#simon × baz

[heaven-in-a-wild-flower]

Chapter 1: Pitches Have Never Paid Ransoms

I've just started a new fanfic about Simon/Baz. I felt like Baz wasn't angry enough about the kidnapping and all the other traumatic things that happened to him so I've written this.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63707872/chapters/163322071

The deer were bounding like blown leaves Under the smoke in front of the roaring wave of the brushfire; I thought of the smaller lives that were caught. Beauty is not always lovely; the fire was beautiful, the terror Of the deer was beautiful

-Excerpt from Fire on the Hills, Robinson Jeffers

Pitches have never paid ransoms. That’s what Fiona said when she rescued me. When I had just been held in a coffin with a broken leg. With no food or water. For 6 weeks. For a moment I imagine how different it would have been if my family had just paid the ransom, perhaps my leg would have healed right, the dark would not terrify me so and that unending void of hunger within me would never have opened. All that time when I was in the coffin, all I could feel was cold but now there’s a fire, perhaps the Pitch fire in my heart reappearing. Apologies mother, how it must enrage you to know that staying in the place where my kind belongs rekindled the Pitch fire in me. But I cannot determine its purpose, why now after I’ve been rescued, when it would’ve served me better when I was rotting in that cold dark place. It has no answers for me, it just burns slowly and quietly. My body was exhausted, drained of the little life I had left but that fire continued to burn even as I slept.

It's been two weeks of bed rest. Two weeks where I’ve been on the receiving end of healing spells all day, food (and blood) served to me on a platter. Two weeks where my father fails even to meet my eye. The first time he entered the room, the day I’d been brought there, he met my eye for a single instant. His placid expression dropped for a moment and perhaps shame lowered his gaze once more, lingering on the sling around my left leg. I felt the fire in my heart burst ever higher when he entered the room. He and Fiona are rarely in agreement about anything, they fight all the time. If he had truly wanted to pay the ransom, why couldn’t he have fought harder? What was the point of the numerous healing spells they’d cast at me the day I’d been bitten if he was just going to let me rot in a coffin? How could he not have fought for his son, the only heir of the Pitches? How could Mother, a strong, powerful, glorious mage have married such a weakling, such a coward? Mother might not have let me live, she might have torched me where I stood but she would never have let me be kidnapped, never have done nothing at all for 6 weeks. My knuckles clenched every time he entered the room, a small ache lost among the rest of it and the fire kept growing and growing.

The room is large and dark, with deep brown wood-panelled walls and rectangle windows reaching the ceiling. The velvet maroon curtains are kept open all day and night, after the first night when I woke up screaming for light. The sun is harsh on my skin but the dark is harsher.

Mordelia and the twins came to visit me once as well, once I was well enough that they wouldn’t be too concerned. Mordelia understands enough to know that something is wrong, that I’m not supposed to be at home at this time of year, but the twins are blissfully ignorant. They seem pleased that I’m here, clambering over the soft down bed and my lap demanding I tell them stories. They cling to the intricately carved wooden bedposts when Daphne tells them that I’m hurt and so they can’t sit on my lap. I can smell the blood beneath their skin and I can feel how alive they are, they are as different to me as unicorns are, there is something holy in the simple workings of their bodies. I had that too without even knowing and then I lost it and now that I know its value, I can never get it back. Mordelia watches from a distance, a too-mature frown on her face. I try to keep my face from showing pain, unwilling to worry her further.

I see my father hovering in the room, clearly lost. Is he here to ensure that I’m safe or that the children are safe from me? I hate that I feel jealous of his other children, free from the burdens of being a Pitch, winners of the dubious prize that is my father’s love. I try to smile at them but I can’t help but wonder if he would have fought to rescue them if they’d been kidnapped instead. Pitches have never paid ransoms certainly wouldn’t apply to them, Grimms that they are. It irks me that there’s anything of the Grimms I could covet, middling farmers that they are.

They all keep trying to convince me to stay here longer, to rest and in Fiona’s case perhaps to begin preparations for the war and leave Watford entirely. But it is all I can do not to scream in their faces, that I wouldn’t even need any of this rest if they had just paid the ransom, if they had saved me far far earlier. I wonder how long it even took my Father to notice that I was missing, and in the darkest moments, I wonder if he was secretly relieved that the universe took care of this aberration, this monstrosity, without his even having to lift a hand (typical, it would kill him to take a strong stance on anything). If Fiona truly wants me to be a strong soldier for this war, she could have paid the ransom, Crowley knows she inherited enough from my mother. Then I wouldn’t be crippled and weak and hungry, always hungry. But I cannot scream, I cannot even glare or snarl or frown, the Pitch upbringing in me is rooted deep (considering the ever-placid expression on Father’s face, perhaps I learnt it from him).

So, I push myself out of the soft bed, muscles rebelling against being used after so long. I calmly pack my bags, feet brushing the soft carpet, ignoring my father’s stern, “Basilton,” and Fiona’s frustrated Normal swearing. I walk down the long driveway, to the front seat of Fiona’s car, ignoring each twinge in my left leg and the answering burst of the fire inside.

“I’ll steal it if I have to!” I shout so my voice carries down to the house. I will not let anyone take away my last year in the Tower, my last year on the pitch, last year living with Simon, last year at Watford where Mother’s tomb is. Least of all, my cowardly father, who did not lift his little finger to save me nor my crazy aunt, who chose the principles of a family whose black sheep she is over paying the ransom.

Fiona grudgingly stomps to the car in her Doc Martens and enters with a tart, “Front seat’s for people who haven’t been kidnapped by fucking numpties.” I close my eyes and tilt my head back against the leather of the car seat. The fire is all I see, twice the size it was when I’d first felt it.

***

It's unnecessarily dramatic to use an Open Sesame to open the doors of the dining hall. But after 8 weeks of absence, I need to show everyone that I have returned, re-establish my claim over Watford. Mother was the greatest headmistress and I am her prince, Watford is my kingdom, my inheritance. I will not let be the first Pitch not to have completed 8 years in Watford with flying colours in all my exams. This is one area where I will not be a disappointment to Mother.

