learnwithnohatolba

[onepintobean]

COC day 9 | pride

I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.

- Pride and Prejudice

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Baz-kitty update

(tangentially related to boop fest 2024)

(Yes there is a kitty pic in this ramble)

So Baz-kitty has been a little skittish when it comes to allowing me to touch her. (I've explained in previous posts/stories but quick refresher: I discovered that she's very sensitive and skittish and wants to be touched very gently. Hence Baz-kitty.)

I am trying to help her feel more comfortable and secure with being casually touched so she can accept regular human/kitty affection. Not only will that help her be more attractive to potential adopters, but I genuinely believe she craves affection and just needs to feel safe enough to receive it. (BAZ-KITTY ahem)

So one of the ways I'm gently encouraging soft touches is by resting a hand on her whenever she's comfortably within reach. For example, when she sleeps next to me on my bed I will carefully reach out and rest a hand on her tail, or one of her legs, and just let it rest there. (I don't try to ask for anything, cause she's not there, yet.)

This is very slow process, but I have seen progress. Over the months she has moved closer and closer to me and is now able to occasionally sleep right next to me.

This is a big deal. What makes this an even bigger, cooler deal is that today as I was surfing my Boop-meter (words I did not ever expect myself to say), she made herself comfortable next to me and did this.

(in case that's not clear, that's my arm.)

It only lasted for about ten minutes, but this return gesture is SO AMAZING. When I think about how far she's come over the past year, I am proud of both her and myself.

I love helping people. Cats are people, too. She is such a smart kitty, and deserves the very best forever home.

ANYHOO. How is this related to booping? LOOK IT. SHE BOOPED ME. 🧡🧡🧡

So in honor of Baz-kitty's positive strides towards being able to accept the affection her heart craves, please know that all future boops in my profile go directly to this sweet, aloof-but-in-need-of-secure-love feline version of Baz. XD

[xhannahbananax03]

Slip Away

Pairing: Austin x Reader

MASTERLIST

Words: 2k

Warnings: Slow burn, some angst

Her hands rose up towards the stage as a look of confused pleasure took over her face. She watched Elvis Presley move across the platform in the center of the recording studio as he sung his heart out, body clad in a leather suit, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.

Y/n was unsure how to feel. She knew she felt incredibly aroused watching him up close like this, her thighs pressing tighter and tighter together confirmed that for her, but her face spoke otherwise. She was screaming and practically crying with the other women surrounding her as everyone sat and watched the performance, but every few seconds you could see her take a moment to really think about how appropriate her feelings were, before her expression went back to excitement and you could tell she stopped caring once more.

"Aaaaaand... Cut!" Baz shouted out with the clicking clapperboard as a few studio bells rang and everyone gave Austin a loud cheer, Baz walking up onto the stage to talk to the young man about the scene.

Y/n rose with the rest of the crowd and straightened out her costume dress as she went to the Craft Service Table to grab a cup of water, knowing that her vocal cords were going to be needing it for all the screaming she'd have to do as an audience extra.

"Hey honey," She heard Austin creep up behind her, grabbing a water for himself as a lady from makeup dabbed some of the sweat away from his forehead quickly, "What d'ya think?" He asked smiling down at her as she shook her head up at him in amazement like she always did.

"You've once again blown me away," She shrugged honestly and his smile became brighter making her smile in return.

"Mr. Butler! If you don't mind taking a seat over here for a moment so we can do touch ups?" An on set hairstylist shouted out, motioning towards a chair a few feet away and Austin looked at Y/n to which she nodded and followed him over.

"How are ya today, Janice?" Austin asked politely, taking a seat in front of the woman her smiled down at him.

"I'm doin' just fine, Elvis," She mocked his accent in a teasing tone as she usually did and he blushed lightly while looking to the ground as Janice started her work.

Ever since Y/n and Austin stared working together on set about a year ago they became fast friends. She was only an extra for a few scenes, while Austin was the star, but he still took notice to her.

He doubted he'd ever have the gall to admit it out loud, but he found her just stunning. She was charming too and everyday he found himself trying to get closer and closer to her, "So," Austin cleared his throat, looking at Y/n who was staring back, "What're ya doing later after work, Y/n?".

"Oh probably same old, same old," She shrugged, "Just gonna go home and order some takeout," He also loved that about her. Y/n was never ashamed of being human like a lot of people were in this industry, like how Austin was at times.

"Well mind if I join ya?" He asked curiously, a little blush taking over his cheeks as he looked at her hopefully.

"Sure," She shrugged nonchalant and Austin's heart dropped a little at how little she seemed to care, "It's a date," She smiled at him kindly before turning around and making her way back to Baz as he called in the extras to speak to them.

With her back turned to Austin, she let out a shaky breath, hoping he didn't notice the excitement in her tone. They had hung out a few times outside of work but usually in a public setting or with other cast mates around so it never felt really private.

She'd be lying if she said she didn't have a massive crush on Austin. He's the whole movie she auditioned for this movie in the first place, she grew up watching him on T.V and had just developed this liking for him and the more she got to know him the more she realized she much preferred who he was off-screen.

They ran the scene a few more times along with a few other ones that Y/n wasn't in so she just waited outside the studio, talking with a few of the other extras about how they were sad that this was their last day. Luckily, it wouldn't be hers, she had one more scene that was for the end of the movie and then she'd be done.

When Austin finally made his way outside, Y/n could see the almost craze in the other women's eyes as he approached with that dazzling smile everyone became accustomed to, "Hi ladies," He smiled and a few of the women blushed while giving a small wave or little 'hello' in return, "Ya wouldn't mind if I stole this pretty little thing from y'all, now would ya?" He practically flirted with the women, throwing his arm over Y/n's shoulder and she shook her head lightly, grabbing onto the tips of his fingers. He knew what he was doing.

"Not at all," One of the women shook her head waving to the pair as she led the group away, "Call me sometime, Y/n!" She called over her shoulder before Y/n said she would and turned to walk towards the car with Austin.

He had a personal driver so thankfully she wouldn't have to call a cab tonight, most nights she didn't anyway, Austin offering to drop her off at her apartment on his way home.

"You're cruel," Y/n jokingly told him, shoving his arm away from her as the pair chuckled and Austin threw his arm back around her, squeezing her close and making her heart flutter, "Leading those ladies on like that," Y/n tsked and shook her head at him in a scolding manner.

"Oh please, like you're not jus' as bad," He scoffed out as he opened the back door of the black SUV for her, "Ya act like ya don' have every guy in that damn studio's attention," He scowled a little, not letting her see but his bitter tone uncontrollably slipped through his words.

"Well it's hard to notice anything when you're in the room, Aus," She said with a little laugh but meant every word and the look he gave her showed that she wasn't doing a good job of hiding the truth from him, so with a deep blush, she sat down and scooted across the bench seat to the other side of the SUV, allowing Austin to get in behind her.

The rest of the ride was spent in semi-awkward silence after her little comment and she found herself beating herself up over it. How could she be so stupid? If the silence didn't confirm Austin's discomfort with her flirting, she didn't know what did.

"Here we are," She mumbled with a tight lipped smile, walking up to her ground floor apartment door and grabbing her keys out of her bag to unlock it, "I'm sorry about the mess," She apologized as she opened the door and stepped inside, Austin following her close behind.

"If ya think this is a mess, ya should see my place," He chuckled softly, looking around at the relatively clean apartment, just a few things scattered about, as he tried his hardest to get the mood back to where it was before he went all quiet in the car.

He didn't mean to, he just wasn't used to her flirting with him. He was usually the one to do that and they just kind of chalked it up to that being his 'Elvis' persona poking through, trying their hardest to avoid what was going on between them, but when she finally flirted back, he was in shock. This confirmed something for him, he just wasn't sure what and didn't want to jump to the conclusion of her reciprocating his feelings and scaring her off.

"So what do you want to order for dinner?" She asked, pulling out a few menus and tossing them on the island of her kitchen as Austin removed his shoes and coat by the door, "I've got one for Chinese, one for pizza and one for a Mexican place. Or we could just order McDonald's or something," She shrugged, dropping her purse on the counter and looking over at him, a small blush still on her cheeks and he smiled.

"I'm down for whatever ya want, sweetheart," He grinned at her, his flirtatious manner coming back tenfold and she nodded her head, grabbing one of the menus and her cellphone.

He looked around her apartment as she made the call and took his time to look over some photos of her, one in particular caught his attention and he picked up the frame. Inside was Y/n, in a wedding dress, standing across from a man as they smiled at each other.

Austin looked at it awhile longer, confusion evident in his face. Y/n had never mentioned a partner, let alone a husband. Why wouldn't she think to bring that up?

"That's Nate," Y/n told him, surprising him and making him jump a little, he didn't mean to snoop like he had and he quickly sat the photo back down before looking to her and seeing a sad smile on her face, "He was my husband," She explained, wanting him to know that they were no longer together.

"Was?" He asked curiously but not wanting to sound judge-y, he knew he'd still like her no matter what.

"Mhm," She nodded taking the photo from the stand where it sat, "We got married, like, super young," She chuckled, looking at the picture of her wedding day with a fond expression, "He was in the military and was killed," She finally let out, not really having talked to anyone about it in a long time.

It had happened over 10 years ago, so she had had plenty of time to mourn, but when she moved away from their shared home, she lost contact with his family and just kinda stopped talking about it. She did, however, keep this one simple photo of them together, "I hope you don't mind," She looked up to Austin, still holding the picture in her hands.

He looked at her for a moment with a sad expression, before gently taking the photo from her hands and setting it down and bring her into his arms to hold her tightly, "I'm so sorry, Y/n," He told her honestly, kissing the top of her head and now he found himself being upset that he had even thought about feeling jealous, "I'm sure he was a great man,"And Austin was sure he was, judging by the photo alone, Y/n looked extremely happy.

The sweet moment was broken up by a knock on the door and the pair pulled apart, "I've got it, honey," He told her, squeezing her arm before going to answer the door and grab their food, "Wanna eat in the living room? Maybe watch a movie?" He suggested, carrying a bag of food towards where they were in the living, but before he could even get a few steps away from the door, he was met with her standing directly in front of him and he smiled down at her, waiting for her answer.

Y/n stared up at him with a nearly blank face as she reached out and took the food from his hands, setting it on the floor by their feet and he looked at her confused, "Wha-" His words were quickly cut off by the feeling of her lips pressing against his firmly.

It took Austin only a second before he was holding onto her and kissing her back just as passionately. He had no idea where this was coming from, but now that he had her, really had her, he wasn't about to let her slip away.

Tag List:

@meladollsims @literally-just-elvis-fics @jessie-williams1 @venus-haze @lov3r0fr0ck @briannaisanxious @galvz-42 @omgellenlouise @flamencodiva-reblogs @missmaywemeetagain @rosecoloreddesire @knoxvillesshoes @girlblogger2002 @jessicarcates @captured-memory @madilynnk @just-a-dumb-rat @perfectlyboring @ewwwyuck @aalishifts @groovydeputyfestivalkid @dre6ming @austinsrealgf @cherryredheart @lwritesstuff @gjclark19100 @thatonemoviefan @ash-omalley @foxxycurriespice @heartbrake-hotel @woundmetender

[j-nipper-95]

Fic Rec (plus late Six Sentence Sunday) Monday!

Ok, so I’m late posting this, but oh well. It’s being posted!

I’m not sure if my tumblr notifications are working properly at the moment (I know I missed at least one tag last week, so if I’ve missed your tags the last couple of weeks I’m sorry, I’m not ignoring you, tumblr is acting up!) but I’m still alive. I’m back, and I have words to share!

July’s Camp NaNoWriMo has been amazing for getting words down for COTTA, and I am finally back on track with following the El Dorado plot line again! I managed to double the word count goal I had by 1am this morning, so all in all, a very productive month. So without further ado, here’s six(teen) sentences from that! Thanks for the tags @artsyunderstudy @theearlgreymage and @hushed-chorus (and anyone else if I’ve missed your posts!!)

Baz POV

“Get in the back,” he grunts, nodding at the truck. “I’ll cover you.”

“With what, Snow?”

“Just do it.”

No. I won’t leave him.

“They’ll shoot you on sight,” I say (I plead, I almost beg. Don’t make me face the thought of losing you, Simon). “I can’t get over there without your help,” I add. If there’s one thing I can count on right now, it’ll be Simon’s inner heroism.

“Bet you can,” he says, without thinking.

“Two shillings say I can’t.”

The challenge in my voice is enough to make him turn to glare at me. And knowing how much it irritates him, I cock an eyebrow and tilt my chin up to look down my nose at him.

Snow opens his mouth to argue but snaps it shut when we hear the Now Next almost at the corner we’ve just run around.

“You’re on.”

And then Jas also tagged me in a fic rec post, so here’s a few I’ve been enjoying recently!

Someone Wicked by @artsyunderstudy ([E, 53.9k, Carry On, complete]

I had the chance to beta read this fic with @cutestkilla and oh my God it was a rollercoaster of emotions and tender smut and I loved every single second of it!

Normal AU, complicated family relationships, religious guilt, chronic pain rep, escort Simon, this fic had me hooked from the second Ashton pitched it to me! It’s angsty and soft and emotional in all of the ways we’ve come to expect from her fics, and it ticks all of the boxes.

Ashton managed to tackle some really tough emotions and relationship dynamics in this one, and I don’t really want to say any more and risk spoiling any of it.

Check it out if you haven’t yet, but just remember it is explicit with plenty of on page smut/sex scenes!

More Than Friends by @fatalfangirl [E, 19.9k, Carry On, incomplete]

This fic updated today. It was a good day!

Simon and Baz are roommates, and having survived lockdown together their feelings are becoming much more than platonic. Both of them like the other, but neither is willing to compromise their friendship.

Another Normal AU, this time ‘friends with benefits’, featuring lots of unhealthy coping mechanisms, a sexually promiscuous Simon (which I for one am loving!), Baz as a writer, and some new tags that were added today (trigger warnings for mentions of past ab*se and panic attacks).

This fic is updating currently, and I cannot wait to see what Stacy has in store for the boys! (Again, it’s explicit, so minors begone!)

What Remains After the Storm by @hushed-chorus [M, 86.3k, Carry On, complete]

When I tell you this fic had (and still has) me in a fricken chokehold, that’s an understatement! I still think about this fic on a daily basis, and Demi’s writing is simply stunning.

A fantasy/historical fiction(ish) AU, with fae, curses, much pining, and plenty of cute goats.

Simon is a goatherd on the edge of a fishing town, and while he’s not entirely trusted by the townsfolk, he’s not outright despised either. He works the land, and always pays his tithe to the fae. Until he pulls something from the ocean. Or rather, someone. When Baz flees his fae captors and returns home, he and Simon have to work together to help him remember his humanity.

This fic. Oh. My. GOD! Every update had me on the edge of my seat. Do yourself a favour, and go and read this fic. Especially as Demi is considering writing more in the same AU!

Strictly Professional by @palimpsessed [E, 38.5k, Carry On, complete]

This fic completed a couple of days ago, and I didn’t have time to finish reading it until this morning, and my god was it worth the wait!

Simon is a new recruit at Baz’s firm, and he’s joined the company just in time for the professional conference. But not in time to get his own hotel room. Cue only one bed forced proximity fast burn get together!

This fic pays off so quickly in the best way possible! The emotions Pal has managed to get into such a short space of time for the boys is incredible, and had me so invested in this relationship! Baz trying to remain professional, Simon’s unabashed flirting, neither of them managing to keep their hands off each other. Again, every single box ticked!

The Selkie and his Boy by @hushed-chorus [T, 21.8k, Carry On, complete]

It’s very rare that I pick up a T or G rated SnowBaz fic. I usually go for M and above, but once again, Demi had me hook line and sinker with this one.

Every year, Baz and his family holiday in Cornwall (can I just say how much I love Demi’s writing about Cornwall? It’s so nice to see the South West represented in fic!! As a Dorset girl who holidayed a lot in Cornwall as a kid, I love this so much!). Everything goes to plan … most of the time. One year, he meets a boy with bronze hair and blue eyes that utterly captivates him, and who he expects to spend the whole summer getting to know.

But the boy never shows up the next day. Or the next. Or indeed for the next several years.

Flash forward seven years, and an embittered Baz finally meets Simon again, and finds out why Simon never came back all those years ago.

An AU where Simon is a selkie, Baz is still a vampire, and Mordelia is unabashedly sassy!

Tagging (for both SSS and fic recs): @artsyunderstudy @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @aristocratic-otter @palimpsessed @larkral @orange-peony @dragoneggos @prettylightsbigcity @stardustasincocaine @fatalfangirl @cutestkilla @ileadacharmedlife @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ebbpettier @martsonmars @erzbethluna @hushed-chorus

[chen-chen-chen-again-chen]

Six Something? Sunday

Hello hello hello!! Thank you for the Sunday tags, @onepintobean, @johnwgrey, @fatalfangirl, @forabeatofadrum, and @artsyunderstudy!

