closer, but I can still not see his - or her - face. It seems to always lay in the shadow. But now I can make out what it is dragging with it; It’s a person.

And not any person; it is my best friend, Penelope.

“Penny!” I shout. She looks up at me, and what I see takes my breath.

Her face is covered in scars. Some of the wounds are still open and bleeding, others are already closed but swollen and red.

I try to walk over to her, but she shakes her head. “No, Simon, run!”

I shake my head nervously, balling my hands to fists and opening them. “I won’t leave you, Penny.”

She closes her eyes, as if she’s in pain, and opens her mouth again to say something, but she gets interrupted by the person who brutally stabs her in the back. She falls on the ground, dead.

“NO!” I scream, and I try to walk to her, but I fall over something. I look at it, and it turns out to be Agatha. Or at least her body.

“No!” I scream again. I lie on the cold ground, screaming. The cold creeps up in my clothes and the fog is thickening, but I can’t do anything but scream.

“Simon!” Someone shouts. It’s a familiar voice, but I can’t place it. And I don’t want to either. I just want to lay here, in misery. Is that too much to ask?

But the voice doesn’t leave me alone. “Simon! Simon!” It keeps shouting. I feel someone shaking my body and the next moment I am lying under the blankets of my bed, two strong arms around me, and Baz’s voice next to me saying my name.

I sit upright abruptly, bumping my head against Baz’s.

“Ow” He mutters.

I look around me, go with my hand through my hair, try to steady my breath.

“Simon?” Baz says. He sounds worried. Why is he worried? Shouldn’t he be happy that I am in pain?

I murmur something in response and close my eyes.

“Simon. Are you okay?” Baz tightens his grip on me. I had already forgotten that he was holding me, but it is strangely comforting. Since when is it comforting to be hold by your nemesis? But for now, I don’t think too much about it and I lean into the calming touch of my roommate. I hear baz sigh as he wraps his arms even tighter around me, and I feel myself slowly fall asleep again.

Baz

I can hear my heart hammer in my chest. What am I even doing? I am sitting on Simon Snow’s bed, holding him in my arms. His head is buried in my chest and my chin is resting on his head. His breath has steadied, and I think he is asleep by now. I hope he is, because the next thing I do would I never do if he was awake.

I breath in his cinnamon scent and plant a kiss on his crown.

Snow.

Simon.

Simon Snow.

The one and only I have ever loved.

The one and only I love so dearly.

Simon Snow. The Chosen One.

He is so beautiful. He is so brave. He is so intelligent. He is so loyal.

And he is sleeping in my arms.

Tomorrow I will have to live with the consequences of this. Maybe I will pretend nothing ever happened. Maybe he will. Maybe he’ll think he dreamt everything.

I’ll see.

But now, I will just hold him.

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evakfanficsrecs · 7 years

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EVAK FANFICS RECS / PART 4

ONESHOTS:

I’ll take you as you are by Behindthecities Summary: Even can’t sleep so Isak draw’s him a bath.

One More Second by kosekardemomme Summary: Isak invites the boys over to hang out with Even, for the first time with just them, just after Christmas. “Evak” can’t keep their hands off each other, though.

isak x even | dance so good by BloonStuff Summary: When Isak happens upon Even out of bed in the first time in a few days, he decides to make the most of the moment.

MORE UNDER THE CUT

Steal Your Heart by alijan ★ Summary: An AU story of how Isak and Even met through Isak’s friends. Or, more specifically, a AU story of how Even chases after Isak and he lets himself be caught.

Strange Encounters by midnightsurge Summary: Standing at his sink is what looks to be an angel; with soft blond hair glowing under the bathroom lights and eyes as blue as the sky, Isak wonders if he actually fell back asleep and is still dreaming. “Hi,” the angel smiles at him, laughter lines crinkling his face. “Sorry about that, I thought everyone was still sleeping.” “Um,” Isak repeats intelligently. “You’re…” he trails off, not sure what his question should actually be. Pretty? Gorgeous? A stranger? A stranger standing in his bathroom very early in the morning and shouldn’t Isak maybe be reaching for his phone right about now? “Even,” the blond stranger now named Even greets him with a grin, moving forward to shake his hand. Or, Isak and Even are students at the University of Oslo. They meet under strange circumstances and it’s all Eskild’s fault.