Simon stands up immediately, spilling tea and scones to the dismay of Penelope Bunce. His plain blue eyes are wide and his mouth gawps open. At this moment when he’s not yet remembered to be suspicious of me, he’s just surprised. It is a balm to see his face, the face that got me through those 6 dark weeks. The fire ebbs.

I walk slowly to my usual table, with the state of my left leg, that is the only way I can maintain any shred of dignity I have left. But I can’t say that I mind that it gives everyone more than enough time to look at me. I can feel Simon's gaze bore into me, a continuous laser beam. It is the first time after the coffin that I feel real and substantial. At home, where my Father couldn’t meet my eyes and Fiona could only treat me as a weapon she wanted to wield in the war, I felt myself disappear. It is as if I only exist under the beam of Simon’s gaze. I wonder if he missed me when I was kidnapped (why would he miss his enemy). Perhaps he was glad that I was gone and this surprise is only because he is disappointed to see that I have returned. I would be disappointed too but after everything that’s happened, all I have left is the fire burning, purring in my heart and I’ll be damned if I don’t spite whoever got me kidnapped.

Niall and Dev allow surprise to show on their faces for but an instant. They merely move the teapot away from my spot and continue to talk as if I’ve been away on holiday. As relieved as I am that they don’t ask about where I’ve been, I can’t help but wonder what my family must have told them. Do they truly not know anything? If they don’t, how could they not ask? If they do, how could they not ask? They chat about the football team and how they fared terribly without me but all the while, I’m only half listening. I blink and the darkness of my eyelids is the darkness of the coffin and I never left and I was never rescued and I blink and there’s Bunce, spelling Simon’s mess away for him and I blink and I can see the fire growing as if every word and every thought is oxygen supplied to it and I blink and there’s Agatha staring at me always expecting something from me and I blink and why is Simon still so thin and I blink and there’s my plate full of food. My hunger is vast and unending but however much I eat I feel as if I’ll never be full. If a dead creature like me requires such sustenance and feels such hunger, I cannot imagine what it takes to sustain Simon, so full of life that he is. Perhaps I understand his constant hunger now. You can teach yourself to starve, you can even survive it, but after that, you can’t ever teach yourself to feel full.

I walk into the Greek classroom and Snow stands up again.

“Enough, Snow, I’m not the Queen.” If only the extent of his attention to me was proportional to the extent of his affection for me.

The Minotaur questions my absence and says some tosh about catching up. I don’t need any catching up. I know more Greek than most of the class does English. But I’ll still have to submit all the assignments I missed. The thought adds a pinprick to the headache that has been growing since I woke up. If I find whoever got me kidnapped, they’ll be ashes before they can say incinerate. The fire in my heart hums approvingly.

I sit through the class despite it being about conjugating Greek verbs I’ve known since I was a child. I tell myself that that’s the reason I’m not making notes and not because the scratch of pen on paper feels like nails are being dragged down a chalkboard in my head. I can feel Snow’s eyes on the back of my head, I can smell his magic in the air. A boy who smells of smoke and a boy who’ll go up like flash paper at the smallest hint of fire, what a pair we make. I inhale deeply, I am nothing if not self-destructive. I turn my head slightly and smirk, knowing it’ll only anger him more.

***

I enter the room to the sight and the smell that is Simon Snow freshly showered, freshly bloodied. He must’ve cut himself while shaving as he does often, numpty that he is. At my best, my self-control around him is weak. Now, it feels as if I’m in a desert and he’s a mirage of an oasis. I can’t look away, knowing he would quench my every thirst. The thought of blood-drinking reminds me of the blood I drank through straws in the coffin and it quickly sours my mood.

I ignore him and begin to unpack my school bag. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be here. The uncomfortable single bed with scratchy school-issued sheets that I change every time. The large window that lets in a drafty wind that slips under my blanket when I sleep. The small wooden desk that is a quarter the size of my desk at Hampshire. This place feels more like home than any room in Hampshire.

“Baz.” Simon is at his most articulate when he has to say just a single word.

“Baz.” He repeats as if by simply saying my name over and over again he can get my attention (He doesn’t even need to say a word, he always has my attention).

He walks over to me, getting in my space. Nobody ever taught him boundaries or manners (and Nicks and Slicks am I grateful for it). The rich cinnamon smell of his blood is nearly as overpowering as the sight of his flushed cheeks and gleaming eyes.

“Where were you?” he demands, stubborn chin tilted up (he has to, 3 inches taller that I am).

“Why is that any of your business, Snow?” I reply, continuing to take books out of my school bag as if I am unbothered by his presence, by his question. As I could ever be unbothered by him.

“Where were you, Baz? And what happened to your leg?” He thinks he can just ask and I’ll give it to him (I’d give him everything if he truly wanted it). He always notices me, my every weakness (except for the fact that he’s my greatest weakness).

“I truly appreciate the thoroughness of this interrogation, Snow. If only you could put half this effort into learning Greek,” my voice cool.

“Baz-” he says, frustration muddying his voice but that is when I notice the absence of the buzz in my fangs. He’s taken off his cross. He truly didn’t think I’d be coming back, how inconvenient for him. My fist clenches around my Greek notebook.

“Where’s your cross?” I interrupt.

“Wha-” he says, backing up a step, confusion pooling in his eyes. His eyes widen as he understands and he quickly roots through his bedside drawer. He pulls it out and walks right up to me and puts it on, not once breaking eye contact. I imagine replacing the victory in his eyes with fear, flashing my fangs and sinking them into that mole-decorated sweet neck of his. It’s insulting that he thinks the cross would be anything but a small inconvenience to me. I think about how every mage in this tower would shiver at my strength, at my speed, at the precision of my superior senses. The thought kindles the fire and I feel it wrap warmly around my heart.

We glare at each other until he steps away and goes to study at his desk. I sit on my bed, ignoring the itch in my fangs and the pangs of my thirst, until I can no longer resist.