I don't have sentences, but I do have a thing for Jelly Babies, my Swithin/OMC (Swegory) fic which keeps growing tentacles and tails:

[ID: Grimm Family Tier List (GREGORY'S {troll emoji} RANKINGS)

S Tier - {Unicorn emoji} Swithin (duh the S is right in his name)

A Tier - {Vampire man emoji} Baz (Simon's bf, good egg)

A Tier - {Rose emoji} Daphne (keeps offering me food) (Note: yes, Daphne's emoji is a rose because of Billie Piper)

B Tier - {Cookie emoji} Tyr (great baker, nice, will probs move up to A tier)

C Tier - {Vampire woman emoji} Mordelia (scary, always on her mobile)

D Tier - {Joker emoji} Sophie (chaos demon, likes taking the piss out of me)

F Tier - {Horse emoji} Swithin's dad Malcolm (Is this too mean????)

Hello tags, and a blather about productivity & rest under the cut!

I want to say a huge thank you to every kind human who sent me their blessings and good wishes for a restful Sunday. It’s been a weekend full of R&R over in this here lazaretto (as my spouse and I call our haunted house), filled with good pizza, daytime naps, luxurious head scritches, and cackling over the anime My Next Life as a Villainess (which is hysterical. Everybody’s gay for the protagonist. Everybody).

I wrote a lot of Jelly Babies at what is (for me) a truly insane place, churning out the first 6-7 chaps in a weekend because I could not. Stop. Thinking about it. This was followed by three days where I was put on a steroid, Prednisone, for a post-COVID ear infection, and it made me VERY ENERGETIC and VERY UNFILTERED (good for writing Gregory, in other words), and I felt a lot like that gif of the cat smashing at the keyboard.

Then the slump hit, as it invariably does! I do truly feel incredibly blessed when my trio of the DMC (the Daemon, Muses, and Creativity) take over and I can write and write and write. But I know enough now about that process to brace for the impact when the DMC leave and I am just a human again, left to tend to my fleshy body and to learn how to walk again when before I was able to fly.

Writing and posting Jelly Babies is a huge push out of my comfort zone, which is good for me. It's so funny to me now, looking back on this post about Why I don't usually post WIPs. "The tears of Mummers House" was such a good exercise in posting a WIP, but that was like wading in a kiddie pool whereas now, with Jelly Babies, I feel like I have firmly pushed myself into the deep end (in the good way). Bless COC and every human (looking at you, @sailorblossoms) who has been an inspiration for just making the work, putting it out there, and Having Fun With It.

I really struggled with whether to take a break from posting today. Part of my brain was like "But my family is STARVING, I have to FEED them" and a much more sensible part was like, "Every single person reading this story would wrap you up in blankets and tell you to take a nap." So again, thank you for being wonderful, and I'm so excited to return with more sweet baby gays tomorrow! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Pressure-free hello tags, and I hope y'all have a restful Sunday: @bookish-bogwitch, @captain-aralias, @cutestkilla, @excalisbury, @facewithoutheart, @hushed-chorus, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @larkral, @martsonmars, @moodandmist, @nightimedreamersworld, @raenestee, @sailorblossoms @thewholelemon, @whogaveyoupermission, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

[ollyandglitter]

Bubble Bath

Words: 7.5k

Summary: In the Time of Covid-19, Simon and Baz return to Hampshire, reminisce about the past and look to the future. Plus some bubble bath scenes :)

Notes: thanks so much @twinkle-twinkle-up-above for the very profound beta and editing. You have a huge part in it.

Also, thank you so much for this stunning art 😍 go check it out!

The story on AO3

---

March 2020

Baz

Daphne wouldn't let us in. It's a little odd even considering Snow is standing next to me all messy and dirty, and admittedly we also have landed a Canadian mountain dragon right into her lovely rose garden. She wouldn't even open the door, and through the glass I can see her waving her arms frantically and pointing in the opposite direction. I frown, look suspiciously around, and knock again, before my phone buzzes.

"Baz!" Daphne cries out.

"Daphne," I try not to sound irritated, but honestly, my patience is quite short today. Six hours of flight on a dragon over the North Atlantic is cold, shaky and very uncomfortable. For everyone's sake, she better let me in soon to a proper human house, throw a chunk of meat to the very hungry Asriel in her garden, and let me have a nice bubble bath. (Snow can join if he wants to.) (Frankly, he should wash more, and someone ought to take care of his health.)

I open my mouth, but before I manage to speak, Daphne squeals in my ear, "you can't come in!"

I move my phone away from my ear and glance uneasily at Snow again. He is immersed in a conversation with Asriel, brushing his wings and pointing to the sky enthusiastically.

"Look," I try to sound reasonable. And determined. "We'll get the mud off our shoes before we go in, all right? But we've had a long flight, and before that we were on a three-month quest all over the Canadian wilderness, nearly died several times if you don't mind me saying, so I would sincerely appreciate it if you please—"

"You can't come in!" she wails. "We're under quarantine!"

I frown. "What?"

"Didn't you go through the airport?" Daphne asks. "Didn't they explain the restrictions? Actually, I'm surprised they let you into the country..."

"What on earth are you talking about?" I'm starting to feel like something is terribly wrong here. Snow is spreading his wings, clearly getting ready to join Asriel for an afternoon flight.

"It's Swithin, I just took him to the park, he wanted to meet Louie, you know—Lady Millicent's grandson, you remember him, he was invited for the twins' birthday—"

"Daphne," I try to stop her. She's unstoppable.

"—So he got sick, and she was just about to get that knee surgery, but then they cancelled all the elective surgeries, so—"

I wonder if  Daphne is having a stroke. A moment later I almost burst through the closed door when I realise she said Swithin was sick??

"Basilton," my father takes over the phone. "A pandemic broke out in the country. Louie got sick, and Swithin is under quarantine, to make sure he isn't sick himself so he won't infect others. Daphne thought it would be best if the whole family were under quarantine right now, so you can't come in." He pauses for a moment and continues, "You should also be under quarantine, according to the law."

"What? Which law?" Did we fall into a parallel universe accidentally? We should have listened to Shepard, who insisted that dragon flights may contain unexpected risks.

"How far did you wander out there in the wilderness?" he asks impatiently. "Check the news, for Crowley's sake!" he hangs up. I stare at my phone, puzzled, and then check the news.

Simon

Flying with Asriel is awesome. I fly underneath him, and he shields me from the wind. I really hope he'll stay for a while, though it's obvious that the woods surrounding the Grimms' hunting lodge are no match for his home in the Canadian Rockies. But it's just so nice to have someone to fly with.

My mood remains bright even when we land. Asriel is nibbling on a deer, and I lean on a wide tree trunk and listen to the birds until I fall asleep.

Baz

"Right, there are quarantine rules for all arrivals to the UK," Bunce announces nonchalantly over the phone. "Mum sneaked me in. Quarantine, Pfft. Honestly. As if she hadn't cast a protective spell on the whole family."

"Does it work?" I frown. Daphne's magic is a little weak, but my father's is all right, and I don't believe he would neglect his children that much.

"I'm not sure," Bunce admits. "Dad's still looking into it. It's a new disease and all that. Anyway, school is closed, and mum and dad are working from home, so they decided it would be all right if I just don't go outside."

Hmm. I'm not sure this would work with Daphne. She sounded utterly hysterical, as usual when her children are involved in something unpleasant. And this experimental spell the Bunces tried on themselves so recklessly wouldn't be acceptable to my father at all.

"Why don't you just go home?" Bunce suggests.

"To London? It won't be easy to land a dragon in our back alley." I think gloomily about my long-awaited lovely bubble bath. A global pandemic, seriously? Just when we got back from a long, dangerous, and filthy quest in the sheer Canadian wilderness? "Fuck," my heart sinks, "We'll have to sleep in the woods again."

Simon

I'm woken up by shouting. I hear a snatch of panicked voice before I even open my eyes, and immediately jump on my feet and draw out my sword.

"Simon!" It's Baz. Something's wrong. I start to run towards the sound of his voice, then instinctively rise up into the air. (My flying instincts got much better in the Canadian wilderness. We met a lot of weird things there.)

I find him easily from above. He's running into the forest, trying hastily to clear himself a path with magic. Baz still uses magic for everything. Sometimes it's useful, like when he decides we should clean the house. (And also sometimes on Saturday mornings, when I think I should get up already, and Baz spells a duvet so soft and warm over us that it drowns me like a puffy cloud, and with his cool arms around me, and his nose buried in the back of my neck, I can't even try to start moving. But I decide that's all right, eventually.)

"Simon," Baz gasps. "We need to set up camp."

"Huh?" I'm confused. Baz kept talking on and on about his precious bubble bath all the way back to England. He spent most of our flight in an endless monologue about all the different foams Daphne has.

He says something about a pandemic. I can only understand that his parents refuse to let us in. The idea itself doesn't surprise me that much—I've lived in more than one place that refused to let me in every now and then. Once I even slept in the backyard of the children's home the whole night. (I stayed in the kennel, the guard dog was always friendly to me.) (I would secretly give him some dried sausage sometimes. He just always seemed hungry.) But I thought Baz's parents were usually more hospitable than that.

I try to ask something, but Baz starts talking about quarantine rules. It annoys me a bit, reminds me of all the times the Mage tried to isolate me for my own protection.

"We can't go home," Baz says. "We can't leave Asriel alone here. So we'll have to sleep in the woods. Again." He looks so devastated. I have no choice but to think for both of us.

"We need an isolated place, right?" I try. "But comfortable. And with a forest big enough for Asriel. And a proper bath." Maybe Watford? Is it considered isolated? Maybe Agatha will spare us a room in the barn with the goats?

Baz looks at me. Looks around. Looks at me again "Maybe..." he says slowly. "My old home."

Baz

It's not like I haven't set foot in Hampshire since Snow turned the whole area into a giant dead spot. I got there once or twice to take some stuff. It just... feels suffocating. Like scuba diving under the sea—you know you have all the proper equipment, yet it's hard to shake off the feeling that there's just no air around. I've felt like that sometimes in the higher parts of the Canadian mountains, too. There was almost no magic there either. That's why we tried to stay close to moderately populated areas, even if they were miles away, and the magic was weak and unstable—because I just couldn't keep going without any magic at all for more than a day or two. My whole body starts to tingle, and I get restless, and also, I'm practically unable to do anything.

Snow looks at me. The emotions that show on his face chase one another: Fear. Guilt. Hesitation. Concern. Something soft, that almost makes me reach out for his hand. Guilt again.

"Baz," he mumbles, his head down. "There's no magic there."

"I know," I admit, a little uneasily.

"You hate things without magic."

"I don't hate you."

Simon's gaze jumps up. A sharp pain passes through him, and immediately melts into agonising self-doubt. He bites his lower lip. He still can't quite believe that it's possible to love him just the way he is, that magic doesn't mean that much to me, and nothing I say convinces him. And when I try to show him—well... it was difficult, up there in the Canadian mountains. A few hours without magic does indeed make my skin tingle restlessly, even if I try to hide it. And Simon feels it, and feels uncomfortable, and immediately rises up to try and find the nearest town on the horizon and head in its direction. Sometimes he would lift me up in the air, or force me to join a flight on Asriel, so we would get there sooner. And then, when I would immerse in the blissful reunion with my magic, he would become all quiet and distant, go fetch something and only return hours later. Or he would suddenly get tired and go to sleep. Usually, it passed away after a while (my magic duvet does wonders.) But it didn't exactly help convince him.

"Simon," I begin. He shakes his head violently.

"No, no. Let's just... rent an empty house or something. Some sort of an Airbnb. I'll pay."

"No, that's ridiculous." I don't want him to pay. I also don't want to sleep in a stranger's house. I've missed my bed so much that my heart aches.

"Then we'll get you back to London, Asriel and I. You stay there, and I'll take him to Epping Forest."

Pfft. He must be joking. As if I'll let him sleep in the woods cuddled with Asriel, while I'm stuck at home alone. Between this and spending a few quiet days with Snow without magic, I know my first choice.

"No," I say firmly. "I want to go to Hampshire. I... miss home." I manage to sound like I mean it at least a bit. I feel a kind of tremble deep down, that suggests I might actually mean it. I've never felt quite at home in Hampshire, not like in our room at Watford, but it's still the house I grew up in. Where all my siblings were born. The forest where I first learned how to hunt. I haven't thought about all this in years, but suddenly I can't shake off the thought of going back to Hampshire, and I feel a kind of anxious excitement. How would it feel, to be in my home without any magic in it?

Simon

I don't want to go back to Hampshire. I don't want to go back to Hampshire. I try to come up with a logical explanation that will convince Baz, but my mind is racing too fast and I can't quite speak.

Hampshire: The Humdrum throws a familiar red ball at me; a fire; fancy pyjamas covered in mud; wings. The memories strangle me like a thick fog. Baz's parents run outside screaming, and I fly away in a wild panic, navigating instinctively with the magic I stole from the world. I haven't been able to look Malcolm Grimm in the eye since, not that I had many opportunities. I'm not invited to visit often. Daphne is nicer, but sometimes she casually mentions something about her home, and I know how much she misses it. Baz also talks mindlessly about his home sometimes: the room he used to play in, the magnificent library, the ghost of some ancient uncle who lived in the woods and would occasionally help him find a wounded deer—Baz always felt better when he could put an animal out of its misery.

I stole all of that.

And yet the house remained in its place, as still and gloomy as a tombstone. Several other magickal families sold their houses to Normals and left their past behind, but not the Grimms. They would never give up their ancient family estate. But it's also very clear that it's no longer livable.

The burden of guilt settles on my chest and makes it hard to breathe. Faintly I mutter, "I don't want to go back to Hampshire." Because how will I be able to set a foot in this place and still look Baz in the eye, and believe that he is still capable of loving me, when he remembers everything I've done to the world? Everything I've done to him? Everything that I really am?

______________________________________________________________

Baz

I step carefully into the front hall of the place that used to be my childhood home, and is now a dark space full of covered furniture. We have a Normal housemaid who is supposed to come and clean up every couple of weeks, but I'm not certain she's doing a proper job. The windows are sealed, the floor creaks under my feet, and everything smells like dust. The house feels abandoned. I raise my wand to cast a few basic cleansing spells, and stop abruptly as realisation hits me. It's a dead spot. Huh.

Simon comes cautiously behind me. He's uncharacteristically quiet, his head is bowed and his shoulders are slumped as if he's trying to disappear inside himself. His wings are flattened against his back tightly, and even his golden curls look faded in the faint, dusty light.

He looks at the wand I'm still holding in my hand, and begins to say nervously, "Baz, I'm not sure that was a good idea—", and I just have to stop him before we find ourselves teetering in the wind again.

"Come on, Snow, we have a lot of work to do," I say with all the vigorous high spirit I can muster, throwing my wand aside. "Come and help to clean up."

Simon

Cleaning up takes forever, and I throw myself fully into it: I open the windows and sweep the floors and remove heavy, dark covers from rigid Victorian furniture. It's the least I can do. At first it's distressing, and I try not to look at Baz, who is trying to look enthusiastic and motivated rather than restless and grumpy. He walks through the rooms, grumbling to himself when he thinks I can't hear. But gradually, the monotonous physical work relaxes me. Then a vague feeling of familiarity starts nagging me, and I realise I've actually done all of this before.

I did a lot of housework in a lot of old Victorian houses that had been converted into public charity buildings, homes for the poor, neglected children. And even though It's been years since I last held a duster (our flat in London is regularly cleaned by magic, obviously), the well-practised movements from my childhood are woven naturally into my muscles, and I don't even have to think about it. The automatic movements feel right somehow, like a forgotten note of my true self, like meeting the Humdrum again and not fearing him anymore.

As time goes by, Baz tries less and less hard to fake enthusiasm, and dissolve into the familiar sour mood I’ve come to know all too well on our quest. Instead of drowning myself in guilt again, I decide to try to be productive, and turn to the bathroom. Baz isn't very skillful at Normal-style cleanings, but Merlin, I surely have more than enough adequate experience.

Baz

The bathroom is so warm and bright and clean and feels like home, that I almost forget to feel suffocated. I've spent so many hours here—soaking in the sudsy water, listening to violin and piano concerto records, and almost managing to push aside everything that was happening in my life: my father's disappointed looks, my aunt's mess, the blood I just drank in the forest. I've spent so many lovely summer evenings trying not to think about how Snow spends his time in his orphanage, and how at the beginning of each school year he returns too thin and too sad, and it takes Bunce at least a few days to cheer him up. So many hours I've spent in this luxurious bath, listening to Schubert's Ständchen, D 889 and dreaming up Snow wrapped in my arms, relaxed, satisfied, safe and happy.

I start the bath. Daphne gave us so much stuff before we left, that we barely managed to carry it all. ("We've got way too much anyway," she said. She also insisted that all the toilet paper in the supermarket had run out, but that surely was a joke.) With a happy sigh of delight, I open the bag and take out an ultra-soft exfoliating sponge, lavender bubble elixir, vanilla and patchouli body wash, white rose bath bombs, coconut bath oil, and milk and honey creamy foam. I hang the towels on the vintage copper hangers, choose some of my favourite soaps, and start filling the bath with hot, fragrant water.

Simon

I leave Baz in the bathroom and go handle the groceries in the kitchen. I haven't seen a kitchen this big in years, and I ease up into the routine work. I air out the cupboards and take the covers off the chairs, wipe the counters and put vegetables in the fridge, and suddenly I find myself singing.