The Hot Muffin Thief by Bellakitse ★ Summary: There is a magical muffin at the café where Isak’s buddy Jonas works. It’s Isak’s lifeline, he has it every day and then one day some hot art hipster steals his muffin.

carry my love to you by retts Summary: Even grasped the top of the duvet and dragged it over his shoulders, snuggling into the pillow. His eyes were closed as he let out a soft sigh. Isak brushed back the fringe falling across his forehead, ran his fingers through the hair behind his ear. He wanted to erase the bruises under Even’s eyes, kiss away the inexplicable sadness lingering on the corners of his mouth. If only it were that easy. Set directly after ep 9, Fredag.

flickered in my mind for only you by DarkBeauty_890 Summary: soulmates!au; But even the lonely nights hearing his mom cry for his dad couldn’t stop Isak from tracing the words (looped, like maybe his soul mate was an artist or a writer) etched permanently onto his skin. He sat huddled under the covers for hours, flashlight illuminating the darkened space, allowing Isak to wonder who they would be. His soulmate.

where you can be reborn by tomlinsoln Summary: Even makes Isak feel like himself, and Isak doesn’t care about the rest.

True or False by iriswests ★ Summary: childhood best friends!au; Seven moments between Isak and Even (+1 with Sonja), ranging from the ages of four and six to the ages of seventeen and nineteen, respectively.

Afternoon Kisses by DickAnderton ★ Summary: What could have happened during the cuddle scene if Isak and Even had been ready for more.

And If In That Moment by allyasavedtheday ★ Summary: Isak rolls his eyes and reaches for his beer again. Even’s teasing always feels different to his friends teasing him. Even’s teasing feels a lot like flirting. “Anyway back to Emma.” Fuck. “Why isn’t she your type?” Isak considers his options, considers a single conceivable reason why a straight seventeen-year-old boy wouldn’t like a girl like Emma. He can’t fucking think of a reason and it makes him panic but he’s also just- tired. So fucking tired of having to constantly lie about why he feels the way he does. So he settles on as close to the truth as he can get. “She just- I guess it’s never felt right.” *Or, what would’ve happened if Isak and Even had had the Halloween pregame alone like they had originally planned.

your eyes hold oceans by prettyboylou Summary: isak is everything even can think about. in every little corner of his brain, every single thought is isak and while that is partly crazy, even does not mind at all.

won’t you be my livewire by itjustkindahappened ★ Summary: It’s 1:54 in the afternoon on a gloomy Tuesday when an angel enters Even’s classroom. (alternatively, “i’ve been tryin to grab your attention in class for over half an hour by poking you and throwing things onto your desk and you’re refusing to acknowledge me and gdi all i wanted to do was tell you that you look cute and now it’s gone too far and i can’t go back”)

Now, Panic and Freak Out by dropdeadfox Summary: The thing is, Isak Valtersen is absolutely not gay. Like, really, really, really not gay. Okay, he may or may not feel butterflies in his stomach whenever he sees a certain third year across the school yard. A handsome and certainly very male third year. And he may or may not wish that said third year will sit beside him at the cafeteria, holding his hand under the table or pushing his hair back with those adorably long fingers, because he is certainly, absolutely, 100% sure that he is Not Gay.

And then our time will come. Over and over again. by UniversalParadox_13 Summary: “In my opinion, all the Isaks and Evens don’t gyrate in their universes under the same terms. While some Isaks and Evens have already met, others are in the process of doing so right now or are still waiting for it to happen, for them to meet.” “But, they do eventually meet?” He knew what it meant, when Even squeezed his hand a bit tighter. “Always.” Isak believed it with every fibre of his body and soul. “They always meet.” (Parallel Universes AU or 5 times Isak and Even meet each other by coincidence and know it is meant to be.)

Who Wants That Perfect Love Story Anyway? by mccolfer Summary: Six times someone from the girl group was maybe a little too involved in Isak and Even’s relationship and one time someone had no idea what was going on.