The Catacombs are as dark as they’ve always been but despite my night vision, I can’t help but feel as if they’ve gotten darker. I light the torches with a Light of my eyes. But it doesn’t make me feel better, I jump at every shadow and shiver at every sound. The only greater indignity than being a vampire is being a vampire who’s afraid of the dark. I wish I knew who got me kidnapped. I would make them afraid of far worse things than the dark.

I snap the necks of 4 rats and drain them dry. It’s the usual number I have and so I stop at that but I don’t quite feel full. I hate that I can’t even trust my own body. I drag myself up the steps of the tower, my left leg aching something fierce. I’d cast a healing spell if I weren’t sure it’d be the last spell I’d ever cast. I open the door quietly, I don’t have it in me for another altercation with Simon. I lay on my bed watching his face, relaxed in sleep. He saved me before Fiona ever could. He’s a saviour even when he’s not trying. I wish he’d tried, I wish he’d really saved me. If he had wanted to, it wouldn’t have taken him 6 weeks. For once, it feels as if the fire is burning somewhere far away as if it knows that it cannot compete with warmth like Simon Snow.

I wake up when Simon bangs around the room, making sure he reaches his precious breakfast scones on time. He’s more punctual to meals than he is to any of his classes. I wince at the sun piercing my eyes. It’s not fatal to me but I still don’t prefer to encounter it first thing in the morning. I get up and Snow startles. I raise a sardonic brow at him. He flushes and rushes into the ensuite. I massage my left leg and groan. It feels as if a tractor has run over it. I close my eyes and the fire is larger than ever, it stretches up and up and up, a wall of flame.

Snow leaves the bathroom and I go inside to take a shower. My muscles sigh at the feeling of the hot water on my skin. Crowley, what I wouldn’t give for a massage. I take my time gently lathering my skin with body wash and styling my hair with gel, sneering at the school-issued soap that Snow uses (What I wouldn’t give to be that overused bar of soap, able to touch every inch of his skin every day).

When I exit the bathroom, steam billowing out behind me, Snow is still there, sitting on his bed and anxiously tugging his curls. His foot bounces up and down, his lip being chewed mercilessly (if only I could volunteer my lip instead). He sees me and stands up quickly. I wonder what is so important that he was willing to delay his appointment with shoving his mouth with scones.

“Baz, I- I need to talk to you,” he stutters.

“To my great misfortune, you already seem to be doing it,” I sneer (I would lick the words from his mouth, he’d never have to speak to me).

“No- I- it’s-” nobody blusters like Snow. It’s as if he tries to convey every thought in his beautiful head at once.

“Thank you for that enlightening conversation, truly a pleasure. Good day, Snow,” I say turning away and storming out of the room. His standing before me blushing and trying to talk to me makes me wish it were a whole other conversation he was trying to have and unfortunately, there’s enough blood in me that I can blush.

The whole day I can feel Snow staring at me. It’s gone from being flattering to becoming a nuisance. I can’t wince at the ache in my leg or massage the ache in my head for even an instant. I feel like a butterfly pinned to a board, being scrutinised at my worst. His words from the morning are also constantly at the forefront of my mind. What did he want to talk to me about? We never talk, unless you count throwing insults at each other. After his amateur interrogation, I’m concerned he might have actually found out about the kidnapping. But how would he have, I haven’t told a soul. And he’s really not the brightest mage around (yet still he found out about my vampirism).

I feel a permanent frown begin to etch onto my face. His staring frustrates me so much, that I begin actively trying to anger him. I smile at Agatha multiple times in the day, the way his smoky smell amplifies is quite gratifying (I can imagine that he’s jealous of her instead of me). I answer every question in class and smirk at him right after, clearly signifying that I know he doesn’t know the answer. I poke at his weak spellcasting and weak enunciation and weak Greek grammar. Unsurprisingly, he corners me outside class. My back hits the smooth stone wall and he cages me in with one arm to the wall (oh, if only this was under different circumstances).

I breathe shallowly, the smell of his blood from so close by is far too intoxicating.

“Baz,” he growls, eyes alight.

“Unfortunately, even being the Chosen One doesn’t gift you with telepathy, Snow,” my voice is as even as my heartbeat is uneven.

“Shut up! Just-”

“Just what?”

“Just ugh!” he slams his fist against the wall near my head and storms off. Such anger and not even a punch? Bunce must be keeping him in line. I can’t help but be frustrated, I’d take a punch to feel his skin touch mine. I’d take a thousand.

I sigh and brush away the dust from the back of my uniform as I drag myself to the next class. I’ll never understand Simon Snow.

***

The weeks pass with my health improving at an agonisingly slow pace and Snow’s staring increasing at a torturous speed. I want to slam him against every vertical surface and a few horizontal ones. I want to bite his lip and drink him dry. I want to scream in his face until he tells me what that confusing new look in his eyes is. I want to pull his luscious golden curls till I get a handful in my palm, that I’ll hide beneath my pillow every night, the closest I can get to having his head upon my pillow.

In other news, I’ve been constantly receiving texts from Fiona demanding that I enact her crazy anti-Mage plans. Each is getting more insane than the last. In her last message, she asked me to put itching powder on the door of the Mage’s office and then place a bottle on his table labelled ‘itching powder antidote’ and fill that with even stronger itching powder (even she’s not crazy enough to think that’ll work, she’s just getting bored and restless).

Every time she texts me, I see her pulling me out of the coffin, bringing light to me at last but I hear her saying Pitches have never paid ransoms and the fire brushes a warm finger along the back of my neck.

To appease her trouble-making heart and to get myself some well-earned peace, I’ve decided to break into the Mage’s office and steal something. Although, is it really called breaking in if not breaking is required? This is and will always be Mother’s office and it will open for me.