In one of the children's homes, when I was maybe six or seven, Betsy the cook would sneak me biscuits when I helped her clean the oven, and let me watch her make lunch on Sundays. I pick up some potatoes and start peeling them absently, humming a nursery rhyme she used to sing. The notes dance around me as I once knew them: not as plain matter-of-factly magic spells, evidence of my constant failure, but as small drops of kindness that I've treasured in my childhood with yearning devotion. Precious moments of peace and warmth and attention that were gifted to me alone. I fry onions and ground beef and hum How Many Miles to Babylon, sinking into a foreign and unexpected feeling of almost-home. My old therapist asked me repeatedly about my childhood memories, and I always answered I don't remember anything; I really didn't. I didn't even know that I still had such memories hidden somewhere inside me.

I'm about to put the pie in the oven, singing loudly "If your heels are nimble and your toes are light, you may get there by candle-light", when Baz pops up behind me. He clears his throat, and I jerk and turn around. He stares at me.

"Are you trying to leave?"

"Huh?" I'm confused.

"It's a navigation spell," he sounds hurt.

I lean back on the counter. "Baz, it's a nursery rhyme," I say. And also, I don't have magic, and there is no magic here, and magic isn't everything there is to life, and where on earth could I possibly go—but that's all getting too much to say.

Baz nods. He's still scowling. I sigh and add, "I made a pie."

"You did?" Baz is surprised. I don't blame him. I don't cook much. There are so many pubs and bakeries and sandwich shops around us, Baz eats lunch at university or at work, and on Saturdays we're invited to Lady Ruth's, so I just don't see the point. But sometimes I think that maybe none of these is the actual issue—maybe there's just something too warm and domestic about home-cooked meals, that I don't feel entirely comfortable making it something I do. Something that's happening naturally in our house.

We don't talk about it much—about our place in London, which neither of us feels at home in, and there's still hardly any furniture in there even after three years. About our plans for the future, after Baz finishes his master's degree. About marriage and children. I know Baz wants a family, of course he does; He is the most domestic person I know. He won't admit it, but secretly he wants his father's life precisely: a beautiful home, a beautiful wedding and beautiful children, and a warm home-cooked family dinner at the end of each day.

We've never talked about it. Even after three years, I'm still uncomfortable with the idea of a family of my own, one that I fully belong to. I'm afraid to ruin everything for everyone again. Maybe if Baz would have asked... maybe I would try to deal with it somehow. But he never brings it up. He doesn't suggest that we buy a place that will feel truly ours. He doesn't even offer to cook. And he has no idea that I'm actually able to cook a bit, and may even enjoy it sometimes.

"Yes," I manage to say. "I made shepherd's pie."

Baz stares at me for a few more moments, then takes a step forward and reaches hesitantly at my hand. "Come to the bathtub."

Baz

Snow isn't used to baths. (Big surprise.) As I soak into the warm water and lean back blissfully, he curls up on the other side of the tub, his knees pulled up to his stomach, one hand swirling small cycles in the water and stirring the foam in a restless motion. I nudge his shin lightly with my foot, and he slides backwards instinctively until he's pressed against the wall of the tub, cowering like a trapped animal. I sigh and close my eyes, trying to dissolve into the peaceful inner space where I almost manage to forget about everything.

"How do you feel?" Snow's voice cuts through the steamy fog, small, almost inaudible. I open my eyes.

"Fine. What do you mean?"

"I just thought..." he hesitates. "About the... you know. Magic." He barely whispers the word, as if he's afraid to remind me.

I think about it. When I first stepped into the house, I felt the usual suffocation, but now—inside my homely-familiar soothing bubble bath—it doesn't feel quite as awful. I've missed home, I suddenly realise. I did not expect this. I never felt entirely comfortable in this house, but I guess I somewhat liked it nonetheless. "I feel all right," I say, and add carefully: "I think I missed home a little, maybe." One beat of silence passes, then two, and three, and then Simon's hushed voice cuts through: "I think I did, too."

Simon

I soften into the steamy mist. Everything smells sweet, clean, and soothing, and the water is a little too hot, but Baz's leg pressed against mine is cool enough to send a pleasant shiver through me. I see him watching me; his foot rubs against the bottom of my calf, pressing and loosening and pressing again. I look down at the small ripples my hand is swirling in the water, and dare to say, "Some memories came to me. From... before."

Baz says nothing. I can feel him tensing up. His foot lingers on my calf.

"They're… I don't know." I can't quite put it into words, and these memories are slippery and shaky. It's like trying to remember a smell, a touch. "There's just something about them."

"Something," Baz repeats.

"Something... not just bad."

Baz is quiet. He's waiting for me to continue, but I'm out of words. The air between us is strained like a string, and I can see him frown intently. A few achingly still moments pass, and I'm starting to think frantically about a change of subject, when he rises up suddenly. The water waves around him and splashes on the floor, and he doesn't even notice. "Wait a minute," he says hastily and hurries away.

Baz

I run back to the front hall, water dripping around me and my footsteps wetting the wooden floor, but I don't even think about a wiping spell. Lunging towards our bags still piled by the door, I pull out my violin, carefully wrapped in its case. I wipe my hands, pick it up carefully and run back to Snow, because I think I might be onto something. I might have found a new spell that no one has ever known before, that seemed utterly impossible up till now.

Simon

I manage to settle back into the fragrant bubbly water when Baz returns and pauses by the doorway, holding his violin. The door is half open, the air has cooled a little, and the water is now just the right temperature. He tucks the violin under his chin, lifts the bow and slides it gently over the strings. The opening notes rise up, then go down, and rise up again, in a melodic rhythm of a quiet stream:

"How many miles to Babylon? / Three score miles and ten / Can I get there by candle-light? / Yes, and back again."

The tender wave of music flows on, and on, and on. Baz's movements gradually relax and open up, dissolving into the melody, his eyes closed, his body sways absently from side to side. He is as beautiful as a black-and-white movie character, his pale skin shining like porcelain in the soft light of the bathroom, a dim glow surrounding him like a halo. The musical harmony echoes in the room and swirls around me. I relax into the water, immersed in warmth, comfort, and small drops of kindness that grow bigger and bigger until they become a trickle of rain, then a flood, then a river, then an ocean. The bath is a warm ocean on a golden summer day, and Baz's music is an endless flowing wave that rises and falls and rocks me tenderly, until I'm drifting away in a repetitive rhyme that feels like magic:

"Can I get there by candlelight? / Yes, and back again."

When Baz eventually stops, it feels like hours have passed by, and I realise that my eyes are wet and my breathing is deep. The air I exhale reaches my very bottom. When Baz slides back into the water, I shift towards him like he's gravity itself. I melt against his chest, my head's tilting back to rest on his shoulder, and my words begin to flow on their own.

Baz

Simon scatters incoherent fragments of stories that I don't even try to fully comprehend, and it's impossible anyway, no more than it's possible to line up the waves of the sea. Instead, I just hug him and rub his back over his wings. Tears run down from his eyes, and he doesn't wipe them away. I kiss his wet cheeks. When the flow of stories finally fades away, he curls up against my chest, his body limp, his eyes half closed, his head dropped back.

I'm starting to think he fell asleep when his gaze drifts towards me with an almost imperceptible shift, his breath fluttering against my cheek as he whispers, "Baz?"

"Hmm?" I murmur and kiss his shoulder.

"Do you want to buy a house together?" he asks in a low voice.

I close my eyes and pretend I didn't hear him. We had a long day, and Simon is tired, and his eyes are still swollen with tears. It would be hasty of me to dive into a conversation that he doesn't mean, that he'll do anything to forget about tomorrow morning. I kiss the side of his head, inhale the lavender scent of his hair and pretend to be immersed in a peaceful silence, until Simon squirms out of my embrace. I look up and my eyes meet his—very blue, very wide, and something like a hurt expectation spreads through them as he blinks rapidly a couple of times, but doesn't look away. "What do you think?" He whispers.

I pull him back into my arms and give myself a moment to calm down before the corners of my mouth curve up in a tentative smile. Simon is still looking at me. I'm not sure he's breathing. I'm not sure I'm breathing. I think of my home in Hampshire, of my home in Oxford, of my home at Watford, of Simon who has always been my home.

I let my full smile, wide and dazzled, slip out as I tighten my arms around him and my head tilts towards his. "When you're ready," I murmur into his ear, "you don't have to ask."

Simon laughs and kisses my neck, and even though the water is starting to cool down, my blood is boiling. Simon's wings spread over and wrap both of us in soft, warm leather. His tail slides and twists in the water around my thighs, teasing me. I let out a strangled breath and lean forward to kiss him. Simon smiles at me, puts a hand on the back of my neck and pulls me closer to him, and I can no longer separate teenage fantasies from reality -- and suddenly an unmistakable, loud ding cuts through the house.

Simon leans back with a frustrated groan. I grin at him as I get up and pull him outside, wrapping him in a big, fluffy towel so he doesn’t get cold. "Come on, Snow. Your pie is ready."

I allow myself to take a small, happy leap in the air when he goes in front of me and can't see. Then I grab his hand and walk with my back straight and a wide smile spread over my face—because today I'm the greatest mage who ever lived, and I discovered the hardest spell that ever was: the spell that will make Simon Snow feel at home.

______________________________________________________________

December 2022

Simon

I run into the house and throw the bags by the door. I don't have much time, and I need to get everything ready before Baz finishes his phone call. (He's immersed in a conversation with Penny about their final project. She called just in time, right before I parked, and the conversation can keep him busy for a while, but I better hurry still.) I grab one bag and run upstairs to the bathroom.

Somehow, even though Baz adores baths as much as Cleopatra herself, we haven't taken many of them together over the years. Our flat in London doesn't have a bath, and at first, I tried to suggest that we look at other places, but the prices just keep rising, and it didn't make sense to give it up. It's a lovely place just on the edge of the city, surrounded by lively green meadows, and nearby is a small forest where Baz can hunt. (It's not quite as remarkable as the woods in Hampshire, but at least he doesn't have to drink only rats anymore.) I like joining him there and spread my wings high above the trees when no one can see. (The neighbours got used to the wings—Penny told them I'm a particularly eccentric circus artist, and considering all the creepy guests she and Shepard bring over all the time, it doesn't seem to surprise them in the slightest. But they still don't know I can actually fly.)

We visit his parents on holidays, and Baz sometimes uses Daphne's well-equipped bath, but I don't feel comfortable joining him—because honestly, this is his parents' house. And I'm still not sure I actually like baths, all steamy and oily and so very still.

But I do love Baz, and despite what he believes, I am in fact capable of being romantic. I think.

And the oracle that Shepard met in the pub insisted that 2023 would be the most fortunate year ever known to mankind, so it's quite clear that now is the right time.

The bubbling water fills the tub. I know nothing about all those soaps and foams Agatha brought me, but Baz loves everything, so I reckon it doesn't matter. White thick bath cream mixes with rosy bath salts and pine-green foam, and I start handling the fairy lights and the roses (I'm not sure what to do with them, so I just put the bouquet in the sink.) The room starts to fog up in a sweet-fragranced cloud, just as Baz yells in irritation from the foot of the stairs: "You haven't even started unpacking?!"

Baz

I disconnect the phone call, and finally consume fully the sense of home. We returned from our quest to Edinburgh just the day before Christmas, and Simon would have stayed longer if I hadn't insisted that we can't miss Christmas eve with my family. We don't visit my parents much, but Christmas was settled years ago. My siblings love Simon—he flies the little ones over the lawns, tells adventure stories and plays football with them. Daphne makes an enormous amount of food, and fusses over us. (Simon never turns down an extra serving, and that wins her over every time.) Even my father got used to it eventually: he's still too formal with all of us, especially with him, but when he's settled in his armchair with a book while Simon plays with the children and Daphne chats cheerfully, he seems almost relaxed. Once or twice he even asked me about my "future plans" and glanced at Simon, which is as close to a pressure to settle down as he's probably capable of.

Still, when we returned from Edinburgh Simon insisted that we spend a night in Hampshire before going to Oxford. He said he wanted to "spend some alone time" with me. So we parted ways with Penny and Shepard at Southampton Airport, and rented a car for ourselves.

I'm still not sure how I feel about this house. We haven't been here much since the two weeks of the COVID quarantine, but occasionally when we pass through the area, we find ourselves staying for a few days. Simon feels strangely comfortable here, now that the entire area is a dead spot. He doesn't even have to think about magic. And I feel comfortable because Simon feels comfortable, and because I grew up here, and it will always feel like home to me at least a little. And also, because the silence between us here is both intimate and light. The house is large and spacious, and I can peacefully listen to music and play my violin for hours, without disturbing the neighbours like in our small city apartment. Simon wanders around in the woods (he's already befriended all the creatures in it), and flies miles away in every direction, until his cheeks are flushed and he can't stop smiling. When he comes back, we make dinner, and then he's soft and cuddly as we watch telly together. Honestly, what more could I ask.

I still have a hard time staying for too long in a completely non-magickal environment, but even I came to admit there's something to it. This Normal stillness brings out some sort of a new perspective. As Simon says, songs are just songs here, phrases are just phrases. We rediscover mundanity, and it's unexpectedly soothing at times. And when I look at Simon like that, I can see him as he probably sees himself most of the time: a Normal boy who grew up in a Normal environment and just wanted to belong somewhere. Not the greatest mage who ever lived, not a pool of overflowing and uncontrollable energy, not a weapon in a war that isn't his. Looking at him as he cooks and sings to himself mindlessly, I understand a little better his journey from being that Normal boy to The Mage's soldier and back, and how difficult it is for him to explain—even to himself—what he is now. In these moments I give up completely on explanations, solutions and interpretations, and just hug him or sing along with him for a while, and something about this homely warmth soothes us both. If only I had known before that this very place, which for years has made us both feel so anxious and detached, would give us a home.

Simon

I finish undressing when I hear Baz going up the stairs, carrying the bags. I look around one last time, take a deep breath and come out to the hallway.

"Do you mind helping...?" He starts, and I ignore it because I don’t have time for this right now. My heart is beating too fast. Baz frowns when I step closer and reach out for his hand. "What—" he starts, and I cut him off, "come on."

Baz drops the bags without taking his eyes off me. I pull him by the arm. "Come on, I prepared a bath."

Baz doesn't argue. (He never argues with a bath.) I open the door and the steam surrounds us immediately. Baz inhales sharply and stops in place, looking around at the fairy lights and the flowers and the rosy bubbly water. I pull him more urgently. "Come on, the water is getting cold." He's still staring around, so I start unbuttoning his shirt myself. He comes to his senses when I pull his shirt off completely, and finishes undressing on his own. Then he dips a cautious hand in the bath, lets out a blissful sigh, and slides inside. Step one—check, I think, and my heart is drumming in my chest like at the beginning of a quest.

"So, you finally felt like taking a bath?" Baz asks. He smiles, but I can hear the hesitation in his voice. He knows something is wrong. (I always argue with a bath.)

I clear my throat. I'm naked and shivering a little, though the room isn't cold. "Baz," I start. The steam is fogging up around me, so it's hard to see him, and it helps me to keep going. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Friday?" He furrows his eyebrows.

I let out a frustrated breath. "No! I mean, yes. It's Friday. But what else?"

"Um… the day before Christmas?"

"Right," I start fidgeting restlessly. "And also...?"

Baz leans back and settles lower in the water. He hums quietly for a moment before saying in a softened voice, "Why don't you tell me, Snow?"

"It's… um. Well. It's our anniversary."

Baz is silent for a couple of seconds. "We don't celebrate an anniversary."

"Right," I admit. "But that doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

"It doesn't?" Baz asks.

"No. I mean, it exists. It's today. It's this night, actually. Which isn't exactly today, but waiting for the night would have ruined the surprise, so..."

"Snow, what on earth are you talking about?" He's starting to get up, and I think he's about to do something very Baz—to take my hand, to hug me, to pull me into the bath—and I just can't let that happen. I inhale dizzily, like at the moment before I spread my wings and fly.

"Baz, wait," I say shakily. "Sit down for a moment. I need to say something."

He soaks back into the water. Through the steam, I can see him frowning and worrying at his lip. I don't have much time left. I grope for the sink, get stung by a rose thorn (who was the bloody idiot who decided roses were romantic), turn around, take a few steps forward and lean on the edge of the bath. It feels ridiculous, it feels insane, it feels like the first moment when I'm rising up in the air and the wind hits my wings.

"So," I start again. "It's our anniversary. Our seventh anniversary," I add.

Baz nods, "Okay."

"And seven is a magickal number," I say. Baz frowns again, so I quickly continue, "And we've been living together for a long time. And I love you."

"I love you too," Baz says softly.

"And someone has to say it already." It's not going the way I planned. Not at all. I feel like I'm wobbling in the air and drifting up and down and rolling over, and then suddenly my wings spread wide and I just fly. "here."

I push the box into his wet palm. It almost slips out of his grip and sinks into the water, and I almost leap into the bath to rescue it, and it's just about the most ridiculous romantic moment ever.

Baz tightens his fingers around the box. He doesn't open it. With one delicate finger, he strokes the black velvet. He looks at me. I rub the back of my neck nervously. "Come on, open it."

Baz opens the box. A white gold ring with a thin dark-violet centre stripe sparkles in the soft, misty light. Baz loves violet. And the contrast will match the colour of his skin. And this is an ancient ring I got from that elf whose village Shepard and I helped save. Baz loves ancient and magickal things.