CHAPTERED:

The Nanny by allisonbucky Summary: Or, Even is a hot stressed dad of two little girls, and Isak becomes his nanny. Rom Com shenanigans ensue.

My Heart is Strong by photographer_of_thoughts ✓ Summary: His bipolar disorder made him want everything to be a great tragedy, a Baz Luhrmann film; because how else did things have meaning? His brain told him that time and time again. He’d lost track of how many people he’d let go because he wanted to “lose them forever” and subsequently keep them forever; tucked away into the memory palace in his brain… But he didn’t want that anymore. As soon as he’d kissed Isak he knew he wanted to be better this time. Or, Isak and Even meet in a therapist’s waiting room.

Shut your whore mouth, Even. This is not the Fault in Our Stars by Masterless ★ ✓ Summary: Even can remember the flare of pain in his chest and his head, the tightness in his throat, and the taste of pennies on his tongue. He remembers Sonja’s hands grasping his arm tightly as he leaned against the wall of lockers in the school hallway. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers. Black dots swam in front of his eyes, the world tilted, and everything went dark. Just Sonja’s frightened voice rang out in that darkness, repeating his name, calling for help. Then, there was nothing.

The Comments Below by DickAnderton ★ ✓ Summary: youtubers!au; Isak is a notoriously lazy gamer living with lgbt icon Eskild. When they invite youtube sensation Even Bech Naesheim over for a collaboration, #Evak is born. But it is not only their viewers who are falling in love.

That’s Not My Name by cuteandtwisted ★ ✓ Summary: one-night stand!au; “Isak.” Even smiled, then licked his lips. “Wanna go back to my place?” - aka: Isak is an exchange student in new york city where he meets a very forward and bewitching Even.

juste la fin du monde by loglady95 Summary: Sana blackmailed Isak into hosting a party at his place and gave his number to a stranger.

You say good morning when it’s midnight by Aceteroid ✓ Summary: It sucks, when your best friend is on a student exchange at the other end of the world for three months. It sucks even more, when you fall in love with the step-brother of his exchange student.

Masters of Communication by rumpelsnorcack ✓ Summary: Even was such a goddam dork, Isak thought fondly. But he was his dork, and Isak couldn’t imagine anyone better to have a scary adult conversation with. Or, a 5+1 in which Isak and Even find it hard to communicate, but then manage to do it really well.

44 Days by NovemberRose ✓ Summary: How Even and Isak spent 42 days apart and a weekend in the mountains brings them back together.

How In My Silence I Adored You by dahlstrom ★ ✓ Summary: In a parallel universe, the rest of the boy squad actually shows up at the first kosegruppa meeting and Isak stays for the love games. Thus, his first interaction with Even is quite different (no paper towels were harmed in this scenario). Also heavily hints at Vilde/Eva.

all of me, you take now by xxLeviBech Summary: Strings of oneshots featuring two boys that are obsessed with each other.

cold hands by salmonpanties Summary: monday 11.40: Isak lifted his gaze, and he saw an angel in front of him. Blond hair, blue eyes, fair skin, a stunning smile; quite the description of an angel - except, he was in the cafeteria of Nissen Gymnasium, sitting with his friends, eating buns. - Isak knew he liked boys a little bit more than he probably should, but it’s nothing he flaunts. Just because he’s not that interested in girls it doesn’t mean that he’s a homo, right? But then he meets Even, who’s beautiful, mysterious and exciting. And maybe Even is just the boy Isak has been waiting for? But it doesn’t mean that he’s a homo.

(★ - personal favorites | ✓ - completed fics)

#even bech næsheim #isak valtersen #evak #even x isak #isak x even #evak fanfiction #evak fanfics #evak fanfics recommendation #skam #skam fanfiction #masterposts

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years

Link

I was deeply affected by Wayward Son. I loved the book but there are a lot of scenes that have stayed with me since I finished reading it and listening to the audiobook. I want the backstory, to fill in the gaps, to know more about those moments that transfixed and viscerally affected me. I’m trying to process them through writing. It’s why I wrote If Only I Was Sure and A Sky Full of Stars. Both of those fics lightly touched on or referenced events of Chapter 17 of Wayward Son but this fic delves into that brief flashback more fully. This was difficult to write. But I had definite ideas of how I thought this scene went and I needed to get them out of my head. I’m still not over this book. Thank you for reading and I hope you like it. This was written as a birthday gift for @krisrix who endured many conversations about these scenes from me and who provided insight and support for my head canons.