I take a deep breath when I enter. It looks exactly the same as it did when it was occupied by Mother. But it smells different, it feels different. I can’t smell her cedar perfume and I don’t feel welcome in this lonely place. There’s dust on nearly every surface, does the Mage not ask the housekeeping to clean in here? That paranoid cult leader must assume that they’ll steal something. I brush the dust away from a few books, my touch reverent. Mother would have been appalled at the state of these (she would have been appalled at the state of me). I pull out a tome with thick red binding, Magickal Flame Casting: The Flame is Yours to Control. I recall Mother reading this book, her reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose, one hand scuffing my chin gently. I don’t know if it was this book in particular or if I just want it to be, just so I can tell myself that the few memories I have of her are as clear as ever.

I’m just pulling it out of the shelf when the door opens suddenly casting bright light into the room. Of course, it’s Snow, the light gilding his curls and illuminating that gigantic sword he carries around. I feel possessive of this place, and his narrowing his eyes at me suspiciously rubs me the wrong way. I feel my posture stiffen and I stare down my long nose imperiously at him.

“What are you doing here? You’re not allowed in the Mage’s office!” he accuses, pointing his sword at me. I stare at its sharp edge, soon we’ll be well acquainted. But not today.

“I was looking for one of my Mother’s books. It was her office first,” I sneer, my voice getting chillier.

Snow spots the book on the floor and hurries towards it, nearly slashing me with his sword in the process. If I died of an accidental sword slash in Mother’s office, I’d come back and haunt Snow forever because I couldn’t show my face to Mother after that (I don’t think I’ll be going where Mother is).

The book is open to a page, a chapter titled ‘Forest Fires: How to Cause Them and How to Stop Them’ but what’s most interesting is a photo lying on it. It looks a little old, edges browning and that’s all I see of it before Snow snatches it up. He stares at it silently for a moment, a small frown pulling his brows down. He hands it to me slowly and I see his face flush with embarrassment.

The photo is of me. I’m just a baby. I’m wearing soft brown dungarees and I’m lying in the crib that must’ve been in the creche. I’m gleefully clutching Mother’s hand, her rough fire-holder hands. I remember once that I got scared at the sight of flames above her hands (I don’t know if I was scared for her or of the flames). She held my chin in her rough hand and she told me, “It’s okay, little puff. Fire can be scary and painful but you and I, we’re Pitches. The fire we make is ours, made from the flame in our hearts. It will always protect us.” (I wish her fire had protected her). I blink away the tears in my eyes and slip the photo into my pocket, careful to make sure that it doesn’t fold. I only knew Mother when I was human. The vampire that I am has never met her and thank Crowley, she has never met him. I can’t help but feel jealous of that human child, with his mother, feeling safe and happy. She died protecting him, would she be happy with who she actually saved? I stare at the book, still open on the floor.

Snow’s eyes are round with pity and he tries to apologise, “Baz I- I’m sorry I didn’t know-”

“Snow.” He stops and looks up into my eyes. I remember for a moment that he lost his mum too and my voice softens infinitesimally. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

He seems surprised for a moment, before looking around hesitatingly.

I turn around and walk out of the room. He chases after me and puts a hand on my sleeve, “Baz.”

“Come on, Snow.”

Next Chapter (Chapter 2)

Let me know if anyone wants to be added to the tag list.

[heaven-in-a-wild-flower]

Simon when he's mad at Baz

‘Do Not Open’ is still one of my favorite episodes because of this absolute legend. He’s at the top of my list of badass people who survived encounters because they just ain’t with that shit.

An icon.

[letraspal]

“One kiss, and you think the world is upside down.”

“Two kisses,” I say. And I take him by the back of his neck.

—From Chapter 62, Carry On by Rainbow Rowell.

[crankybeetle]

@carryon-countdown day 4: daydreaming

Sure Simon, he’s plotting

[savanir]

A sister's love

The justice league hurriedly responds to a call for backup at a little in the middle of nowhere place by the name of Amity Park. 

The situation had seemed so simple. 

A Star Sapphire had suddenly shown up on Earth which isn’t immediately cause for concern but she was unidentified, so a lantern was definitely going to have to look into it if only just to make sure that nothing bad was going on. There are two planet side green lanterns, Simon and Jessica. So they responded to handle the potential situation. 

Things rapidly spun out of control when they realized it wasn't just a Star Sapphire. 

"I hate to say this but we're gonna need backup" Simon tells Cyborg, "the Star Sapphire has brought something with her. My first guess was a white martian but..." The other one can do some manner of density shifting, and he can go invisible, but they know ways around that. Whatever this one is doing isn’t that though.

"Why isn't this working!?!" Comes Jessica's slightly panicked voice in the distance, "he keeps just going through my creations! dammit, think think Jess" She tried to contain him with a flamethrower construct but he just ignored it, like he’s seemingly ignoring everything else she’s throwing at him.

"Our constructs have zero effect on the other one, the alien, meta? man I don’t know he’s human shaped" 

"What is the situation other than the two hostiles?"

"Uh we got some government agents who are retreating because of the Star Sapphire wrecking their stuff. And the civilian people here seem to be falling under her influence, so she must be human. She's from here, she needs emotional connection to pull that stuff off."

The people are furious, the violet glow around them clearly indicates that the girl is using her ring to amp them up but if Simon didn’t know any better he’d say this was red lantern stuff.

Well there are more ways to whip people up into a frenzy, by hurting their loved ones for example.

There is a brief moment where it can be heard that Simon and Jessica try to get into a more advantageous position. 

Simon grunts, "dammit, those agents seemed to have weapons that actually worked on the other guy but the Star Sapphire used her violet constructs to shield him and destroy their guns and we've been struggling since" this whole situation stinks, he has a weird feeling about all of it.

"Simon this is really really bad, i can't keep restraining all these civilians, we're running out of energy fast!"

Cyborg tries to get a visual on the situation from his position in the Watchtower while he’s notifying any league affiliated heroes who are nearby and available. 

But all of a sudden he realizes there is just nothing, just a big lap of void where the two lanterns are supposed to be, there is no cctv footage, no cell towers, no internet connection. Just what the hell is going on here.

Then the audio transmission starts to violently crackle.

A new voice laced with static can suddenly be heard, "There you two are"

"Shit"

"Is the justice league coming yet? Are they finally going to do something?" the staticy voice continues.