He still doesn't say anything. He looks at me. Looks at the ring. Looks at me again.

"Well?" I choke out.

Baz puts the ring on his finger. It fits him perfectly, because Baz is perfect. (And also, Penny helped me to spell it to his size.) He reaches a hand out to me and says, "come to the bathtub, Snow."

Baz

I pull Simon to me, tighten my arms around his chest and kiss his neck. I kiss him, and kiss some more, until I'm so hot that my vision blurs. I bite his soft skin carefully and suck one drop of blood. It's an intimately familiar dance that we've perfected over our years together, and still my heart leaps anxiously and then excitedly every single time. Simon presses against me and drops his head back on my shoulder, exposing more of his neck. He rubs my cheek with his warm skin, which always smells like brown sugar and butter and summer. My head spins, and for a moment I lose myself in it, in how good it all is, in how good he is, in how good he is to me. I suck another drop of blood and inhale his sweetness. Simon lets out a strangled whimper and his tail curls and tightens around my thigh. Small, quick breaths emerge from his parted lips. His skin burns against me and he grips my palms tight. I almost start to drown in all of this goodness, but then a flash of light on our clasped hands catches my eye, and I suddenly remember that we still have a conversation to finish.

I let go of his neck and turn his face towards me until his beautiful blue eyes meet mine. Simon blinks as if waking from a dream.

I clear my throat. "So," I say and look at my hand, then back at him. "You were saying something?"

Simon smiles. He pokes my thigh with the pointed end of his tail. "Do I really have to say it?"

My lips curve up in an effort to imitate my old sneer. I'm failing shamefully, of course; A vague, affectionate shadow of a smirk hangs at the corners of my mouth as I raise up an eyebrow and say, "Use your words, Snow."

Simon lets out a wet laugh and buries his face in my shoulder. His muffled voice vibrates against my skin as he asks hoarsely, "Do you wanna marry me?"

Simon

It's the worst proposal in history. I know that. Baz absolutely knows that. I should have done everything differently, and now it's hopeless. Maybe we could just forget about it all, and he'll go back to drinking me.

Baz

It's the best proposal in history. And I mean in all five dimensions Bunce's parents are married in, and in all the other dimensions there are.

"Yes," I say. I lift our joint hands and kiss his knuckles. I run my fingers through his wet hair, stroke his cheek fondly with my thumb, and pull him for another kiss. Simon melts into me and a sigh of relief escapes him. He laughs and says, "Okay." I think he's wiping his eyes. His wings spread over my shoulders and wrap us both. I kiss him again, and again, and again, then slip back down the familiar path to his neck. "On one condition," I murmur against his skin, and kiss a mole there. "After the wedding, we're getting a new house, with a bath."

[if-i-can-dream-of-elvis]

Thoughts on the new Elvis and Priscilla movie news?

Hey! I'll be honest with you: I'm not very fond of this project for many reasons. First of all, I think it's too early to release any other movie about Elvis' life. Of course, I always thought that the film industry would be eager to surf on the success of Baz's movie when he made Elvis' name return to the media spotlight, but, folks, Elvis premiered in theaters less than three months ago! There are movie theaters still screening the movie I think! I imagine this "Elvis and me" movie (apparently entitled "Priscilla") won't be released anytime soon (maybe sometime in 2024) because it's probably still in the early stages of production, but I still think everything's happening way too fast. Not to mention that one of my friends said she read somewhere that filming starts in October/November??? I mean, it took Baz Luhrmann years of research to come up with "Elvis", just like Austin Butler devoted years of his life to prepare himself for the most challenging role of his life: portraying Elvis Presley! This cast announcement that came out two days ago was so sudden, it seems to me that the production of "Priscilla" is really moving too quickly… how can we have a film with such quality and care if it's being rushed like this??? I'm not questioning the work of director Sofia Coppola because until today I've only heard praise for her, but I really don't know what to expect from the final result.

Another thing that intrigues me is the fact that Priscilla has yet to comment on the matter. I don't know if she retains the rights to "Elvis and me" or if she really doesn't have the power to accept or decline offers to adapt the book, but I find it very strange the way it's all coming to light right now. I must confess to you that I have never read this biography before, so I cannot speak precisely about its content; absolutely everything I know about the book is based on the opinions of those who have read it. I haven't watched the 1988 TV movie either. But from everything I've heard about the book, something tells me that Elvis won't be put in a good light in "Priscilla", unlike he was in "Elvis". And I think the Presleys wouldn't allow such a thing since they were so defensive and enthusiastic about Baz's work.

For decades, many people tried to invalidate Elvis' legacy, and Baz's movie was essential to demystify many things, especially the allegations of cultural appropriation, because he was careful to present the historical and social context that led Elvis to identify with black music. And just now, after we had a film that finally brought some humanity to Elvis and showed his true soul, his naivety, his devotion to the stages, his insistence on standing up for what he believed in; now that a whole new generation of fans has emerged to celebrate the great artist he's always been… they're about to make a movie that will rely on controversy to capitalize on Elvis' image once again and they'll probably villainize him, making a whole wave of hate come back in full force. Of course, we still can't say for sure if the new adaptation will faithfully follow the book, or if there'll be some changes along the way. But either way, "Priscilla" is a big no for me. There are many other ways to take advantage of the increased public interest in Elvis: bringing in new documentaries about his career (like the one Steve Binder is producing), bringing exhibitions around the world, screening concerts or old Elvis movies in cinemas, I don't know, there's no shortage of ways to keep his fans entertained.

I really wanted Baz's movie to be the last and ultimate work about Elvis' life; it was genuine, uplifting, astonishing, fit for a king. If they're going to bring up controversy, I'd rather they let Elvis rest in peace. And we, his fans, also deserve a break. Only we know how exhausting it is to have to respond to the same criticisms and rumors about his life all the time. We don't deserve to be stripped of this positivity, that's what I think and I'm sorry to those who disagree with me.

[neonthewrite]

Mediator

The prompt today is "Communication", which is kind of a toughie! I ended up returning to my sci fi story with Baz to see how he handles being stuck in a room with a giant cat alien.

Other stories so far:

(1 Denizen) (2 Spy) (3 Mediator) (4 Fugitive)

~~~

So the rumors were true. They’d somehow brought in a giant alien before, a live prisoner, and it remained in the bunker all this time. Baz had never put much thought into those old stories until he saw the new one they brought in that day. Perhaps, in the back of his mind somewhere, he’d thought that the previous captive died sometime after being brought in. Perhaps he’d tucked away that assumption and gone on with his life like so many others did. There was no love lost between their species - he would easily believe that one of these creatures would get too dangerous to keep alive.

But no. It was right here, alive and lounging as comfortably as it could  in a giant cage. Chains and bars kept it in place on that side of the expansive room, though not for lack of effort, Baz newly noticed. Long scratches marked the floor and the back wall of the onetime warehouse.

This alien was much bulkier than the other one he’d seen. If they’d managed to keep this one contained, the other one probably didn’t stand a chance.

The alien leaned towards the bars of the giant cage, narrowing its huge black eyes at him. He noticed the catlike shape of the alien’s mouth, giving him a notion of a smug smirk.

Until those lips curled back into a snarl and showed off huge, sharp teeth, while the creature’s horns flattened back and its whole body tensed where it lay.

“Woah, woah!” Baz blurted, pressing his back against the door despite the broad floor space separating him from the trapped alien, in addition to the wall of bars. He held up his hands. “No no no, no need to get all bothered. Definitely didn’t mean to wake you up.”

The alien’s expression relaxed, to Baz’s shock. The snarl lessened and the eyes seemed to glare a little less. Its horns twitched back up into what he assumed was a neutral position. 

To even further shock, the alien opened its mouth and spoke English. “No. Wake up.” It’s voice had a strange, haunting timbre to it, so near human and yet so not. It echoed strangely in the warehouse, almost like it was keening.

Yowling, Baz decided. It sounds like yowling.

He took a few steps forward despite his fear a moment before. His heart pounded in spite of himself. “You know our language? Why are they keeping you in here? They just brought in another one today, what do they even need prisoners for?”

The alien narrowed its eyes again and huffed, large tail thumping on the ground in frustration. One of its four hands lifted up, trailing a heavy manacle from its wrist, and it held up four long fingers, the claws of which looked quite dull; it had filed them away with all the scratches on the floor and walls. It spoke again in that strange, catlike voice. “For. Good yes? Human … happy?”

Baz frowned and the room fell silent with the alien watching him closely while he paused. The first thing the alien had said to him … they were some words cherry picked from what he’d said. This new statement, or questions, or whatever, confirmed that it wasn’t only mimicking him. He glanced at that giant hand, still holding up four fingers.

“Oh!” he realized, so sudden that the alien blinked in surprise. “Four!” He held up four fingers too. Then, in an effort to speak slower since this alien clearly wasn’t proficient yet, he said “I’m sorry for talking so fast. I did say ‘four’. They sound the same … do you,” he decided to include some gestures with his speech in case it helped, and pointed at the alien, “know why you are here?” He finished with pointing both hands at the floor and then gesturing at the room around him. “Why are you a prisoner?”

The alien tilted its head. Then, cautiously, it pointed its hand at Baz. “You? Human talk … what?”

With so little to work with, Baz struggled to understand, but it was like a puzzle he couldn’t let go of now. He took a few more steps toward that cage, eager to find out if maybe he had been right in his hunch that these aliens, invaders or not, didn’t deserve to be captured like this. “I am talking to you,” he explained, emphasizing the words the alien seemed to have synthesized. “I,” he repeated, now gesturing at himself. Finally, he pointed at the alien again. “You.”

It considered him for a long moment. Then, it gestured at itself, then at Baz, saying “I. You. Human talk lesson?”

Baz grinned. “That’s great, you learned something new!”

The alien shifted where it lay again, this time pushing up so it knelt in the cage. Baz tilted his head back as it suddenly towered over him even more, but the alien moved slowly, carefully. Once sitting up, it placed two of its hands on the floor just inside of its cage. “Human happy? Good yes?”

Baz nodded. “Very good! I am happy.”

“You happy,” the alien murmured. Then, louder, it asked “You … forward? Come, sit down human talk lesson?”

“You want me to teach you more words?” Baz guessed. The aliens were intelligent, he knew that much, so teaching it probably wouldn’t be too hard. He had to wonder who was in charge of keeping it down here, and who had decided how much of the language it was allowed to know.

Well, fuck those rules. This big, purple cat thing wasn’t living up to any of the stories.

He stepped forward, closing the distance towards the cage. His heart fluttered a bit, but he steeled his nerves. “Yes, I can teach you more, uh, human talk.” He came to a stop and sent a shaky smile upwards at the alien’s watchful face. “Where should we-”

He didn’t get to finish his question because the alien suddenly lunged at the bars, one of the hands it hadn’t set down darting through and rushing right at him. Baz yelled out a curse and all but threw himself backwards, the sound drowned out by the loud clang of the bars echoing around the room.

He landed on his butt just in time for that huge hand to slam into the floor in front of him, tensing up and scratching those worn-down claws along the floor. Another hand gripped the bars and the alien’s face had contorted into rage, showing those teeth again. This time, he could swear it was grinning.

It spoke again, this time in its own language, a yowling and hissing sort of sound, and though he didn’t understand a single word Baz could feel the vitriol. The alien clawed at the floor once more and snapped its teeth before leaning away from the bars, slapping them with one hand.

Baz pushed himself backwards even knowing that it couldn’t reach him. His heart stuck somewhere in his throat, pounding away and preventing him from calling for help or asking what had just happened. But he knew what had happened. The giant alien, which now settled itself on the floor again, glaring moodily at him, had almost tricked him into coming close enough to drag him into that cage.

And if he had any doubts about what might happen, it spoke up again. “Human hurt I. I hurt human. Forward come, I hurt human.”

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 21, 15 December: Holiday

rated T, 783 words, general tags: christmas eve, killing rats and kissing each other is what simon and baz do best, fluff

Finish reading under the cut!

BAZ

“You have to hurry!” Simon whines, tugging on my hand.

I can’t bear to explain why I don’t want to walk into Penny (and now also Shepard’s) flat. It’s Christmas Eve and we’re meant to be having a small get together with them and Agatha and Niamh; I should be excited.

I’m just thirsty.

Simon drags me to the door and flings it open, immediately rushing to Penny like he hasn’t seen another human in years. (It’s been a day and a half since he got lunch with her and Shepard.)

I step in and shut the door behind me.

Agatha and I strike up a conversation, but I’m distracted by the thumping of her heart, the pounding of the blood in her veins. Niamh comes over to join us and I’m stuck staring at the prominent veins on her hands.

It’s fully my fault that I didn’t hunt before this — I usually have better time management skills, but today’s been off-kilter already. I catch Simon’s eye from across the living room and he gives me a huge grin that I return with a hopefully convincing smile.

Niamh, Agatha, and I end up talking about Watford for a while then I fish my phone out of my pocket when it buzzes.

Simon: r you okay?

Simon: u look peachy

Simon: peaky*

Simon: is that the word?

I text him back quickly, trying not to be rude to Agatha and Niamh.

Baz: Yes to both.

Just as I’m sliding my phone back into my pocket, Simon texts again. Why he’s texting me from across the room and not just walking over to me, I’m not sure. Simon does whatever he pleases, I suppose.

Simon: do you need to hunt?

Pocketing my phone, I don’t dignify it with a response.

I do need to hunt, but I can last one lousy evening without ruining everyone else’s fun and going to drink rats alone in the darkest alleyway I can find.

Then Simon is suddenly appearing at my side. “Baz!” he says, shooting me an anxious glance. “I forgot something in your car — will you come unlock it for me?”

“You can just take the keys—”

“No!” he insists, tugging at my sleeve and somehow manhandling me out the door.

“Simon, what the fuck—?”

He kisses me once the door’s shut. I can feel his pulse in my mouth.

“If this was just a ploy to snog—”

“Shut up for once,” Simon whines, tugging at the lapels of my coat. “We’re going to go hunting. Right now. No arguing. I need to spread my wings anyway.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Simon’s true to his word and kisses me silent.

“You don’t have to come with me,” I offer, once he’s pulled back.

Simon frowns. “When have I ever not wanted to come with you?”

That’s true. Over the past six months, Simon’s always come with me to hunt if he’s around. He likes spreading his wings and helping me catch rats. He thinks it’s romantic. (I think it’s a necessary evil in order to appease my disturbed boyfriend.)

“Fine,” I mutter. “Quickly, though.”

It doesn’t end up being very quick. We hold hands as we find a dark alleyway — Simon says he’s scoped out the best places to find rats near Penny’s flat before just in case and he swears this one’s the best. Both Simon and I catch a few rats and I down them quickly, but he keeps making me laugh or pushing me up against the walls and kissing me.

By the time I’m satisfied and full and he’s taken off his jacket to spread his wings, we’ve been gone for at least half an hour. Simon feels that we might as well make it longer so we snog lazily for another ten or so minutes before I insist on going back to the flat.

We walk back, hand in hand, and it’s snowing a bit when we make it to Penny’s flat.

“Did you actually need something from the car?” I ask Simon.

He giggles. “No. Just needed an excuse.”

“You couldn’t have come up with something that wouldn’t have taken us only five minutes? They probably think we snuck off to shag.”

Simon raises his eyebrows and grins impishly. “We still could.”

I cut him off with my mouth against his, then pull back to admonish him. “No. It’s Christmas Eve. We’re going in and having a nice evening with our friends.”

“And then—?”

“And then we’ll go home and shag. You’re fucking insufferable.”

A bit of snow lands on his nose and I kiss it off.

“Happy Christmas Eve, darling,” he says.

“Happy Christmas Eve, Simon.”

[otherworldsivelivedin]

Under the cut you will find links to...

16 Teen to Explicit rated Snowbaz:

Canon Compliant / Post Canon

Canon Divergence

Alternate Universe

CANON-COMPLIANT/POST-CANON

Good to You: for @ferelden-loser, words: 11,029—Rated: E

Simon has decided to treat Baz to a sophisticated meal for Valentine’s day; but when they get there, they find they’re more interested in each other than the food.

🥂😏🥂😏

Three Sheets to the Wind for RooBadley, @giishu and @ninemagicks, words: 1,608—Rated: T

Simon and Baz have had a few too many bevvies and are off their face. Trashed. Utterly wellied. And, for some reason, Baz’s eyebrow looks down right good enough to lick.

47 British ways of saying "I'm drunk" and a messy Baz's sexy eyebrow dancing.

👬🍷👬🍷

Hot in Here: for @xivz, words: 2,599 —Rated: M

Simon Snow can’t dance.

At least, that’s what I thought.

Post-canon, 90s/00s R&B, Thirst Trap!Simon

🥳🕺🥳🕺

Sweet Like Chocolate, words: 2,491 —Rated: T

Simon wants to get out of London and Baz knows just the place... full of chocolate, soft Christmas vibes, childlike wonder, snow and more fluffy softness than I’ve ever let myself write before ❤️ (and a tiny bit of jealous Baz, because I love that shit)

Post-canon, soft as fuck, engaged and happy

🍫🍫🍫🍫

Omertà, words: 5,711 —Rated: T

(Vera’s a Normal. She rationalizes all our strangeness by pretending we’re in the Mafia. Father spells her innocent whenever it gets to be too much for her.) - p.157, (Kindle Edition.)

Oblivious Vera™, on the day Baz gets kidnapped.

Omertà - (n.) An oath, Taken by the Mafia; Code of Silence

“Deleted” scene, TW: Kidnapping (canon level), Perceived Mafia Violence (not explicit)

🍷🍷🍷🍷

Serves You Right, words: 11,127 —Rated: T

Cook Pritchard does the cooking, with a few helpers, and we all take turns serving at mealtimes. On weekends, it’s help yourself. - p.34 (Kindle Edition)

...what if Simon and Baz were forced to serve together at mealtimes?

Simon & Baz growing up together (Years 5-8), Canon-compliant, “deleted” slice of life scenes, 5+1

🧈🧈🧈🧈

Cater to You, words: 2,259 —Rated: T

Simon’s been therapy baking for a while now, and we all know Lady Ruth loves to feed everybody cake...

Post-canon ❤️soft Snowbaz❤️, because it’s a basic requirement on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.

Follow-up ficlet to Serves You Right but, as everything is canon-compliant, you don't have to read Serves You Right first!

🍰🍰🍰🍰

Today was awful, but then there was you, words: 845 —Rated: T

Simon has had a bad day. Baz is worried and wants to comfort him, but will Simon talk?

Post-canon, emotional hurt/comfort, domestic

🍝🍝🍝🍝

Agatha Returns, words: 656 —Rated: T

Agatha returns from California and Penny may have messed up... hasn’t Simon told Agatha yet? Oops.

CO Canon-compliant, WS Divergence.

👬👬👬👬

CANON-DIVERGENCE

Phantom at the Opera: for @tea-brigade, words: 13,388 —Rated: E

Simon Snow is stuck at the opera with his bloody ex—stuffy tux and strangling bow tie included. He might as well just drown his sorrows at the bar; it’s shaping up to be an awful night, after all. That is, until he spots a familiar raised eyebrow. (Merlin. Has it always been that attractive?)

Includes Art!

Reunion, Second Chances, Banter, So much flirting and thirst, Violinist!Baz, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Foreplay, Praise Kink, Early twenties Snowbaz

🥂😏🥂😏

Raising a Demon 😈: with @scone-lover for @krisrix, words: 28,571 —Rated: T

Magickal Life Skills class doesn’t seem like it can get any worse… that is, until the 7th years are given fake Magickal babies to take care of for a week. Tasked with keeping a tiny human alive, Simon and Baz must deal with the trials and tribulations of Magickal parenting, including crying, night feeds, and… explosions?

It’s a chaos demon. Instructions not included.

Crack with feelings, and they were fake parents oh my god they were fake parents

😈😈😈😈

This is Our Lives: for @liz-snow, words: 4,298 —Rated: T

When Madam Bellamy assigned us a “This is Your Life” essay about our roommates, I thought I’d hit the jackpot.

This is your evil life, Basilton Pitch; full of sacrificial virgins, dark rituals and rats that must taste rank.

Turns out, we actually have to interview each other.

And sometimes, answers only bring about more questions. (Questions I don’t want to think about.)

Getting Together, Watford 7th year, Emotional hurt/comfort, Enemies to loves in 4K

✍️✍️✍️✍️

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

Shot to the Heart: for @scone-lover, words: 5125 —Rated: T

Baz is on the rug. He’s supposed to be dead, probably. Instead he looks up into the barrel of a haphazardly handled gun and the crazed blue eyes of a man in a neon green tracksuit.

Simon’s a thief, just looking to make some easy cash by looting a dead man’s flat. But, turns out, the man isn’t dead after all. (Does that mean he has to kill him?)

OR: The one where Snowbaz have a meet-ugly and agree to be a shitter, low-budget version of Bonnie and Clyde.

😈👬😈👬

I Meant It, You’ll See: for @vampire-named-gampire, words: 6917 —Rated: T

If I’d have known when I woke up this morning that I’d be chasing after a bloke with what I’m pretty sure are romantic feelings sloshing around in my gut, I’d have gone straight back to bed.

Especially if I’d known that bloke would be Baz.

But, I have to go after him. I can’t let him board that train without telling him I meant it.

Everything was the same—but no magic, Rom-com style feel good, banter, text fic, Older Snowbaz Flatmates

📱 📱📱📱

Watford Wonderland: for @vampire-named-gampire, words: 8,288 —Rated: T

Simon and Baz are yearly rival crochet peddlers at the Christmas Market, but it seems this year, Simon’s thoughts and feelings for Baz are getting all tangled up in knots.

Severe misuse of crochet puns and metaphors, you’ve been warned.

Non-magical Alternate Universe, rivals to lovers

🧶🧶🧶🧶

Strangers Like Me: Words: 19, 421 —Rated: T

The Magickal Creatures of Britain have been hiding in their gilded cage for far longer than any of the Dragon Elders can remember by the time Ebb hears a baby crying outside the Gate.

Simon is taken in and raised alongside the rest of the dragons and magickal creatures in Wales; but whilst he hopes that most of his new “family” accept him, it’s common knowledge that humans will suck them dry of magic, given half the chance.

When Strangers arrive at the edge of the forest, Simon takes it upon himself to do anything he can to protect his family. They’re suspicious, after all—especially that one human, with his long dark hair and piercing eyes.

Humans aren’t to be trusted. Humans are monsters, aren’t they?

COBB Art

Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Simon is raised by Dragons, Scholar!Baz, Expedition seeking magic/creatures, Welsh Mythology & Folklore, Elemental Magic, So much worldbuilding, Slow Burn

[seducing-a-vampire]

I felt called to do this today-- and just generally to shout about how in awe I am of the talent in this fandom!

Tagging all those I tagged here, if you feel like it! And anyone else who wants to share the love! xoxoxo

I limited myself to only one-shots posted in the last few months and still got a little out of control. So, here are just a few of the MANY fics that have blessed my AO3 history lately! 

call it even by @effing-numpties​ (T, 846 words)

“And the road not taken looks real good now And it always leads to you and my hometown” -'tis the damn season, taylor swift

Baz returns home for the holidays and runs into his ex-roommate/almost boyfriend in a pub.

BEST TAG: baz being really dramatic send tweet

MY THOTS: it’s no secret i am a slut for carry on x taylor swift content (and calli keeps gracing us with that!!!), but even apart from that, this is an achingly beautiful fic. The dynamic of seeing each other after years apart and never knowing what could have been is expressed so wonderfully. It’s a hell of an emotional journey in < 1000 words, and I can’t wait for the rest of these evermore fics!! 

I have the power of magic and Vine compilations on my side by @vampire-named-gampire​ (T, 5240 words)

“What’s going on?” I whisper to Penny, who’s gaping at Miss Possibelf, her expression part excited, part horrified. “Listen,” she says, rolling her eyes. (She’s scarily like Baz sometimes. Or Baz is scarily like her.) “That includes memes, Vines, Tik-Toks and whatever else you could think of,” Miss Possibelf says. My mouth falls open as I realize what’s going on. “Are we… are we doing Internet spells?”

BEST TAG: the mage gets owned

MY THOTS: if you somehow missed this gem during COC, please do yourself a favor and RUN to AO3 right now. It’s hilarious and sweet and we truly love to see established relationship moments at Watford! Brought us iconic spells like “Move I’m Gay” which is canon to me now.

left on read by @sncwbaz​ (G, 1671 words)

Baz stared at the texts long enough that his screen almost turned to black again. He was about to close out of the app when a tiny speech bubble with moving dots appeared at the bottom of the chat. It took him a moment and a held breath to figure out what this meant. Simon was typing.

__

Baz can't sleep and decides that reading through past text conversations he's had with Simon is a good way to spend the very early ours of the morning. Things get interesting when he suddenly sees that Simon is typing something. At 3am.

BEST TAG: low key angst 

MY THOTS: a quietly heartbreaking but also hopeful look at simon + baz’s relationship as they struggle to connect sometime pre-WS. They’re tender and hesitant and awkward, and it’s all beautifully written. read this!

NSFW recs under the cut: 

Been In Between by @snowybank​ (E, 1586 words)

“Ready for another?”

Baz splutters. “Absolutely not. I do have a refractory period, Simon.”

Simon and Baz are soft (and hard) and they test some limits.

BEST TAG: just a fuckin SPRINKLE of praise kink and monsterfucking

MY THOTS: Yall. I don’t even know what to say except if you are a human with a pulse you need to read this fic. Lauren is a fucking ICON at writing smut with so many feelings, and this was an absolute masterpiece. The best part of it is ... kind of a spoiler???? At least it took me by surprise and positively melted my heart. So read it and be melted yourself.

Hot in Here by @otherworldsivelivedin​ (M, 2599 words)

Simon Snow can’t dance. At least, that’s what I thought. This fic is pure self-indulgence over the fact that 90s/00s R&B is The Best genre to go dancing to 👌 and my all time favourite HC that Simon can't ballroom dance, but that boy got moves and I will die on this hill.

BEST TAG: A love letter to 90s/00s R&B

MY THOTS: i cry when i think about how much I love this fic. Dem spun the most masterful world in a small space, and it’s just so FUN????? it’s HILARIOUS??? and I just love to see these boys enjoying life. truly an instant classic in my mind.

Envy of the Gods by @motherscarf​ (E, 8526 words, see warnings)

“You are a naiad?” The nymph rolled their eyes. “You are a cow? Or a man. Both?” Their tone was sarcastic. Simon didn’t notice. “I am a man,” Simon frowned. He hadn’t tucked his tail very well- it twitched free as if it wanted to argue with his statement. Simon pretended he didn’t notice. “You don’t… seem like a nymph.” “And what, pray tell, does a nymph seem like?” Sneered the nymph.

Or, Orpheus & Eurydice au, but Simon is a minotaur and Baz is a naiad

BEST TAG: cancel Apollo 2020 