Also I had quite a few thoughts about word choice, magic, and intimacy while I was writing this so expect a meta from me on that topic in the next day or so.

Why Can’t You See

Simon

I’m sitting on one end of the sofa and Baz is at the other end. He’s got his laptop out and he’s frowning at it while he taps at the keyboard.

I’ve got my book open but I can’t say I’ve gotten much reading done.

I’d far rather look at him.

I savor looking at Baz. Like this. When he can’t see me watching him, when my eyes can roam over him at will, can take in the sight of him freely without having to meet his answering gaze.

It’s easier this way.

After . . . after everything I just wanted to keep Baz close. I couldn’t stand the thought of being separated from him. It physically hurt every time he left the room. I wanted to hold his hand, feel the chill of his palm against mine, craved the sturdy sensation of his arm around my shoulders. It made me feel safe.

It made me feel real.

But it was bloody awful when he left to go back to Watford, to finish out the year.

There was never any doubt in my mind that he’d go. I’d have fought him if he’d tried to stay away.

I would have.

Watford is in his bones, his blood. It’s the last place he saw his mother.

It’s the last place he was . . . well, he thinks it’s the last time he has truly alive but I think that’s rot. He’s as alive as anyone.

The only thing that made my days tolerable, kept me from going mad each week, was knowing that Baz would arrive on Friday night.

Every Friday night.

Baz would come and he’d sit with me, let me lean into him and not expect me to say anything, not expect me to do anything other than exist.

I’m still existing. Barely.

It all feels like a dream sometimes. Or a nightmare. What happened. The end of the Humdrum. The end of the war.

The Mage.

The end of me. Of magical me, I suppose. I’m still here, but I’m pretty much a shell of what I was. Of who I was.

I’m empty. Of magic. Of power. Of purpose.

It’s like I’ve changed places with the Humdrum. Now I’m the empty one.

I don’t know how to fill the hole left in me.

I don’t know how to be like this.

I go to class. I do my school work.

Well, some days I do my work.

Some days I don’t do anything at all.

What’s the point, really? What’s the point of getting a degree? It’s not like I’m going to find a job, looking like this. Being like this.

With wings and a tail and mad sword skills but not much else.

I don’t know. I try not to think about it but it doesn’t work that way for me anymore.

I can’t stop thinking.

Mostly I think about Baz. About us. About what he means to me.

I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I mean, I love Penny, but this is different.

This is a fire in my soul.

And I want him.

Baz is too far away right now. He’s just on the far end of the sofa but it could be a million miles away as far as I’m concerned.

I want him closer.

But he’s got work to do for class and so do I. I can’t help stretching out my legs and tucking my toes under his thigh, though.

It helps me believe this is real.

To feel him—solid, present, a slight chill to him when I make contact. He doesn’t fade into mist when I touch him.

He’s real.

And somehow, he’s still mine.

Baz turns my way now, a soft smile brightening his face.

That’s the smile he saves for me.

I never knew this side of Baz Pitch. I never knew the tenderness that lay hidden beneath that finely curated façade.

Not until Christmas. Not until after .

I smile in response and then drop my eyes back down to my book. There’s only so long I can let him look at me like that.

Like I’m more than I am.

I’m not.

Not anymore.

And I can’t face that in his eyes. I know that if he looks long enough, if he really looks, he’ll see me.

Me. Simon Snow. The washed-up failure of a Chosen One.

A Normal with magical parts. A weird freak of a hybrid who doesn’t belong in the magical world and is far too odd for the Normal world.

I don’t fit. I don’t fit anywhere.

I thought I fit with Baz. There are moments I think I still do, moments when we’re soft and it’s just the two of us and the world fades away.

Baz still thinks we fit. That we match.

We don’t. Not anymore.

(Maybe we never did)

But we certainly don’t anymore, no matter how hard I wish it.

No matter how hard I try to make myself fit.