"Stay back you-"

"Or maybe they still need more of a reason to act" 

The audio cuts out. 

"Jessica! Simon! Come in!" ... "Shit!" 

Cyborg finally gets a clear picture with the satellite cameras and now sees the entirety of Amity Park has been covered with a crystalized violet dome. It’s then that he remembers the story Hal told quite some time ago now about a Star Sapphire who managed to put a whole planet into love stasis.

They are gonna need more help with this one he thinks.

Meanwhile Jazz is still shakily trying to figure out how her new pink powers work, now that all the fighting is over (for now), the GIW forcefully expelled from Amity, and the two Justice league people captured and restrained.

Everything happened so fast, one moment the GIW had knocked out her brother and were forcefully taking him away and while she saw them drive off (she was pretty sure she was screaming) a pink thing just froze her in place, She was pretty sure someone said something about “great love in her heart” and then she was… well she was flying and- and there wasn’t really any time to question things then so she may have kinda gone and ripped into the van that had Danny.

She’s pretty sure she healed him, and then things just completely spiraled out of control from that point on. and now she’s here.

She’s pretty sure this is crazy villain behavior, she’s going to get put on some sort of watchlist and then she’ll never get to be a psychologist but it’s fine.

Her little brother is safe, that’s all that matters. And she will keep it that way.

[abitofboth]

rainbow rowell just casually confirming simon and baz are married with absolutely no warning 😭

[dailydccomics]

 Nicola Scott’s “Through the Ages” covers

[krisrix]

Inktober 26 ⁙ Camera

Simon keeps the photo, but if asked why, he wouldn't be able to answer~

[pacey-bunce-loves-joey]

AU where Simon gets drastically more comfy exploring his trauma

[yu-miou]

Somehow I forgot I did these after finishing Anyway the Wind Blows.... I think I made them to celebrate the end of the Carry On series... Well... they're a bit late for the party but here they are I guess ^^

[heaven-in-a-wild-flower]

Chapter 5: Take Me Out

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63707872/chapters/166645234

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Previous Chapter (Chapter 4)

I’m packing my best suits to take home for Christmas. I wonder whether I’ll wear the gold tie or silver tie this year. Oh, who am I kidding, the blue accents on the silver tie would be perfect with my navy suit. I turn around and see Snow lounging on his bed, an arm thrown over his eyes as if trying to take a nap. I clear my throat. When that prompts no response, I throw one of my t-shirts at him.

He starts awake and gets into a fighting stance, his curls in disarray (How I’d love to make them worse).

“Wha- who-” he says, blinking sleepily.

“No need to get your knickers in a twist, Snow. It’s only me.”

“Was that necessary, Baz?” He says, squinting at me and rubbing at his eyes. His t-shirt has pulled up enough to reveal his stomach and I have to forcefully pull my gaze back onto my trunk.

“Never mind that, Snow. It just occurred to me that the Pitch library is far more extensive than the Watford library.”

“So? Are you trying to make me jealous? Because books are really more Penny’s thing,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “It may contain information about Nicodemus, or...vampires.” It has nothing useful about vampires, I should know. But he doesn’t have to know that. And it truly may contain information about Nicodemus. I can’t help but feel as if we’re just a centimetre away from breaking the whole thing open and yet lightyears away.

“Oh. Oh! Yes, that’s perfect. You can do research during the break then,” he says, lighting up. My heart cannot take how eager he is to solve this. I can’t help but want it as much as I dread it. The truce will fall apart when we do find Mother’s killer. We won’t have anything in common, nor any reason to be...allies.

“I don’t have to do it alone,” I offer, refolding the same trousers again.

“Uh, you mean your family would help? Yeah, I guess it makes sense, it is about your mother,” he wonders.

“Not my family.”

“Then, Penny? It might be a bit far for her to come all that way from her house. And her mother is very strict, believe me I know all about it, she won’t even let me-”

“No! I meant, you,” I say, turning around exasperatedly. Of course, this oaf would make me spell it out.

“Me?” he seems confused. Then he lets out a laugh, “You’re funny, Baz. Didn’t know you made jokes.”

“I’m not joking. It isn’t as if you have other commitments, do you?” I drawl. This is what I get for being nice, abject mockery.

“What. Baz, you’re seriously inviting me to your house? Your entire family hates me!”

“That is an exaggeration, most of my family members are children. The baby doesn’t have enough in his head to hate anybody. Although he certainly hates broccoli,” I wave away his concerns.

“But your father! And your aunt, Fiona really hates me. They’d roast me on a spit and serve me up for Christmas dinner!” he says, getting worked up, the smoke smell makes me wrinkle my nose a tad.

“Father would never dirty his hands so. Besides, you’d be a guest. I can even cast ‘Be Our Guest’.” Is it obvious to him how hard I’m trying? Does he think it’s a ploy for something else. (Perhaps it is. I certainly have not been able to stop picturing him laying on my bed at the Manor). I shudder at the thought of Mother watching me from the Other Side (I wonder if she was homophobic. I suppose I’ll never know now).

“You’re barking,” he says, eyes wide with disbelief. I suppose this is what I get for trying. I slam the trunk closed, clearly indicating a similar fate for the conversation.

He leaves the room. Perhaps to go and share his worries with Bunce. I sigh and continue packing.

***

I’m just finishing up with violin practice when someone enters. I look up to see Wellbelove, hovering uncertainly in the doorway. I raise a brow. She seems to gather courage after smoothing her perfectly pressed skirt and walking to me.

“Basil. I need to talk to you.”

“Yes?” I have a feeling I may know what this is about. I’m not looking forward to it.

“It’s about what happened in the end of break. I wanted to ask if you’d be interested to take me out-”

“Wellbelove. I apologise for giving you the wrong impression. I’m not interested in interfering with your and Snow’s destiny.”

“I broke up with Simon. We’re not...destined,” she frowns with annoyance.

“Whatever it is you may be. I’m tired of being in between. Leave me out of your couples’ squabbles in the future please.”

“But you acted as if-” she begins, starting to get angry.