MY THOTS: okay, I admittedly was not a Greek Mythology Gay (tm) and i am woefully lacking in said knowledge, but that did absolutely nothing to lessen my enjoyment of this beautiful and heart-wrenching fic. Also, I’ve since been working my way through percy jackson books for the first time (lol) and this fic has been oft on my mind. The prose is immaculate, and the emotions are soft, and just everything is too too lovely and bittersweet!!!! GAH.

Adams Driver is Well Fit by @sharing-a-room-with-an-open-fire​ (E, 709 words)

Set Watford 8th year. Simon and Penny watch Star Wars at the cinema. Is Simon really thirsting after Adam Driver - a certified sex god? Or could it be someone else?

BEST TAG: The author isn't into Adam Driver but can sure appreciate good aesthetics

MY THOTS: i am incredibly self-indulgent in reccing this because Di very kindly wrote it for me BUT everyone else should read it too because it is: (1) hilarious, (2) sweet, and (3) truly demonstrates the lengths of simon’s lack of self-awareness. and we love that for him. also in my mind, everyone in CO/WS is a star wars nerd.

[crystalwillow]

Tryyy.. Detective Ramsey

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Casey Valentine (F!MC)

Rating: NSFW/18+ 😈

Word Count:5.7K

(This idea came from a conversation I was having with @deansmyapplepie).

=================================

It was nearing that time of year again, where usually Casey would go out and buy herself the Valentine’s Day special in a café with every intention of loving herself for the day, but it would always go terribly south and she’d end up crying into her pancakes back at home as she ate them from the to-go container cold. It’s the one day of the year she absolutely hated her last name. Everyone expected her to play cupid and help them fall in love within 5 minutes, or help them make a move on their crush. So this year, she was thankful to have work. Arriving at Edenbrook she entered the diagnostic office with purposeful strides, she placed her coffee cup from Derry Roasters on the table and her bag on the floor underneath, before taking her coat off and hanging it on the back of the chair with a flourish.

As she sat down, she sighed contently. Zoning out as she picked up her coffee, sipping it as her mind drifted to the one man she wondered if she’d be seeing personally today.

“Good Morning, Dr. Valentine.”

Casey jumped as the man’s voice greeted her, choking on her sip of coffee and spilling the rest down her white coat.

“Ahhh!” She spluttered.

She stared at herself and the mess in disbelief before looking up to meet his sapphire crystal blues with her forest greens. Was he… laughing?

“This is not funny Ethan.” Casey scolded.

“I beg to differ. From where I’m standing.. it’s hilarious.” He chuckled fondly.

Casey narrowed her eyes, not in the mood for bullshit from anyone today. Sighing heavily Casey snatched up the box of tissues from the middle of the table and started soaking up the mess. Ethan was still laughing to himself as Baz joined then a short while later.

“Morning Casey! Morning Eth..an? … What’s got you so smiley?” He questioned.

“I scared Casey. Her coffee went everywhere. Her face was a picture! Quite priceless really” Ethan explained.

Casey was fuming at the table still mopping up the mess. Baz looked over and gave her a sympathetic smile. She tried to return it but she couldn’t force it so just gave a curt nod as she let out a weary sigh.

“I’ll be back in a moment Baz,” she said as she tied up the trash bag which was now full of coffee-soaked tissue.

Baz gave a friendly nod as Casey took herself and the tied up bag out of the office and towards the locker rooms, after she was gone he turned to Ethan and raised a brow.

“What?!”

“You’re being mean Ethan.”

“Oh sure, I’m the one being mean. She was the one calling me at 2 am because she couldn’t sleep without my voice.”

“And what did you do?”

“Told her what any rational person would. Go back to sleep and call me at a more Godly hour.”

“Ethan! No wonder she’s pissed.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s supposed to be your girlfriend. Yet, you refused to soothe her when she couldn’t sleep. And you’ve made her spill her coffee everywhere and laughed in her face.”

“So?”

“Have you given her a special good morning dose of affection?”

“Why would I need to-”

“It’s Valentine’s Day Ethan! You know. February 14th!? That poor woman probably just wanted to do her work, share a few flirty glances, and lunch with you. Then come round yours and spend the night. But instead, you’re bullying her!”

“Don’t be ridiculous Dr. Mirani. If she wanted that she’d tell me.”

“... is that… how… you feel? That- that I should ask to be pampered by the man who’s supposed to be my boyfriend on the one romantic global holiday of the year.” Casey shuddered from the doorway, now wearing just a plain pair of large scrubs.

“Babe I didn’t-”

But his protest went unheard. She was already gone, the elevator doors closing behind her as she jumped in behind Ines.

She left the hospital and hopped in a cab, heading to Ethan’s. She hated Valentine’s Day even more now. And right now she hated Ethan. She stormed up to his apartment and let herself in with the key he gifted her. If that’s how he felt, she’d take the few bits she’d moved to his apartment and take them back to her own. She grabbed the small suitcase she left in his cupboard and started tossing in all her clothes. She turned to the nightstand to pack her books she left when she noticed a new stack with a post-it note stuck on top. She read it aloud.

“Put away before rookie sees.”

She was curious so she looked at the stack in closer detail and her jaw dropped. Ethan had specifically said he wasn’t one for this type of novel, yet here the whole collect sat on his nightstand. Grabbing a pen from her pocket she added to the note.

“Oops. Guess you forgot, Mr. Grey.”

She chuckled to herself then finished tossing the contents of her belongings into the suitcase. She was just zipping it up when she heard a key go in the door.

“Rookie?... Dr. Valentine?!”

She quietly tucked the suitcase into the corner of the room and slid under the bed after a split-second decision of wanting to see him sweat. Okay, so yeah. It was a petty action to take but in her eyes, was so needed. Her key was on the table by the door, that would be the first thing he noticed. Second? She was hoping it would be the addition she made to the note. She knew that would really get him panicked. She silenced her phone, dull the screen, and turned off the vibration. She knew that would be his third step. To contact her and apologize. She wasn’t ready for that though. So she waited patiently under his bed with bated breath. Just as she’d suspected.

“Shit. How could you be so reckless Ethan! You stupid- Fuck! Her books are gone!”

She giggled to herself internally. She was making him sweat and loving it. Listening intently she heard him pull his phone out and sit in his chair with a heavy sigh.

“Come on. Pick up.”

She watched her phone screen light up and go off at least 10 times before he threw his phone down with a growl of frustration.

“She’s left her key. Took her books. Isn’t answering her phone. What- what have I- I have to find her. Where else would she-? Ah! That niche diner she introduced me to.” He choked through a sob. It broke Casey’s heart hearing him like that. She listened as he grabbed his keys and phone from his desk and ran out of the apartment, door slamming behind him.

Once it was safe, Casey slid out from under the bed and hobbled to the bathroom. She was busting for a pee. After that, she grabbed her suitcase and made for home. Leaving her key to Ethan’s apartment behind. When she got back to her apartment, she discarded the suitcase in her room, grabbed a change of clothes & coffee to go, then headed back to Edenbrook on the next bus. When she arrived, she sought after Naveen. They rescheduled her shift so she was now working overnight and she went to an on-call room to catch some sleep.

Later as she stumbled out of the on-call room, she slammed into someone as she rounded the corner. Too tired to care and in desperate need of water, she carried on without a word.

“C-Casey..?” A broken voice ushered

She stopped in her tracks, turning her head to the side but keeping her back to the person. “What?”

“You- I- Where have you been?”

“Sleeping.” She replied bluntly then faced forwards, carrying on her route to the cafeteria.

“Casey.” She stopped as she felt his hand gently grab her wrist.

Taking a deep breath, she yanked it from his grip. “I need to go. My shift starts in 5 minutes. Anything you need regarding diagnostic patients will have to wait until morning, Dr. Ramsey. Good night.” And with that she carried on, Ethan swallowing harshly then turning on his heel, dragging his feet to his car. He’d truly fucked up. And he’d have to do everything in his power to make it right.

In the middle of the night, his phone pinged on the nightstand and he awoke to read the words he never thought he would. “Dr. Ramsey. We’re over. From now on, we’re colleagues only.”

And suddenly it was too much. He felt everything at once. Love, anger, sadness, spite, grief, and just about every emotion a human can feel before all he felt was a painstaking numbness throughout his entire body. He doesn’t know when they started but as he looked in the mirror he saw the hot tears that streamed down his face. The pain in his eyes. He was broken, and the only person who led to this happening was himself. He reflected on the past few months where Casey had stopped her teasing of him over his quirky ways, how he didn’t like it so he thought if he started teasing her back, she’d tease him again. But all he’d done was drive her away. He’d lost her. Well and truly.

He arrived at work the next morning, red rings around his eyes, bag slung over his shoulder, and coffee cups in hand. Out of habit he’d ordered for Casey but… that was a habit he’d now have to break. In the early morning quiet, the elevator dinged loudly to announce its arrival on the ground floor. It drew his attention of course and he watched as Casey stepped out and walked confidently to the exit and outside into the fresh air. He wanted to follow her and give her the coffee in his hand, but he found himself frozen to his spot, his voice dying in his throat. As he stood staring at the doors Baz and Zaid stopped behind him and shared a worried glance.

“Uh... Dr. Ramsey?” Zaid spoke.

“Hrm?” Ethan hummed, still staring at the doors.

“Are you okay?” Baz asked.

“Hrm?” He repeated.

Baz sighed and gave a nod to Zaid in goodbye, “Come on. We need to get to the office.” Baz said

“Hmm,” Ethan said, blindly following Baz to the seventh floor.

Once they were in the office, Baz shut the door and closed the blinds, facing Ethan as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, what’s happened? You’re doing the zoned out hrm thing.”

Ethan swallowed. He hated that Baz could pick up on things so easily, and was so no-nonsense about getting to the bottom of things to sort the problem out. “Why would you assume something happened?”

“Ethan,” Baz sighed as he pulled up a chair and sat opposite him at his desk, “you’re zoned out and not paying attention to me. Are you feeling okay?” He empathized.

“Just suffering a broken heart. I’ll be fine by the end of today.” Ethan mumbled, hoping Baz didn’t hear him.

“A broken heart? Did- are you and Casey…”

“No more? Great observation Dr. Mirani. You’ll forever have a spot on my team for that.”

“But I don’t understand. You only scared her and made her spill coffee. Is she… on her period or something? Overreacting?”

Ethan sighed wearily, “No. she’s not. I’ve been behaving like that towards her for months. She stopped teasing me about my quirks one day, I disliked that she stopped. I thought maybe if I started teasing her, she’d get annoyed enough to start doing it back. But I was stupid. I took it too far and now I’ve lost the most amazing woman that’s ever walked into my life. She didn’t only light up the room when she walked in Baz, she lit up my heart and my whole day. She knows me, better than I know myself. She’s quirky and fun and cute. My age is no secret, before her, I always used to sit at home feeling it, but she came along and I felt young again. I felt like I could talk about anything with her, indulge my inner child by having fun and she wouldn’t judge me. She was… still is a breath of fresh air, my lotus flower in the desert. And I… I scared her away.”

By the end of his speech, Ethan’s voice was breaking as tears rolled down his cheeks, eyes glistening with the ones that sat unshed. “Sorry. I uh… Thanks.” Ethan stuttered as he took a tissue from the box Baz held out to him.

“You should go home.”

“But I’ve got patients to see. This team has work to do. I can’t stay off because my relationship ended. It was an unethical one anyway.”

“Unethical or not. You can’t treat your patients when you can barely focus. I’ll take your patients for today. You go home. You need to process your emotions before you make a misdiagnosis.”

“… fine. I hate it when you’re right.”

“No, you don’t. You just don’t want to open up and let people in because of past trauma with your mom leaving. That hurt you. You never want to feel it again, yet… you’re feeling it right now and you’re beating yourself up because this time, you’re part of the reason the person’s left. But you can also be part of the solution that brings them back. If you act quick enough, that is.”

“But I-”

“Go home, Ethan. Better yet. Go to Casey’s home. Apologize for your behavior, explain yourself, and ask for a second chance. If I know that woman, she loves you too much to not give you one. I guarantee she’s hurting too right now.”

“Baz I cannot just up and leave everyth-”

“Go. Before I page Naveen.”

“Fine.” Ethan huffed, like a sulky teenager as he collected his things and dragged his feet to the door.

“And pick your feet up before you fall over them.”

“Yes, dad” Ethan said, Baz chuckling to himself as Ethan left the room.

Later in the afternoon as he was taking a break, Baz’s phone pinged in his pocket. He took it out and smiled at the screen.

“What’s got you so happy?” Zaid pondered aloud

“Hm? Oh, nothing. I just... I think I may have helped save a relationship and stopped this place from becoming a hostile work environment.”

“What do you mean?”

“Casey broke up with Ethan after he got too much with his teasing of her and playing pranks. I had to send him home today, he was a mess. I advised him to try and talk to her and fix it before it’s too late. Looks like he took my advice.” Baz smiled and turned his phone to show Zaid the Pictagram post, Ethan just made and tagged him in.

/// The next day ///

It was now a brand new day, and in reality, two days since the coffee incident. Casey walked through the halls with confidence as she headed to check on her next patient when she clocked Zaid approaching her.

“Ah! Dr. Valentine. There you are.” He exclaimed, placing a gentle hand on her forearm.

“Zaid! What can I do for you?” Casey smiled.

“Dr. Ramsey wants to see you in the gardens upstairs.”

“Well.. he’ll have to wait. I’m now checking up on my paediatric patient.”

“He said it’s urgent. I’ll take the patient.”

“No!... You won’t.” She snapped.

Zaid stared at her with a bit of shock.

“She’s… family. I promised to bring her Auntie Casey special medicine for tummy pain. Dr. Ramsey will have to wait.”

Zaid opened his mouth to protest but closed it rethinking his words before speaking them, “I’ll relay that message for you.”

“Thank you.” Casey nodded and entered the paediatric ward to find her patient.

As Zaid re-entered the gardens a few minutes later, Ethan turned and frowned.

“Where’s Casey?”

“Busy with a paediatric patient. She’s family and I- I said I’d take them for now but she-”

“It’s fine. Family’s important to her. She knows I’m here, yes?”

“She does.”

“Then thank you Dr. Mirani. You may go back to work now.”

With a single nod, Zaid turned and left the gardens and back to work. 20 minutes had passed and Casey still hadn’t come up to the gardens so Ethan made the decision to page her. Another 20 minutes passed, and another and another, until eventually 2 hours had passed and Casey hadn’t even read his pages. Sighing, Ethan left the gardens and entered the elevator, heading back down to the 7th floor. When he exited the elevator he stumbled straight upon a scene of chaos, and in the center, the one he’d been waiting for.

“Dr. Valentine!” He shouted and ran over kneeling beside a nurse. “What happened here?”

“We’re not sure Dr. Ramsey. I was walking with her to the elevator when her legs just gave out. She’s conscious but unresponsive. No head injuries, she just… passed out.”

Ethan listened intently, nodding in all the right places. “Do we have a bed for her?”

“Dr. Mirani and Marlene have gone to find one, but they’ve been gone for 20 minutes. That’s roughly the time she’s been out of it.”

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath as he lowered his head. “Okay. We need to get her to the couchin the diagnostics office, then I’ll need you to ready me a cold glass of water and I’ll prepare her favourite snack. … Just as I suspected, dehydration.”

Beside him Sarah gulped. “Oh Casey.” She sighed, truth was, since Casey had started at Edenbrook she and Sarah had grown so close they were practically sisters. Seeing her like this tore a little at Sarah’s heart, she swallowed and looked back at Ethan with a nod.

“Ready?” He asked

“Y-yeah.”

“Good. You take her legs, I’ll take under her arms.”

Assuming their positions, Ethan counted to three and they lifted Casey and carried her to the couch.

“And lower.” He said as they hovered her over the couch cushions. “Thank you.”

“No problem, I’ll get that water.” Sarah said, giving a sad smile. Once she had completely disappeared, Ethan closed the blinds and broke down as he knelt beside Casey’s limp form. He took her delicate hand in his own and gave her knuckles feather light kisses.

“You’ve done it again, haven’t you? Overworked yourself to stop the pain. Pain that this time I’m the cause of.”

He turned to the door as a knock sounded, Sarah entered with the glass of water. “Here you go. I made sure it was from the tower and not the tap, I added exactly 3 ice cubes and Dr. Trinh is on her way up with her straw from her locker.”

“Thank you, Sarah.”

Sarah nodded and backed out of the room, the doors hissing shut behind her.

He handed his patients off the Naveen for the next few hours as he stayed by Casey’s side as she woke up and slowly returned to her rounds. For professional reasons, he was there as he attending to make sure her performance was up to scratch and she wasn’t slacking. But personally, he was there as her boyfriend, first and foremost. In moments when nobody else was looking, concern creased his brow. His heart ached. He’d been the catalyst in this scenario. After her shift finished, Ethan was there waiting outside the locker room.

“You’re staying at mine tonight.” He stated

“Dr. Ramsey. I’m fine now. And besides, I live in a house full of doctors.” Casey smiled and gestured to Sienna and Aurora, who she was leaving off with.

“No buts or bargaining Dr. Valentine, you’re staying at mine.”

“Ethan.” Casey said sternly, “You’re letting guilt eat away at you again. Stop it!”

“That may be so. But I would rest easier knowing you’re under my roof tonight.”

Casey rolled her eyes good naturedly and turned to her friends, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Save some cookie batter for me to bake okay?”

“Sure thing Case. See you tomorrow.” Aurora smiled

“Bye Casey!” Sienna chimed with a hug, and followed Aurora out of the building.

A short drive later, Ethan walked through the doorway of his apartment, holding Casey’s hand tightly.

“You can loosen your grip, you know. It’s kinda starting to hurt.”

“Hm? Oh! Sorry.” He apologised.

Casey smiled and sat on his couch. “I thought you didn’t finish until about half 9 tonight?” She queried.

“I’ve bargained with Naveen to finish an hour early. But until then, you’re here on your own.”

“Ethan!” She whined, “I could have gone home with the others and made my cookies!”

“You can make cookies here. I have the ingredients.”

“No. Making them alone is something you do when you want solitude and to relax. I wanted to have fun with my friends, talk and relax. Now I have to sit here for 5 hours and try to find something to entertain myself with.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage. Now, I have to get back to work. I’ll see you later sweetheart.” He rushed and with a quick peck on her lips he was gone.

Casey sighed and looked around the apartment. After lounging on the couch browsing TV shows for about an hour, she decided to go and have a bath. After her relaxing soak, she grabbed her key for his apartment, which was still sitting where she left it and went for a walk to get food and drink. She made the conscious decision to stop by her apartment and bake her cookies, by the time she returned to Ethan’s it was 9pm. She cringed as she turned her key in the lock and entered the apartment juggling bags and a tray of freshly baked cookies, knowing Ethan was inside. When she rounded the corner, Ethan was standing there, a stern look focused at her, accompanied by a scowl and his arms crossed over his chest.

“What’s in the bags?” He asked

“Dinner.” She answered matter of factly, “and I went home and made us dessert, I hope you have whipped cream and chocolate for shaving in your kitchen because I didn’t pick either of those things up.” She busied herself taking it to the kitchen and laying it all out.

“I could’ve got dinner on my way home. I could have made us something.”

“And miss out on playing Cluedo with me? No chance.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard. I want to see if the infamous Detective Ramsey is as good as he’s acclaimed to be.”

“Is that so?” Ethan smirked closing in on Casey

“Mhm.” She giggled as he closed in on her, eventually his hands grazed her hips and he brought his lips to her own, “or should I call you… Mr. Grey.” She whispered a mischievous smirk growing on her features.

Ethan inhaled deeply and Casey bit her lip as she felt him hardened slightly against her thigh.

“And why would you call me that?” He husked in her ear sending electrifying chills down her spine all the way to her toes.

“Just… A suggestion.” She replied barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?”

“Mm.” she replied as Ethan placed his lips against hers, slow and sensual at first, gradually heating it up notch by notch until they pulled away from each other gasping for air, their desire for one another reflecting back at them as their gazes connected. “You know. I don’t think you’re anything like Mr. Grey.” Casey teased with a raspiness to her voice.

Ethan raised an eyebrow, “Is that a challenge?”