There are moments, moments when Baz looks at me—when I see the love shining in his eyes, feel the touch of his skin against mine, feel his fingers in my hair, his lips sliding against my own—that I think maybe. Maybe it’s enough.

But then I remember.

And I know it never will be.

It will never be what we had . I’ll never be able to be with him that way again. I don’t mean be with him in a sexual way.

I mean, I do mean that, in a way.

Sharing magic is intimate. It’s the most intimate experience I’ve ever had. I can’t help but imagine how sex would deepen that intimacy—how magic would enhance it, strengthen it, intensify the moment.

Not that I’d know.

Baz and I haven’t had sex. Not really.

Not yet.

But I’ve thought about it. Not going to lie about that. I’ve thought about it a lot.

I have moments when I think I’m ready to take the next step, to move to the next level with Baz. When I want it so much.

And then I think there’ll always be something lacking. It will never have that intensity without magic.

Because I’m not magic.

I can’t give that sensation back to Baz. He was giddy, exhilarated, drunk with it that night in our room. It was the most enchanting, mesmerizing thing I’d ever seen.

It was beautiful and we shared it. Together.

I’d gladly relive that moment over and over.

But it can’t ever be like that again.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

That no matter how good it is, it will never measure up to what it could have been .

With magic.

And in that moment, Baz will see what he’s missing. He’ll see me for what I am.

Less.

Lacking.

Broken.

I don’t want to be seen that way. It’s better not to be seen at all.

But I still want. I want him so much.

Kissing Baz is like completing a circuit. It makes me feel whole. Like I felt when I shared my magic. When I inexplicably trusted him with it, with me .

When Baz trusted me back. Trusted me enough to let me push my magic into him. I didn’t ask. I didn’t really think. I just did it.

I did it because it felt right.

I didn’t know what could happen. I did it anyway. And he let me do it.

Every time. I just reached out and touched him and pushed until the magic poured out of me. I let him take what he needed.

My magic felt stable when I was with Baz, when he was directing it, when he was with me that way.

He’s still with me, but not like that.

It’ll never be like that.

It’s like having a dud firework. There’s a spark but it never goes off. You never get the glorious ending you’re expecting.

I’ve no experience with any of this. It’s not like I really know what to expect.

Not that Baz does. He hadn’t even kissed anyone before last Christmas.

So I suppose we’re a match of sorts in our inexperience.

I’d kissed Agatha, of course, but that was never even close to what I felt when I kissed Baz for the first time. Or the second.

Or every time since.

I didn’t really think about sex when I was with her. Not the way I do with Baz. I don’t know—maybe I was too caught up in all that was going on to let myself think about it.

Maybe I was too worried I’d go off.

Maybe I just wasn’t attracted to Agatha the way I am to Baz.

There is no question I’m attracted to Baz. I’m just as much of a moron as he always said I was, for not realizing sooner.

For not seeing that there was so much more to my obsession than just trying to figure out what he was plotting.

Wondering what his hair felt like or appreciating his muscular thighs definitely had nothing to do with plotting .

It was well gay, is what it was. I can see that now. And I’m fine with it. I am.

It’s the one thing I’m sure of, how much I love Baz.

It’s the only thing that breaks through the static in my head. It’s what gets me through the day.

Loving Baz is what’s keeping me afloat.

Everything about him. His voice, his scent, the way he says my name, the smile he saves just for me.

I love touching him. I love running my fingers through his hair, feeling his skin against mine, making him sigh that way he does.

Watching his eyes go half-lidded with pleasure, his head tilting back, hair mussed and tumbled. Because of me. Because of what I’m doing to him.

I can do that. I can make him feel good. Sometimes it’s enough to distract him from focusing on me.

There are moments that I touch Baz and I don’t want to stop. I want my hands to speak for me, to say the things I can’t. To show him the love that’s in my heart, that burns in my soul.

I don’t want him to stop touching me then, when I feel like I could go off from the sensations he brings to me, that I could go supernova.

But I can’t do it. I pull back. I can’t feel the flames of my magic licking under his skin and I want to.

I want to.

But it’s not there and all he’ll see is me looking back at him, blank and empty. And I can’t do it. I pull away, retreat into myself.