“I know what I did. I’m sorry,” I look up at her, pleading with her to understand. I may be angry that she is who Snow wants. But that isn’t her fault. And I’m just tired. I’m so tired of playing these games. These days it feels as if the fire inside is all gone. Just another thing I must’ve disappointed. She may not deserve Snow, but she doesn’t deserve to have her heart played with by the likes of me (It’s not as if I deserve Snow either).

“Is this because you and Simon are friends now?” she asks, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes suspiciously (oh, she looks almost like Snow when she makes this expression. Ha, they truly are meant for each other).

“We’re not quite- It’s not that, Wellbelove. I’m just not interested in...anybody,” I say, helplessly.

“Fine. Have it your way. Goodbye.” She turns her nose up and storms away, elegantly.

I smell cinnamon and sigh.

“Wait was that Agatha? What did you say to her?” Snow says as he enters.

“Stalking is against the truce, Snow.”

“I wasn’t stalking you! I just came to tell you that Penny wants us to meet her in the library. Wait, don’t change the topic. Why was Agatha here?” he says, forcefully.

“I didn’t hold her captive, if that’s what you’re implying. It may surprise you but some people can engage in civilised conversation.” His suspicion always irks me. I can’t help but egg him on.

“So, you guys just talked?” he says, sceptically frowning.

“Yes. I don’t care if you believe me. I’m going to the library, join if you please,” I say, striding past him. He chases after me. I allow myself a small smirk.

The first time he chased me was when he thought I was entering the Wavering Wood to do something nefarious. In truth, I was merely overwhelmed by the sound that my newly enhanced ears could pick up. But when he began to chase me, I decided I wasn’t going to make it easy on him. I ran, employing a little bit of my vampire speed. Then I tripped over an aboveground root and caught myself with a hand on the trunk of the tree. But Snow was far too close and going far too fast to stop. I turned to tell him to stop but then he barrelled into me and we both went down.

“Got you! Now, tell me what you’re up to,” he said, victoriously grinning, with his chin on my chest. I didn’t know the reason then, but his smile that close to my face and his entire body pressing into mine truly angered me. I threw him off me and stood.

“You will leave me alone this instant, or you’ll see for yourself my superior spellcasting,” I snarled, wand pointed at him. He jumped to his feet and shouted the incantation to summon his sword (he didn’t know then that wherever the sword was when it dematerialised, it could hear him just fine).

“I knew it! I knew you were up to something. I won’t let you get away with it,” he was so eager then. So eager to find an enemy, so eager to vanquish that enemy to prove that he was the hero. He was desperate to prove himself worthy of being chosen (there wasn’t anybody to tell him that it was Watford that wasn’t worthy of him).

“Ha, a Chosen One who can’t cast a spell to save his life. You’ll defeat me?” I scoffed. I was angry then, angry that this nobody boy was loved by the entire school. This nobody boy would probably be Headmaster someday. He’d stolen my inheritance.

He didn’t waste any more time with words. He leapt forward with his sword. Somehow, even then he knew how to fight. His childhood in care must not have been very kind. I was startled by the sword suddenly slashing towards me. I hadn’t expected him to actually fight me, I thought he’d just leave. I threw myself to the side but not fast enough. The sword cut a long gash down my thigh.

I was leaning heavily against the tree at my back and watching the blood flow down my leg, numbly. When I looked up, Snow seemed somewhat surprised himself. Perhaps he’d expected me to fight back, perhaps he was shocked his nemesis didn’t know how to fight. The sword vanished.

“Yeah. Yeah, this was a warning. I’m watching you, Baz,” he said, sounding slightly shaken and stormed away. Later I’d be angry that he thought me weak and unable to defend myself. And much later, I’d love him for being unwilling to hurt somebody he thought a villain just because he didn’t think it was a fair fight.

***

“There you two are, what took you so long? Never mind that. I found something,” Bunce says, jumping up from her seat in the library. Her eyes are shining behind her purple-rimmed glasses. Her fervour would’ve scared me if we weren’t temporarily on the same side. She’s a formidable enemy.

“Quiet, Bunce, you don’t want to announce your findings to the whole of Watford now, do you?”

“Oh, alright, alright, just listen. I found a letter. It was hidden in the bookshelves. See?” she attempts to peer over mine and Simon’s shoulders as we try to read it. When did she even get to this side of the table. Her enthusiasm is truly frightening, she and Snow are a perfectly matched set.

“Efbs O,

Jg zpv tujmm dbsf bcpvu nf, nffu nf jo uif Xbwfsjoh Xppe bu njeojhiu.

Zpvst, G.”

I raise an unimpressed brow at Bunce, perhaps she’s finally lost it. “How is some first year’s failed attempt at learning English at all helpful?” while Snow says, “This is just rubbish.”

“Baz! Don’t you see, it’s in code,” Bunce exclaims.

“A Caesar cipher,” I say, slowly. Snow says, “Scissors?” to which I reply, “Caesar,” emphasising the pronunciation. “Like the salad?” he confirms. “What do you know about salads, Snow?” I reply, looking pointedly towards the plate of roast beef on the table that Bunce must’ve brought for him. He huffs.

“Exactly!” Bunce says. “I mean, not to all that. But yes, it’s a Caesar cipher.” Bunce’s hand is gripping my arm excitedly, but it doesn’t even bother me. She’s spoken for by some American and far too smart to fall for me like Wellbelove did.

“Did you solve it?” I’m intrigued now. This is the first thing we’ve found that might be helpful.

“What do you think?” she hands me her notebook.

“Dear N, 

If you still care about me, meet me in the Wavering Wood at midnight. 

Yours, F.”

“Hm. There’s nothing that clearly points to Nicodemus, lots of names start with an ‘N’.

“You have lots of names,” Snow grumbles, still annoyed with my poking fun at him.

“That may be true, but it’s the only thing we’ve found so far,” Bunce says, sounding much too pleased for my comfort when she’s saying such a depressing fact.

“I suppose. But who is ‘F’?” I wonder aloud.