“I don’t know,” Casey started, backing away out of the kitchen, “you tell me. Sir” she winked as she turned on her heel and entered the living room. Ethan hot on her trail. “Why tell you. When I can show you.” He smirked as he hovered over Casey.

The air crackled with the sexual tension between them, were they anywhere else, others would be making themselves scarce as it’s clear they aren’t able to hold back. And as quickly as one can snap their fingers, Casey and Ethan’s lips met again in a fiery frenzy. Desperate. Needing. Desire. The three things fueling them the most.

Somehow, without any accident they blindly made their way into Ethan’s bedroom. He kicked the door shut, spinning their positions and pinning Casey to the wooden panel.

“ ‘Not like Mr. Grey…’ I’ll make you eat those words young lady.”

“Just those words?” She flirted

“Oh? … I don’t think you’re in the correct place to be asking questions now. Do you?” He rasped as he removed his tie in one swift movement. Casey gulped as she watched him ravel it around his hands.

“Wh-what are you doing with th-that?”

“Oh wouldn’t you like to know.” He smirked and gestured to the bed, “sit.”

Casey flicked her gaze from Ethan to the bed and back again.

“Sit.” He repeated as he raised a questioning brow as if daring her to disobey his command.

Moving her gaze to his hands, she gulped audibly as she noted his veins raised slightly. Using her better judgement, she slowly made her way to the bed and sat on the edge.

“Good girl.” Ethan praised and he knelt on one knee behind her. “You don’t mind surrendering your sight for a while, do you?”

Casey shuddered at his whispering breath that tickled the shell of her ear. “Do you?” He repeated pressingly. She slightly shook her head. She’d meant calling him Mr. Grey to be a tease. But she’d be lying if she said that the adrenaline she was feeling right now was exhilarating. Her breathing turned from normal to deep yet shallow as the world was shut out and she felt Ethan securing his tie around her head. Listening intently she gasped a little as she heard his belt buckle open and then hit the floor. The seconds that passed felt like hours as she listened to drawers and his closet open and shut again.

“E-Ethan…” she stuttered.

“What’s wrong?”

“W-water. Please. I-”

“Shhhh. It’s okay. I’ll get you some” he whispered, kissing her forehead gently before leaving the room.

After she was sure he was gone she rubbed her shoulders and shivered from the small amount of cold that bit through the warmth of her body. Her heart dropped when she heard the frown in Ethan’s voice.

“You’re cold too,”

“Only a little. It is the tail end of winter.”

“Did you need water?”

“Yes. Please.” She said, opening her mouth. Ethan guided the straw to her lip and rested it there gently and watched as she took a reasonable gulp before nodding and he took it away, placing it on the bedside table.

“Could you guide me to the middle? Of the bed?” Casey questioned. Ethan gave a gentle smile despite the desire he was feeling.

“Of course. Would you feel safer there?”

“Yes.”

Ethan picked her up and moved her to the middle of the bed. “Why don’t you lay down. Make yourself comfortable, and… put your hands above your head for me.” He spoke lowly, peppering soft kisses from her earlobe to her collarbone. She obeyed and laid there whimpering from the electric feeling that was tingling her skin. She wanted- no needed more than what he was giving. As she laid there she continued to listen and heard the sound of handcuffs and swallowed as she felt Ethan grab her wrist gently.

“Detective…”

“Hmmm?”

”Shouldn’t you remove my sweater and bra first?”

She bit her lip as he moved slightly brushing himself against her leg and silently cursed her smarts, undressing her before cuffing her to the bed frame. Once she was safely secured, Ethan used a delicate hand and moved her hair from where it had stuck to her lips before hovering over her.

“You’re so beautiful Casey. Wise beyond your years. Your intellect is,” he took a deep breath “my biggest turn on. And I may not be the best at dirty talk but my god are you the best thing I’ve ever tasted. You light me up in more ways than one Casey Jane. And if you'll allow me. I’d like to share with you my wildest fantasy.”

His breath was shallow, words no more than a desperate whisper and his hand trailed down her side and back up over her stomach and the valley of her breasts. Stopping at her nipple to softly tease, eliciting a whimper from her throat.

“Was that a yes? You’ll allow me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Tryyy.... Detective Ramsey. Let me hear you.”

“Y-yes. Detective R-Ramsey.”

Taking a deep breath as he connected their lips again, Ethan trailed his hand down Casey’s body again, slowly sliding his hand under the waistband of her skirt and toying with her panties. He trailed heated kisses down her body and he slid her skirt and tights off, discarding them on the floor, trailing his hand up her inner thigh as he kissed back up from her hip.

“Nnng.” She whimpered at his teasing touches.

After a few minutes of teasing, Casey gasped as Ethan moved from above her and his warmth was replaced by a shuddering cold.

“Ethan?” She croaked lightly.

“Shhh.” He hushed as he laid beside her on the bed.

“What are you do- oh…” she gasped as she heard a vibrator click on.

“Open your legs.” He cooed, gently coaxing them open with his free hand. Moving her panties aside, he gently gave her a single stroke over her now super sensitive bud earning an audible moan from her and she arched back. “Ah ah ah. Down.”

“Mmmmm.” Casey whined as she lowered herself back to the mattress

“Good girl.” He smirked and brought the vibrator closer to her area. She sucked in a sharp breath as she felt it move closer.

“Ahhhh!” She shuddered as he placed it on her and he muffled her whimpers with a kiss as he moved the device around building her pleasure, edging her closer to her climax and stopping just before she released.

“Nnnngghhhh. Ethaannn.” She cried, pulling at her restraints and writhing her hips to try and find contacted again but she admitted defeat when she heard it click back off.

Casey laid on her back in anticipation, waiting as she heard Ethan shuffling around before she felt something warm graze her lip.

“Detective?” She whispered.

“Shhh. Just suck.” Ethan soothed, sliding his cock in her mouth

“Wha- mmmmm!” She exclaimed and started sucking his dick gently.

“Mmmm” he hummed as Casey moved her head back and forth. He let her edge him as much as he had her before pulling out and moving away leaving Casey gasping for breath as he moved around again. She felt his hands snake round her head and undo the tie around her head and remove it. She blinked a few times to adjust her sight to the room.

“So beautiful.” Ethan whispered as her gaze landed upon him before their lips joined again in a searing kiss. Ethan rolled over, supporting himself with both hands either side of her torso.

———————

Night had turned to early morning by the time the pair laid side by side panting heavily and giggling like giddy children. Casey turned her head and was met with Ethan’s side profile.

“Ethan?” She yawned.

“Mm?” He hummed quietly, turning his head to face her.

“I… I love you.” She smiled earnestly.

“I …… I love you too, Casey.” He smiled back, bringing a hand to stroke her cheek with a gentle caress.

Casey smiled back and they joined their lips in a lazy and tired kiss before pulling each other closer under the covers and intertwining their limbs, falling into a deep slumber.

A few hours later Ethan’s alarm shrilled on the bedside table, and he groaned as he stuck a hand out from under the covers to turn it off. Casey stayed sound asleep on top of him, unfazed by the sound.

“Casey.” He groaned but got no worded response, just a tickle of her breath across his chest to which he chuckled and gentle peeled himself away and made his way to the bathroom. It wasn’t until he had properly woken up he took in the full damage of purplish bruises over his skin in varying shades. “Sssshhhhit.” He cursed, hissing at the pain he felt as he touched some of them.

“H-h-homeostasis!” Casey shouted from the bed which was followed by a thud. Ethan rushed from the bathroom to her side but she remained asleep.

“Casey. Babe wake u- hoooly fuck.” He cursed, assessing the damage of his brutal assault from the night before on her neck. Slowly, Casey’s eyes fluttered open and she gave Ethan a sweet smile.

“Hey, handsome” she greeted, not yet noticing the damage she had done. She moved and winced at a soreness she felt. “Ow!” She exclaimed quietly.

“I know. You fell outta bed. And uh… I’d check your…” he gestured to her neck and torso as he looked down guiltily. Frowning in confusion, Casey pulled herself up with Ethan’s help and walked into the bathroom, looking at her reflection she gasped then reappeared smiling.

“You’re… not mad?” Ethan asked.

“No.” She replied, taking in his chest and neck, “are you?”

Ethan took a couple steps forward to meet her, “Not one bit.” He chuckled, sweeping her head out of her face.

“Well then. I have one thing to say. We need to shower, get dressed, have breakfast, and get to work.”

“What?! People will see the!” He exclaimed as he gestured to their necks, Casey just laughed.

“So? If people wanna talk, let them talk. We lived the moment. So any rumours that cultivate will be from jealousy.” She went up on tip toes and pressed a loving kiss to his lips, stepping back and smiling widely.

“The day you cease to amaze me Casey Valentine, will be the day I die.”

Casey giggled as she pulled them into the bathroom and they started their day how it ended. Steamy and full of love.

[adamarks]

What’s with the scarf: yet another snowbaz meta

aka the long-awaited and much-anticipated knight/dragon dichotomy meta. 

Wanna know that the fuck was up with that scene where simon caught baz’s scarf? Welcome, you’ve found your new home. Let’s go.

Guess who’s back. Back again.

It’s me, bitch. Now here with their 5th goddamn essay on these goddamn books. Somebody stop me I’m a fiend. 

For this one i really do suggest you read my simon is a dragon meta, but if you don’t have time just look at this tweet. 

Now that we have that out of the way. Let’s get started. 

Point One: The Knight

I know what you’re saying, “what? I thought this was about the goddamn scarf? What’s this shit about knights stop.” I tricked you, fucker. The scarf isn’t until the end. (You save the best for last.) 

Simon Snow is the knight in shining armor of the world of mages. He’s given a sword and pointed in a direction and off he marches. He’s the secret weapon. He’s the bomb. He’s the one that came to save us. He’s the one that came to end us all. The poetry of Carry On is that he was the dragon he was meant to slay, and he gave up his “knighthood” (powers) to defeat himself. 

It’s true that Simon gave up his powers, but did he give up his knighthood? In title and in practice, yes, but he still acts the part. Let’s investigate the defining feature of knights: The Code of Chivalry.

To quote this website that words it perfectly: 

“ A Code of Chivalry was documented in an epic poem called 'The Song of Roland'. [...]   Roland was a loyal defender of his liege Lord Charlemagne and his code of conduct became understood as a code of chivalry.”

From The Song of Roland came a listing of chivalrous traits that all knights should strive to have. They are as follows:

To fear God and maintain His Church

To serve the liege lord in valour and faith

To protect the weak and defenceless

To give succour to widows and orphans

To refrain from the wanton giving of offence

To live by honour and for glory

To despise pecuniary reward

To fight for the welfare of all

To obey those placed in authority

To guard the honour of fellow knights

To eschew unfairness, meanness and deceit

To keep faith

At all times to speak the truth

To persevere to the end in any enterprise begun

To respect the honour of women

Never to refuse a challenge from an equal

Never to turn the back upon a foe

This is Simon to such a T that it’s a little bit alarming. Wayward Son is Simon’s struggle to reintroduce himself into civilian life after being a “boy soldier” since he was eleven. He’s a knight whose sword has been taken, armor melted down, and purpose rescinded. 

A knight can’t be a knight when the king’s been killed. Who, then, does he serve? Who, then, does he protect?

Simon has lost his purpose, his meaning. He has these traits that he doesn’t know how to funnel into something else. He’s a chess piece that’s utterly worthless. 

Not only does he feel purposeless, but he also hates an entire side of himself. and that leads us to our next point:

Point Two: The Dragon

Simon Snow was the villain of his own story.

He was his own dragon to his own knight. His own worst enemy. The main conflict of this story is a man vs. himself type. Simon hates an entire part of himself. He doesn’t just hate it, he vehemently denies its existence. 

“I’m not a DRAGON!” (Wayward Son, Chapter 35)

Of course, if you’ve read my wings meta you’ll know that not only is this him denying part of himself, but also his sexuality. And his love for Baz. But Rainbow writes layers upon layers into this delicious parfait, and Simon’s dragon-ness isn’t limited to being his sexuality. This is literature, after all. 

The knight needs to accept the dragon. Simon needs to accept the person that his trauma has turned him into. If you’ve been through any major trauma, you’ll know that you’re different afterwards. You’re still you. All of the most important parts are there- you did make it out alive- but you’re a little bit different. 

You’re more careful. You’re more anxious. You guard your heart just a little more fiercely. You don’t want to let people in quite so easily anymore. 

What is a dragon’s purpose in a narrative? To protect. To guard. To keep out. To keep in. 

The dragon is those behaviors that we learned to protect ourselves in those times of hurt, and while, yes, we need to unlearn some of those behaviors, certain ones may never leave. Once you figure out how to read micro-expressions on an abuser, you can’t just unlearn how to read a face like a book. The issue is figuring out how to manage those habits. How to keep them from hurting others that aren’t going to hurt us. How to... train... our dragons... (I’m sorry it’s my favorite movie.)

So, the dragon is simon’s shadow self and the knight is his light self, yes? Yes. But! Let’s put a magnifying glass up to these two concepts. 

If a dragon’s narrative purpose is to guard, protect, keep out/in, and be defeated, then what’s a knight’s narrative purpose? A knight’s purpose is to guard, protect, save, and defeat. 

These two concepts aren’t wildly different, they’re two sides of the same coin. Simon needs to stop seeing these two sides of him as enemies and instead recognize that they’re good and bad in equal measures. The dragon questions potential dangers; the knight helps all out of the goodness of his heart. The knight obeys blindly; the dragon knows to obey himself first. The knight is selfless in all things; the dragon is selfish and greedy. There are pros and cons to both archetypes. 

But fire and steel? The monster and the hero? How do you reconcile these two concepts? How do they fit into one person?

Well, the answer surprised me too. 

Point Three: Tarot?

I know, I know. Stick with me. I’ll explain. 

In every tarot deck there are the major arcana (unimportant for this meta) and, just like in a regular playing card deck, four suits. Each suit has a king, queen, knight, and page (also like a regular card deck). Each suit relates to an element: pentacles = earth, swords = air, wands = fire, and cups = water. 

We’re going to be looking at the knight of wands. 

He is a knight of fire and passion and spark. He is headstrong, impulsive, and reckless. This card is Simon in his entirety. To drive home my point, let me quote from the guidebook to The Enchanted Tarot by Amy Zerner & Monte Farber:

“The dark [Knight] of Wands rides into view upon his great, plumed charger, carrying a fire-tipped wand. Behind him the gray, dusky clouds swirl like smoke, against which his figure glows like red embers. His journey is carrying him into the unknown but he is a pioneer and filled with energy and excitement. He likes to take risks. An active, unpredictable and competitive disposition drives him forward. He radiates a very masculine energy, full of creativity and passion. His youth, however, sometimes impels him to be quarrelsome or overbearing if he feels his authority and leadership are in question. Somewhat self-centered, he is likely to think he knows a good deal more than he does...”

The knight of wands embodies both that regal nature of a knight and fiery passion of a dragon. Simon needs to stop thinking that these two sides of him are incompatible or that one is lesser. Simon is Simon and he is worthy to be called a knight, even with all of his dragon parts. 

Point Four: Courtly Love 

or maybe not so courtly?

Courtly love was a concept in the knight’s code of chivalry where a knight would pick a fair maiden from a higher status and dedicate all of his great deeds to her honor. Because the catholic church had a tight grip on everyone’s balls, though, this love was not sexualized. Well... it wasn’t supposed to be but we all know how that shit works. 

Agatha was supposed to be the “endgame.” She was Simon’s courtly love. His fair maiden to which he dedicated all of his noble deeds. 

But Agatha didn’t want to be a fair maiden anymore. 

And Simon didn’t love her. 

And then there was Baz’s hankie. 

In most Courtly Love relationships, there was a token bestowed upon the knight by the lady as a symbol of gratitude and affection. This token was, most often, a kerchief. 

I think we alllll remember that goddamn handkerchief. I remember that handkerchief. That handkerchief haunts my dreams.

Simon keeps that goddamn handkerchief in his drawer after he takes it from Agatha. He doesn’t even give it back. He so desperately wants to have this token of Baz’s love. His approval. His friendship. He wants something of Baz’s because he feels like he can’t have Baz himself. Baz is his real unreachable maiden. Baz is the one Simon doesn’t feel like he’s good enough for.

But more importantly, this brings us to the most important point of this meta:

Point Five: The Scarf

“The Mustang sounds like a bat on its way out of hell. And Simon is its getaway driver. Fourth gear on a gravel road, his blue eyes narrowed to slits. My mother’s scarf catches the wind and slips off my head. Snow whips out his hand to rescue it. He glances over at me, for just a second, holding it like a banner.”  (Wayward Son, Chapter 25)

I know I literally screamed the first time i read that. Simon is a knight saving his lady’s favor. 

But it’s not just that the scarf is a favor. Simon always gives it back. You don’t return a lady’s favor. 

“‘Oh, hey,’ he says like he’s just remembered something. He leans back to reach in his pocket, and takes out a wad of blue silk. 

‘That’s my mother’s scarf!’ I reach for it.

He opens his hand. The scarf threads through his fingers as I pull it away. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I forgot it was in my pocket.’

‘I thought I left it in the hotel room.’

‘You did.’

I fold the scarf, gently. Snow watches for a moment, then looks away.”

(Wayward Son, Prologue)

Now, @theflyingpeach (hi bri) pointed out to me that the scarf probably represents Baz’s humanity, what with it being his mother’s and him leaving it at the hotel. And yeah she’s right you can read it as that. (and it’s quite compelling) But that’s another meta for another day.

Today we’re on that good knight shit.

That scarf is Simon’s heart. 

Baz says he always travels with it. He gently uses it to protect himself against the wind. Simon thinks he’s gorgeous when he wears it. Baz keeps thinking he’s lost it...

but he hasn’t. 

He’ll never lose it, as long as Simon’s around.

Go back up and read those excerpts and tell me you don’t want to burst into tears. 

Simon keeps returning his heart to Baz. “I’m broken. I’m bruised,” Simon whispers. “I’m a knight with no sword. I’m a dragon with no hoard. I only have this one last thing to protect, but instead I give it to you. I’d give it to you again, and again, and again. It’s yours forever. Even though I think you don’t want it, it’s yours until you explicitly tell me to take it back. My love is yours for however long you want it, Baz.” 

The handkerchief in Carry On also translates into being Simon’s heart. 

“I go to the drawer where the handkerchief is shoved in with my wand and a few other things, then I wave it in his face. ‘This one.’

Baz pulls the fabric out of my hand, and I pull it back because I don’t want him to have it. I don’t want him to have anything right now.” (Carry On, Chapter 50)

Simon wasn’t ready to give Baz his heart yet in Carry On, but it was still Baz’s. It still had his family crest embroidered right into the material. Simon’s heart has always been Baz’s and Baz’s alone. It’s just that now, he freely gives it. He freely returns it. 

“I’m yours, Baz. I’m yours.”

A knight could not go against his code and cross that barrier to be with his lady. 

But a dragon is selfish. A dragon can ask for what it wants.

And all Simon wants is Baz.

And Baz is just waiting for him to ask.

Thank you for reading yet again! I dedicate this to bri because without her the scarf thing would’ve never dawned on me. Also she kept bitching at me to write this. 

 Check out the mirror meta and food meta while you’re at it.

time for the tagging peeps

@singerofsimplesongs @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @krisrix @pastel-pink-death @lowcalcalzones @godmcfuckindammit @fight-surrender @simonsnoww @rareandbeautifulthing @neck-mole @basic-banshee (i know you’re not super into these but you had an anon about it) @birdybabybird @whitefire17draws @teaandinanity @watfordwallflower @carrybits @slaying-fictional-dragons 

[jaxl-road]

The League of Extraordinary Rockstars, ch.1

Summary: LA is a hub for music and mutants, making it the perfect place for Motley Crue, Guns N’ Roses, and countless other mutant musicians to call home. But it’s not all easy, especially when it comes to finding a decent place to live. So what better solution than moving in together in the mansion of an immortal? Love, drama, and super powers. If nothing else, it’ll be interesting.

Chapter Warnings: Language, genderswap!Steven

AN: This is a collaboration between myself and @the--blackdahlia​! It combines elements from her fic “It’s So Easy (And Other Lies)” (specifically her genderswapped!Steven) and my super powered GnR series. It is completely AU and ignores timelines like Woah, but hopefully you’ll have as much fun reading it as we’re having writing it! Let us know what you think!