I’m not pushing him away. I’m just pulling back.

Sometimes it’s more than that. Sometimes I do recoil from his touch. It makes me feel too much. It’s as if he’s cracking me wide open, seeing every part of me. All that’s hidden.

The broken parts.

That frightens me.

There’s not much that scares me, really. But seeing the reality of myself reflected in Baz’s eyes does.

I know it hurts him when I pull away. I see the distress. The concern. The way his touches turn feather light, tentative, cease completely. How he retreats.

There’s never pity. Not yet, at least.

I want to touch him now. I want to tuck his hair behind his ears and pull his face to mine and snog him senseless.

I want to touch his body, warm his skin, light a fire in his veins, make him feel my love—every pounding heartbeat of it.

Let him know he is the centre of my world, even if my lips can’t speak the words.

I would cross every line for him. If I could.

Baz stays over some nights. I usually sleep better when he’s here. I don’t have as many nightmares.

Nothing calms me like the sound of his breathing. I missed having another person in the room the first few weeks after we moved in.

I wanted to tell him. I wanted him to stay. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and imagine we were back at Pitch Manor. Back when things were good. When things were magical.

When I was magical.

He does stay, some nights. He’d stay every night if I asked him but I don’t.

I think that would be too much. Too much for me.

The more he stays over the more . . . the more we experiment. Take small steps to being more intimate.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

With me setting the pace.

Each time he stays we get closer . . . closer to something. And each time my anxiety ratchets up higher and higher and I pull away and we take a few steps back.

And then I want him so much and things heat up again and I just can’t do it. It’s not his fault. It’s me.

But I know he thinks he’s doing something wrong.

I don’t know how to tell him that everything feels right and everything feels wrong and I can’t tell the difference sometimes.

Not until I do. And then I have to stop.

I look at him right now and it makes my chest ache.

I want him to stay tonight.

I want him.

Read the rest at ao3.

#carry on #wayward son #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #chapter 17 #my fic #my writing

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Awesome Queer Media to Check Out!

Piper Gibson | March 20, 2017

Sorry for the absence (school is kicking my ass but what else is new) but I’m back with another list! This time, I’m cataloging some of my favorite pieces of media with LGBTQ+ characters and plotlines. Of course, nothing is perfect, and all these shows/books/movies/etc. have their problems, but I still think they’re pretty damn cool.

1. Check, Please!

What is it: A webcomic

Who makes it: Ngozi Ukazu

Why you should read it: Queer boys who play hockey! Lots of pie! Discussions of mental illness and drug abuse! An ensemble cast! Comedy and drama in one! Slow-burn, healthy, communicative, gay relationship!! Confirmed happy gay ending!!! Most of my friends know that I love this comic with my whole heart, and it’s really easy to see why. There’s a character in it for everyone, and they’re all easy to relate to and care about. Personally, I relate so hard to Jack having anxiety and trying to navigate his life and career in the intersection of being mentally ill and queer. No spoilers, but this comic includes the best queer relationship I’ve ever seen portrayed. Don’t get discouraged by the hockey-- I knew nothing about the sport going in and it really doesn’t stop you from enjoying the comic at all! Currently in Bitty’s third year and gearing up for more spring updates, Check, Please is a master of storytelling and will make you laugh and cry. Read it here!

2. The Get Down

What is it: A Netflix Original series

Who makes it: dir. Baz Luhrmann

Why you should watch it: Almost the entire cast are people of color, it’s set in the 1970s and focuses on both the dying out of disco and the arising hip-hop scene, and the performances are incredible. You see this world through young Zeke’s eyes, a complex and talented kid looking to be a part of something bigger than himself and for a community to fall back on. No matter what’s going on, the story never lets you forget these characters are in the middle of the South Bronx in the seventies, fighting for a way out of poverty, strict religious family, or gangs, all while holding on to their passions. The music and the performances of these young actors are what sold me immediately. The queer relationship in it (I won’t spoil it) is lovely and gentle and blooms very naturally. The story, the characters, and the music are the focus, and if you’re like me, you’ll be hooked immediately. The second season just came out this month and it’s incredible but holy shit so intense. Catch it on Netflix!