“No idea. I just solved the cipher when I called you two. Now both of you get to work and start looking for names beginning with ‘F’,” Bunce says authoritatively. Hm, I understand what Snow sees in her. She’s smart and capable and just bossy enough to give Snow some guidance.

“Wait! I’m not risking working through dinner again like we did yesterday. I’m going to get some food, Cook Pritchard likes me,” Snow says, halfway to the door before we can even respond. Bunce and I share a knowing look (Perhaps it doesn’t hurt to have a few more friends, temporary though they may be).

We work in silence until Snow returns.

“Wasn’t the roast beef your dinner?” I ask, brows raised at the numerous plates Snow seems to be balancing on his hands. When it comes to food, he’s suddenly perfectly coordinated.

“The roast beef was a snack,” he mumbles.

I sneak a glance at the librarian. She hasn’t noticed Snow bringing all this food in, thank Merlin. I quickly cast a ‘Nothing to see here’.

Snow quickly distributes the bread and butter. Then he smears a truly horrifying amount of butter on his bread. When I was younger, I thought he’d die by my hand but cholesterol seems to be a greater threat. His poor heart. He licks his fingers (my poor heart).

“Oh! Here,” Snow looks up and sees that I’m not eating. He pushes the strawberry jam towards me. I raise a brow at him. I’d suspect it to be poisoned but he’s much too honourable to try to take me out that way (I wish he’d take me out another way altogether). “You like sweet things, don’t you?” he says earnestly (I certainly do, sweetheart).

“Oh. I suppose I do,” I reply, focusing all my attention on spreading jam evenly on a slice of bread and ignoring the rapid beat of my heart (You could mistake me for a human, it’s beating so fast). I suppose I should thank younger me for not becoming friends with him. If I’d had to be at the brunt of his kindness at the peak of my teenage years, I’d have snogged his stupid face right in the middle of the library (curse my dratted self-control now).

***

Christmas break comes far too soon. The thought of having to interact with Fiona and Father again has me dreading it. I used to be excited to see my siblings, ill-mannered little devils though they were (still are). They’d tug at my trousers till I lifted them in the air and pretended to fly them around the room, shrieking with joy. I wonder what Father would have told them if I’d died in that coffin. Would he even have told them the truth, or would he have just refused to tell them anything about it, until they learned not to ask? I suppose it might’ve been a relief, they’d never have to learn that their older brother was a monster. I blink away the image of my siblings shrieking in fear.

“Goodbye Snow, enjoy Christmas at Watford,” I say, snarkily.

“I will!” He replies, stubbornly.

The thought of him spending Christmas alone here begets a curl of guilt. I recollect my conversation with Wellbelove and steel myself for what I know I have to do.

“Snow, about the time you saw Wellbelove and I in the Wavering Wood...”

“What? What did you do, Baz? Actually, don’t tell me, I wouldn’t be able to keep the truce.”

“No, it isn’t what you think,” I say, eyes closing.

“You weren’t trying to pull my girlfriend?” (Oh, if only I could tell you how truly little I want that).

“No, Snow, I wasn’t. I don’t even want her.”

“What? Don’t lie, Baz. I’ve seen you giving her looks.” Snow sounds suspicious and irritated. I should never have brought this up at all. But I owe it to him (and perhaps to her as well. I certainly haven’t played a small part in whatever spat they must be having that she didn’t invite him home for Christmas break).

“I only did it to piss you, Snow. I’ve never wanted her at all.”

“You what? You just flirted with her to hurt me?” his eyes are wide as saucers, perhaps he’s surprised that it’s going to work out perfectly for him (but of course it was going to. It always works out for the hero).

“Yes.”

“And you think that’s a good thing?”

“Yeah, now you can make up with her and go spend Christmas at her place.”

“I can’t believe you, Baz! Just when I thought you were- Ugh, get out of here before I do something I’ll regret,” his fists are clenched and his face is red with anger. I should have expected this. Of course, he’s angry that I manipulated his girlfriend. I’ve proved all his worst thoughts about me. I am exactly as evil as he’s thought. Why did I think it would help to tell him this? Just when we were starting to get along. He brought me strawberry jam, for Merlin’s sake.

But I’ve never responded well to threats. “Well? Would you prefer I liked her?”

“No!”

“What then? Should I have just never told you? Taken the game all the way to marriage? Left her at the bloody altar? Or just married her to spite you?” That certainly would’ve made Father happy. He’s desperate for me to be straight and continue the Pitch line. He finds my queerness far more horrifying than my monstrousness. Although I doubt vampires can even reproduce. I certainly hope not. I shudder at the thought of a couple of little blood-suckers running around. Imagining creating them with a woman makes me shudder more.

“She likes you, Baz, how could you have done that to her?”

“All I did was flirt with her, you oaf. It’s not like I tried to feed her to a chimera. If she miscalculated my feelings for her, that’s on her.” (The chimera was more flirting than what I did with her). Oh, I fall in a hole and then I just keep digging.

“You- You’re the worst! Get out! If I have to see your face for another moment, I won’t even care about the Anathema,” he growls, fingers digging into his palm and veins popping on his throat (I wonder what it would be like to take a sip. No. No, I wouldn’t. I just want to put my lips there. Only lips. No teeth, no fangs).

“Fine! Hope you enjoy Christmas alone here, you nightmare!”

***

Front seat’s for people who haven’t been kidnapped by fucking numpties. The taxi driver stares at me curiously as I sit in the front seat.

“Are we waiting for anybody else?” he asks, perfectly politely.

“No.” I reply, curtly.

I stare out the window of the taxi mindlessly. I feel the fire returning in steady sparks. Sharp pain on the back of my head. A bag over my head. My leg twisting painfully. A shout that never leaves my throat. Darkness as small as a box, as large as the universe. Hunger larger than my humanity. Time that drips as slow as honey. Sudden bright light. Pitches have never paid ransoms. A soft bed beneath my back. A fear of the dark that follows me out of the coffin. Sleep that pulls me fiercely into its clutches. Father’s silence. Pain when I’m awake and pain when I’m asleep. Fire in my eyes and fire in my heart and fire in my leg.