3. Carry On

What is it: A young-adult novel

Who makes it: Rainbow Rowell

Why you should read it: Did you read Harry Potter and think: “Wow, Harry is super bi. Wow, he’s pretty obsessed with Draco. Wow they could be friends if Harry was sorted into Slytherin WOW THEY COULD EVEN BE MORE THAN THAT!” ...Okay, well this is the book for you. Set in a magic school more different from Hogwarts than you’d think, Simon and Baz are roommates that hate each other. But things are complicated when you’re the chosen one and you think your roommate might be a vampire and there’s an evil something out for you. It’s like Harry Potter except different and more queer people and people of color. Plus a happy ending that’s so, so much better than that “17 years later” shit. If you like gay magical boys and ass-kicking best friends and plot twists, you’ll definitely enjoy this.

4. Fourth Man Out

What is it: A 2016 movie

Who makes it: dir. Andrew Nackman

Why you should watch it: If you’ve been searching your whole fucking life for a queer rom-com like me, this’ll make you immensely happy. The story centers around Adam, who comes out to his mostly clueless friends in his twenties. They’re all a little uncomfortable and shitty at first, but they all grow and learn and by the end of the film have created the kind of caring and casual atmosphere any queer person hopes for when initially coming out to friends. The movie explores those awkward first steps after coming out, including online dating and homophobic neighbors, in a comedic yet respectful way. It’ll make you laugh and it’ll make you care a lot about Adam-- his puppy-dog face just makes you root for him from the beginning. Watch this if you hate that more comedies don’t center around queer themes, and then please recommend me more!!

5. About a Girl

What is it: A young-adult novel

Who makes it: Sarah McCarry

Why you should read it: Okay, maybe you should read the first two books in this series first, All Our Pretty Songs and Dirty Wings, but I read this one first and I think it can stand alone pretty well. There is an abundance of queer people of color in this, a beautiful, mythological storyline, a girl/girl romance, and a main character you’ll fall in love with. This book is so gorgeous to read and so rewarding, and I couldn’t put it down. In fact, I’m due for a reread... good thing I just impulsively bought all three of these so now I OWN THEM. Please, please give at least About a Girl a read, though-- the lyrical, soft nature of it was so incredibly healing and I can’t tell you how much I loved it.

5. Moonlight

What is it: A 2016 film

Who makes it: dir. Barry Jenkins

Why you should watch it: First of all, if you haven’t been following the mess that happened at the Oscars with La La Land being announced incorrectly and this film winning Best Picture, where have you been? I saw this rather recently, I’ll admit, but it blew my socks off. This film is so completely centered on the experience of black queer men, and allows them to be so honest and tender, so complex and multi-faceted, in a way we haven’t much seen in mainstream media so far. We know why this is-- mainstream media is overwhelmingly white, overwhelmingly straight, and wants to put down and silence differing experiences as much as possible, making Hollywood a boring and homogeneous space. But Moonlight has broken through and shown that when these stories are told, and they are listened to, something incredible can happen.

6. Ask the Passengers

What is it: A young-adult novel

Who makes it: A.S. King

Why you should read it: Holy shit, y’all, I loved this book so fucking much. I reread it a little while ago and it still punches me in the gut just as hard. The book centers around Astrid, a teenager navigating her sexuality, her family, and suffocating small-town life. She’s a philosopher at heart, so nothing comes easy, especially not love-- it’s not as clear-cut as her other queer friends may think. This is a really honest portrayal of figuring out sexuality and Astrid is such a lovable narrator that you just want to bundle her up and let no one else hurt her. The book hit close to home as a queer girl who spent a lot of time figuring out my identity and what it meant to me personally. If you have a similar story, prepare to get emotional.

7. One Day at a Time

What is it: A Netflix original series based off Norman Lear's 1975 series of the same name

Who makes it: Too many directors & executive producers to name! But if you’re a Norman Lear fan, he stayed on to be an executive producer for the remake.

Why you should watch it: The show centers around a Cuban-American family living in California and tackles topics like immigration, religion, sexuality, PTSD, divorce/separation, and more. Elena’s coming out storyline is beautifully and respectfully done and I really appreciate how realistic it is. This show will make you laugh and make you cry, but mostly, you’ll just fall completely in love with the Alvarez family and their story. And they’ve just been confirmed for a second season!! (GET ELENA A GIRLFRIEND!!)

8. The Real O’Neals

What is it: An ABC comedy series

Who makes it: Executive producer Dan Savage

Why you should watch it: Okay, I’ll admit, I have more problems with this show than the others-- namely its consistent biphobia and very few characters of color-- but besides the problems, it’s still hilarious and honest. In the very first episode, Kenny comes out to his conservative, Irish Catholic family in an... explosive way, and what follows is them all trying to figure out how to navigate his identity while still being religious. It’s important to see representation of queer people who keep their faith after coming out; it reminds us that religion and queerness aren’t mutually exclusive. Plus, I love Kenny’s relationship with his siblings, and the fact that his younger sister Shannon is the smartest and most put-together of them all. The show just finished its second season, and as of yet there has been no announcement of a renewal for a third season.

9. The Raven Cycle

What is it: A young-adult novel series

Who makes it: Maggie Stiefvater

Why you should read it: Holy wow, this book series is fantastic. I had no idea what it was about when I read it (because I read it for the gays...), but the story is complex and fascinating. Blue is our narrator most of the time, the daughter of a psychic who has no psychic abilities herself and who lives in a house with a bunch of other awesome psychic ladies. Her life has always been surrounded by magic, but it gets even more magical when she meets Gansey, Ronan, Adam, and Noah, four boys who go to the near Aglionby Academy and are dubbed “Raven Boys” because of the raven on their uniforms. I’m pretty sure shit starts to get Really Actually Gay in the last book, but the entire series is fantastic and well worth a read. If you like ghost boys, dead kings, magical dreamers, and weird curses, this series is for you. It’s recently been announced that there will be a TV show based on the books, and there will also be another book series just about Ronan, so I’m super pumped for those cool things... Unless they ruin the TV show, in which case I will be incredibly disappointed. (In the meantime, though, you can read the first chapter of the first book, The Raven Boys, here!)

10. Yuri On Ice

What is it: An Japanese sports anime series

Who makes it: Creator Mitsurō Kubo, dir. Sayo Yamamoto

Why you should watch it: LISTEN, I’ve never finished an anime before this, because I’m not really that into anime. But this series is about figure skating, has twelve episodes, and is hella gay, so it’s not hard to binge it. (For the love of God, please watch the subbed version if you can, the dub voices give me nightmares.) The story is beautifully done, Viktor and Yuuri’s relationship is stable, loving, and realistic, and the portrayal of Yuuri’s anxiety is so important and made me cry in spots. Plus, it’s really funny and the competition scenes are thrilling as all hell. You can watch the series in literally a day, so what are you waiting for?? Binge it and then listen to the soundtrack on Spotify on repeat while crying, like I did.

11. Brooklyn Nine-Nine

What is it: A Fox-produced police sitcom

Who makes it: A million directors and producers, it’s a comedy sitcom

Why you should watch it: A diverse ensemble cast, comedy that isn’t at the expense of any marginalized group, complex characters, a stable gay relationship, Andy Samberg??? I love this show so much, y’all. To be fair, the main relationship is between a man and a woman, but the captain of the 99th precinct is an openly gay black man who’s in an amazing, loving relationship with his husband. And the relationship between Jake, the main character, and Amy (Spoiler! But you’ll see it coming from a million miles away, promise.) is one of the most delicious slow-burn plotlines I’ve ever seen. And as far as I know, the writers have no intention to break them up for “conflict” (cough cough New Girl cough). In an episode from the current season, a character called something transphobic, which was the first time I’ve ever heard that word on television, and I had to pause and look at my girlfriend in wonder, like “Did he just really say that? Oh my God??” Anyway. Please watch this show. It’s currently in its fourth season, just recently back from its haitus, so go binge it now!

There’s so many more to add to this list (Legend of Korra! Rock and Riot!! Etc etc etc!), but since you now have 11 new (or not-so-new) pieces of queer media to consume, I’ll leave you with that. Till next time!

#piper gibson #text #blog #list

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