“Sir? This is as far as I can go,” I blink into awareness at the taxi driver’s voice. He eyes the manor, warily.

“Yes, that’ll suffice. Here, keep the change,” I say, handing him a wad of notes that I know is excessive. Pitches may have little fondness for Normals but we’re far too well-mannered to pinch pennies when we tip.

I stare up at the Manor as the driver thanks me and pulls my trunk out of the car, impatient to be off from this haunted place. The wraiths in the Manor have never bothered me but the Manor feels haunted now. I shiver as snow falls gently around me. I tug my coat closer to my body, take a deep chilly breath and trudge up the stone path that’s been cleared of snow.

“Mr. Pitch!” Vera wraps me in a warm hug when she opens the door. I relax into her embrace. She’s never been anything but kind to what she must have believed was an odd little child.

“Basilton,” Father says, stopping in his tracks in surprise. Perhaps, when I never called him to give him a time to come pick me up, he thought I wouldn’t come at all (maybe he was relieved). A complicated expression crosses his face but he’s far too himself to let it stay for long (he deserves whatever it is he’s feeling now).

“Come say hello to your mother. She’s just finished putting the twins down for their afternoon nap.” I roll my eyes when Father turns his back on me. It would kill him to say anything real, anything that matters. I feel the fire shiver larger.

***

The days pass by, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. I sit down to read in the library, and hours go by where I’ve been staring blind at the same page. I practice violin and suddenly blink awake with stiff fingers curled around the bow, realising the sun has gone down. I sleep deeply, sleep grips me tight as it inflicts torturous nightmares upon me every night. I go outside to hunt and I sit in the snow afterward letting the cold seep deep into me. I feel restless, I feel angry, I feel unmoored.

I wonder about the truce. Does it still stand after how I left things with Snow? If we never solve the murder, would the truce just slowly die out? Would Snow and Bunce slowly resent my company until I just chose to leave them alone? Would they have a fight with me, end things in flames? Would they sit me down and tell me frankly how they think it isn’t really working, that without the case, we have nothing in common?

I even wonder about Agatha, whether she managed to patch things up with Snow and whether she resents me still. I wonder if they way I treated her is further proof of my monstrousness. Isn’t it true that monsters don’t see humans as people? Didn’t I treat her as if she wasn’t a person in her own right? If she’d never come and spoken to me, would I have ever made it right? Have I even made it right now? Can I ever make it right? (All the ways I’ve hurt Snow, will I ever be able to make it right before I go?)

“Baz! Baz!” I blink out of my reverie to see Mordelia in my face, yelling.

“It isn’t polite to stand this close to someone and yell in their face, Mordy.”

“You weren’t listening, Baz!” she pouts. I want to tug her hair when she pouts like this.

“Even then. What do you want, Mordy?”

“I want to play magic princess,” she insists.

“Aren’t you too old to be playing make-believe games like that?”

“The only people here close to my age are all younger than me, Baz. Also, Mom said you should cherish the child in your heart for as long as you can.” She’s cleverer than I give her credit for.

“Alright, alright, I’m the princess as usual, then?”

“Yes! Your hair is longer. I’ll be the magic knight,” she says, pulling out a cardboard sword that Daphne must’ve made for her.

“Princess, oh, pretty princess, won’t you let down your hair?” she begins, gazing at me with imploring eyes.

“Oh, handsome, brave knight. Why ever would I not? I’m so relieved that you’re here to save me,” I reply, clutching my chest and batting my eyelashes innocently. I pretend to throw my hair down, turning my head dramatically and allowing my hair to fall on my right shoulder.

“Don’t you worry, princess. I’ll rescue you from the evil witch,” she says pretending to climb my hair. She huffs and puffs as if truly climbing an incline. She’s a good actor, I’ll give her that.

“Thank you, kind knight. I’ve been trapped here my whole life, because all the people in town are afraid of the evil witch,” I reply, sniffling and wiping off an imagined tear.

“I’m not afraid. Here I am! Now, where is the evil witch, I’ll fight her and free you, princess,” she replies, standing tall and brandishing her cardboard sword.

“Muhahahaha, oh stupid knight, you’ve been thoroughly fooled. You think I’m a weak little damsel in distress. I’ll eat you for dinner,” I say, cackling and rubbing my hands, with a gleam in my eyes.

“Gasp, you’re the evil witch! Face me in battle if you dare,” she says, solemnly (I suppress my laughter at her saying the word ‘gasp’ instead of gasping).

“What need do I have to fight fairly?” I say and cast “Snake oil salesman!” A harmless snake slithers around her body, tickling her. She laughs and laughs and laughs.

“No! You won’t get away with this!” she wheezes, struggling to keep her laughing at bay. I flick my wand to loosen the snake and when she slashes at it with her cardboard sword, it falls to the floor, a puddle of oil.

She charges at me and stabs me with her sword. I gasp and clutch my chest, falling to my knees dramatically (good practice for me anyway).

“Oh no! I should’ve known I would be no match for you, knight. Your magical sword is no match for my trickery,” I cry out.

“Ha! Didn’t expect that, did you? You thought I was just a Normal knight,” she grins victoriously. At the sight of her smile, something cracks inside me. I hug her gently, burying my head on her shoulder. She pats my back for a few moments and then tugs on my hair. I pull back and smile at her.

“Don’t ever grow up, Mordy. You’re perfect as you are.”

Let me know if anyone wants to be added to the tag list.

Next Chapter (Chapter 6)

[alexalexinii]

modeling baz (it’s been a while since I’ve drawn them D:)

[letraspal]

“Snow is your name,” Baz says. “Possibly. Who named you anyway?”

Carry On, by Rainbow Rowell

[achillean-heartbeat]

if simon snow had to get out of bed everyday to slay magical monsters AND lead a 7 year long homoerotic antagonistic relationship with his arch nemesis, then i can get out of bed too.

[simon-pitch]

he was crazy for that

[cherryfull]

Just kiss already bro 🙄