~~~~~

Los Angeles. The city of angels. Also, the highest per capita mutant population in the United States. With it’s history of welcoming minorities, it was no surprise. And West Hollywood was the hot spot. Humans hanging out with mutants, getting their cigarettes lit by a bass player who could control fire, getting their joints from a singer who could control pot. Things were great in LA.

Well, pretty much. They painted a picture perfect world of mutants living in the hills with the rich and famous, when in reality, they were living in small apartments that had more mice than people in them. But the one nice thing about LA? It was usually sunny. Rarely a cloud in the sky. Stevie Adler smiled as she looked up at the sky.

And then there was the honking horn.

“Get out of the street you bitch!” A guy screamed from his car. Stevie sighed and shook her head, crossing the street towards the recording studio. Yeah, LA was a great city.

“What was that about?” Izzy asked from his designated smoking spot.

“Asshole is impatient,” Stevie shrugged. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Slash is hiding because Axl is screaming at someone on the phone,” Izzy explained. “Duff’s not here yet. But Baz is, and he’s getting a kick out of watching Axl trying to avoid going supersonic.”

“Is there a betting pool started yet on if he’ll lose it?” Stevie grinned.

“I’m giving him about ten minutes,” Izzy smirked. “I think it’s Neil he’s yelling at.” Stevie rolled her eyes.

A cold gust of wind blew past them, causing Stevie to shiver. It seemed to get darker all of a sudden, a cloud covering the sun, but before she could comment on it, Izzy was looking past her with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh-oh, looks like someone’s in a bad mood.”

Sure enough, when she followed his gaze, she saw a very sour looking Duff stalking towards them. The weather witch looked deep in thought, a scowl on his face, which made sense as he usually didn’t lose control of his powers like this, especially since he knew Stevie needed as much sun as she could get.

“Hey, stormcloud!” Izzy shouted, getting the bassist’s attention, “Reel it in, motherfucker! The weather report said clear skies today!”

Blinking, Duff seemed to notice the shift in weather for the first time, “Ah, fuck,” the clouds quickly dissapated, the wind dying down as the sunshine returned. “Sorry guys,” he sighed.

“What’s got you all worked up?” Stevie asked.

Running a hand through his hair, Duff glared, “A fucking pipe burst in my apartment. The place was shitty enough with cockroaches crawling all over me, now I’ve got two inches of water covering everything.”

“Hey, if you need a place, Tracii moved out so Slash and I have an empty room,” Stevie told Duff. “I might be able to dry your stuff out. I’m sure Nikki would help.”

“Yeah, because you know that Axl loves those guys hanging around,” Izzy laughed. “Let’s go inside.” The three of them headed in, seeing Baz and Slash, but no Axl.

“He’s in his tantrum hole,” Baz laughed, pointing at the soundproof room. “He’ll be out in a minute once he calms down.” Stevie headed over to Slash to talk to him, leaving Izzy and Duff standing there together. A few moments later, Slash was hugging Duff.

“Roomie!” Slash laughed.

“I see Stevie talked to you,” Duff chuckled.

“Dude, this will be awesome!” Slash grinned, “Now I’ll have my two favorite drinking buddies in the same house!”

“This is a terrible idea,” Izzy muttered to himself.

“What’s a terrible idea?” Axl finally emerged from his designated anger room, with a look on his face that said he was very consciously keeping himself calm.

“Duff is gonna move in with Stevie and me!” Slash exclaimed, “Apparently his place is underwater, and we’ve got some space since Tracii moved out, so it’s perfect!”

“...Yeah, I’m gonna agree with Izzy and say that’s a terrible idea,” Axl shook his head as he moved to lean against Sebastian’s side, “The three of you? In one place?” 

“It feels like a threat to public safety,” Izzy chimed in.

“You’re just jealous cause you know we’re gonna be the most fun house on the strip now,” Stevie teased. 

Izzy smiled tensely, looking briefly between Duff and Stevie before glancing away.

“Wait a minute, I thought Motley Crue had the most fun house on the strip,” Baz pointed out before Axl glared at him. “Sorry babe, but you gotta admit, they know how to throw a party.”

“I think that Nikki’s party trick of catching himself on fire is annoying and overused,” Axl huffed. “And you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Okay, before Sebastian and Axl start fighting to make up later, can we record some music?” Stevie asked with a laugh. “Duff, we’ll go get your stuff that can be salvaged. I’ll call Tommy to come help.” Axl groaned but Stevie pretended she didn’t hear.

“Think you can get through a couple songs without shattering the glass?” Slash joked at Axl. The singer merely flipped him off as they finally made their way into the booth. Stevie took a seat behind the drums, not noticing Duff and Izzy glancing at her. Slash just sighed and got his guitar.

Baz smiled as he listened to Axl sing, and soon, they had a couple rough tracks down before their studio time was up. Stevie bounced to the payphone to call Tommy while Slash, Izzy, and Duff talked.

“So...you’re moving in with Stevie…” Izzy said, staring at Duff.

“And Slash,” Duff pointed out. “Not just Stevie.”

“Right, right…”

“Gee, way to make a guy feel loved,” Slash pouted.

Izzy rolled his eyes, shoving Slash’s shoulder lightly, glad for the break in the tension as the three chuckled. At that moment, Stevie jogged back over, giving a thumbs up as she smiled.

“Alright! We’re all set! Tommy should be here s-”

“HEY GUYS!”

A gust of wind swirled around them as Tommy skidded to a stop beside them, his hair a wild mess around his face. The speedster gave Stevie a quick hug as he chattered, “Stevie told me what happened, that sucks dude!” He gave Duff a sympathetic pat on his shoulder, “I’ll totally help though! Nikki’s dealing with Vince right now, apparently he’s having a bitch fit cause of some phone call or something, I dunno, but he’ll be by to help out later. Anyway, how are the rest of you guns?”

Tommy gave Slash a quick hug, but when he moved to throw his arm around Izzy’s shoulder, his arm fell right through the other man, sending the drummer stumbling forward. Slash, Duff, and Stevie laughed as Tommy pouted at Izzy’s deadpan expression.

“Oh come on, man, don’t be like that!”

The next couple hours were spent bickering and joking as they waded through Duff’s apartment to clear out his meager belongings, Tommy running between the flooded space and Slash and Stevie’s apartment while Duff chewed out his landlord until he got his deposit back.

Duff came back to the soggy apartment to see Stevie standing there, holding a book and smiling. He raised an eyebrow until he saw what she was looking at, then he tried to run to grab it.

“Duff, you were so cute!” Stevie laughed.

“Let me see!” Tommy ran by, grabbing the book. As he did, a photo fell out of the back. Slash picked it up. “Duff, you were a dorky looking kid.”

“Says the guy who was wearing tights in a picture his mom showed me the first time we met!” Duff pointed out.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Tommy groaned.

“At least you don’t look as dorky as Stevie,” Slash teased, showing Tommy a picture of Stevie asleep next to Duff, her head on his shoulder, and most definitely drooling. “I’m just surprised you didn’t burn up the camera. Either with your sunshine crap or being so ugly.”

“Love you too,” Stevie rolled her eyes. “Why do you have that?”

“Just liked it,” Duff shrugged.

“Okay, well, do you guys mind like, getting out of here?” Tommy asked. “Everything that can be saved has been saved, and I can feel the mold growing on us as we stand here talking about how I’m much cuter than everyone else.” He smirked. “And Nikki said he’s gonna try to meet us over at your place to help dry things out.”

Nodding in agreement, the group made their way over to the apartment that housed Stevie, Slash, and now Duff. The place wasn’t much better than Duff’s old apartment, but it was dry, so they couldn’t complain. Plus, the bassist was happy to note that there were significantly less cockroaches than his old place contained (not no cockroaches, that’d be asking for too much, but less at least). 

On top of that, despite being small and dingy, Slash and Stevie still managed to make the place feel like a home. Cracks and stains on the walls were covered by posters, fliers, and magazine cutouts of their favorite bands, the pictures layered over each other excitedly. Their garbage dump couch was covered in an old tie dyed bed sheet to mask the tears. The kitchen counters held rows and rows of empty bottles, some of them containing the dried remains of long dead flowers that would probably give Vince a heart attack if he saw them. A lingering scent of cigarette smoke clung to the whole apartment, there was trash everywhere, and a pile of records reached halfway up the wall next to a thrift-store record player.

Duff immediately felt right at home. 

“So, your room is right over here,” Slash led the way down the short hallway. They passed a bathroom that had definitely seen better days, a bedroom covered in KISS merch that simply had to be Stevie’s, and another door covered in caution tape that was closed tight.

“That’s Slash’s room,” Stevie leaned over to whisper in Duff’s ear, “He thinks I don’t know about the python he’s got in there, but at least he keeps it contained.”

Shuddering at the idea of being in the same space as a large snake, Duff debated about turning right back around and returning to the lake of his apartment, but before he could, he was being steered into the final bedroom. It was a little smaller than his old place, but it’s not like he was picky. Tommy had piled his stuff along the walls in two groups- the stuff that needed drying, and the stuff that was okay.

Right on cue, there was a knock on the door. “Oh, that’s probably Nikki!” Tommy cried enthusiastically, and with a gust of wind was off to the door.

Sure enough, Nikki was there with Vince and Mick in tow. Nikki had a couple pizza boxes in hand, Vince had a sour look on his face, and Mick, well, was Mick.

"We brought pizza!" Nikki announced. "Two large supremes!"

"Did you get something not supreme?" Stevie quizzed.

"Just pick off the black olives and shit," Nikki teased. Mick smacked the back of his head and handed Stevie a pepperoni pizza.

"Here you go," He grumbled. "Nikki just likes to tease you."

Sticking her tongue out at the bassist, Stevie happily accepted her pizza, the group gathering in the living room to take a break before tackling Duff’s damp belongings. As they ate, Vince kept scowling, pouting, and muttering under his breath. Finally, Slash sighed dramatically.

“Alright Neil, I’ll bite: what the fuck is your problem?”

Glaring, the blonde singer huffed, “My problem is that your singer is an asshole!”

“Are we supposed to be surprised or something? This isn’t news,” Stevie chimed in.

But Vince continued as if she hadn’t said anything, “That bastard stole my favorite pants, I just know it, and when I called to nicely ask for them back-”

“He wasn’t remotely nice. I was there,” Nikki contributed.

“-he had the fucking audacity to say, ‘why would I ever steal your ugly-ass pants?’! Like, we all know that my style is MILES better that his garbage, midwest grunge look!”

“Don’t let Izzy hear you talking like that,” Duff snickered.

Meanwhile, Stevie’s brow was furrowed in thought, “Which pants are these?”

“My acid-wash jeans with the white stitching on the side,” Vince answered, sighing wistfully.

“Oooooh, shit,” Stevie grimaced, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I gave those to Axl after last laundry day.” Slash and Stevie’s apartment building was the only one in the group that had a laundry facility on-site, so once a week all the rockers showed up on their doorstep with a bag of dirty clothes and handfuls of coins for them. Slash and Stevie used to deal with it together, but ever since Slash decided that laundry detergent and dish detergent were interchangeable, he had been banned from the laundry room.

“What?!” Vince screeched, “Stevie, how could you?” he cried, his voice full of betrayal.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Stevie threw her arms in the air, “I was tired, we all dress the same, and you and Axl are the same size!”

“You take that back! I am a quarter inch taller than him and you know it!”

“Oh, excuse me,” Stevie rolled her eyes, “how could I forget? How’s the weather up there, skyscraper?”

Gasping in exaggerated offense, Vince turned to his bandmates desperately, “Do you hear this blasphemy? She’s trying to sabotage us! She wants to break my spirit and give my superior wardrobe to her singer!”

“Yes, Vinnie, she is clearly an evil mastermind,” Nikki chuckled as he looked at Stevie’s pouting face.

“Aw, come on man, look at her!” Tommy reached over, putting his hands on either side of Stevie’s face to squish her cheeks, “How can you stay mad at her? Look at this face!” Stevie giggled as the other drummer pulled her closer, both of them giving Vince puppy eyes as Tommy sang, “You know you loooove herrrrr.”

To Vince’s credit, he put in a good effort fighting off the smile on his face. But eventually he couldn't resist breaking into a wide grin at the drummers’ antics, “Goddammit, you guys, I have a reputation!”

“You do?” Nikki laughed as Vince punched his arm, the group descending into playful bickering and laughter.

"I think I saw something about his reputation on the bathroom wall at the Roxy," Duff teased, making everyone laugh.

"Guys I gotta pee," Stevie laughed. She got out of Tommy's hold and headed to the bathroom, Duff taking a peek.

"See something you like?" Nikki teased, elbowing Duff.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he huffed, shoving Nikki’s shoulder, “Didn’t you come over here for a reason? Come help me with my shit before it fucking dissolves or something.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” grinning, Nikki rubbed his hands together as they glowed lightly, the two bassists making their way back to Duff’s new room to try to salvage more of his stuff.

Tommy shook his head lightly and turned to Slash, “Dude, Duff and Stevie in the same apartment? Have fun with that.”

“God, don’t remind me,” Slash groaned, “You should have seen Izzy’s face when we were talking about it.”

“I can’t believe Stevie still hasn’t noticed.”

“Hasn’t noticed what?” Stevie chirped, narrowing her eyes suspiciously as she rounded the corner, making her way back to her seat.

Without missing a beat, Slash smirked, “That Tommy’s been trying to flick olives down your shirt for the last ten minutes.”

“Dude!” Stevie cried indignantly, smacking Tommy’s arm, “Not cool! This shirt isn’t even low cut, you’re just gonna just fucking marinara on it or something!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tommy grit out, glaring at Slash as he, Vince, and Mick laughed at his misfortune.

The night went pretty smoothly, other than Vince calling Stevie ‘Benedict Arnold’ various times throughout the night, and Nikki almost catching a couple of Duff’s books on fire. But soon, the Crue headed out, leaving the three roommates in their home.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beat,” Stevie yawned. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She said goodnight before heading to her room, Duff watching her as she went. Slash slapped his shoulder.

“I’m not living with you pining over her,” Slash groaned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Duff stood up and headed to his room. “Stevie doesn’t even like me like that.” With that, he headed towards his room, leaving the guitarist there to groan.

“It is a sad, sad day,” Slash muttered to himself, “when Axl is the one in a stable relationship.”

With one last shake of his head, he made his way into his own room, bracing himself for what was sure to be an interesting new living situation.

[bazzybelle]

Love is Blind (As A Bat)

Ok... so I wasn’t intending on writing a fic for today but then I saw THIS amazing piece by the talented @parijpg and I HAD to write a little something. 

So many apologies for this fic. I wanna say it’s a late CRACK submission for the Countdown, but I don’t know. 

Also, sorry if there are typos or any other nonsense. I wrote this quickly, while at work and didn’t have time to have it beta-read properly. 

Enjoy... I guess... xD

________________________________________________________________

SIMON

He’s late. He’s never late.

He was supposed to be back at around supper time, but I have yet to hear anything from him. I check my mobile, in case I missed a text or call, but find nothing waiting for me. I type up a quick message, just to see where Baz is and if he’s alright. 

“Done at your parents’ place? Been missing you all day.”

I toss my mobile onto the table and glance at my watch: 9:30 PM. He really should have been back home by now. He was only supposed to go to his parents’ estate for an afternoon visit. I don’t want to worry, Baz knows how to handle himself (ever since I’ve been teaching him how to properly defend himself). Still, the back of my mind tends to worry that something is wrong, or that something happened to him. I chalk it up to old anxieties making a brief return and pull out a comic that I’ve been reading. 

I don’t know how much time has passed when I hear a very soft thump thump sound coming from the balcony window. I get up from the sofa and head towards the sound. A quick look outside doesn’t raise any flags for me. It looks like a typical London night; dark skies, clouds and light pollution making it impossible to see any stars. I turn away from the window and head back to the sofa. 

I check my mobile again; 10:30 PM and still no message from Baz. I can feel my heart sinking and my stomach beginning to twist. Something is wrong. I shove my mobile in my pocket as I rush to Penny’s room and begin banging on her door. 

“Penny! Come out! Something’s wrong!”

Her door whips opened and Penny stands in front of me, hands at her hips with a very cross look on her face. I see her laptop opened with Skype running in the background, so I assume she’s been talking to Shepard before I interrupted her. “This better be important Simon! I was-”

“Baz is missing.” I interrupt her.

“Are you sure? When was he supposed to arrive back home?” Penny is frowning at me. I know she doesn’t like to be interrupted, but this is serious. 

“Almost 3 hours ago…” I begin to pick at my cuticles and look to the floor. My foot begins to tap nervously and my heart just won’t calm down. 

“He’s not hunting?”

“He would have texted me Penny! Something’s wrong!” I growl at her. I hate to be this impatient with Penny, but I know my boyfriend and all the signs point to him being missing or worse. We are wasting precious moments arguing about nothing. 

“Alright, alright…” Penny heads to her computer and types up a quick goodbye message to Shepard. She returns from her bedroom, holding several crystals, and spellbooks. She dumps them onto the kitchen table and sighs heavily. 

“You know, for someone as strong, and powerful a magician as Baz is, he does tend to go missing often.” Penny states as she begins to thumb through a book about spells to call upon a loved one.

“This is not funny Penny! I’m fucking worried about him!” I run my fingers through my hair and start to think of the million and one possible things that could have happened to Baz. I then start to run through the million and one different ways that I could have better protected him; or the million and one different moves he could have used to protect himself. I run the risk of spiraling out of control, when I hear another soft thump thump coming from the balcony window again. Penny’s head whips up from the book she’s reading. 

“What was that?” Penny starts to get up from her seat, but I hold my arm out, blocking her path.

“Probably the wind. I heard it earlier before. There’s nothing out there! Can we focus on finding Baz?” Penny starts to sit back down when:

Thump thump!

That blasted sound again. Penny jumps from her seat and marches towards the door. I try to stop her again, but she pushes my arm aside. “Simon, just let me see for myself that nothing is outside.” I let her go, while I continue to pour over the books. Penny shrugs and starts to head back, but we hear the sound again. 

Thump thump! Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump THUMP!

“OH BLOODY HELL!” Penny opens the window with vigor. She is about to step onto the balcony, when something small and black flies into the flat. Penny screams and ducks her head. 

I bolt from the table and grab the first thing I see -- in this case, a dish towel, hanging off a chair -- and start whipping it towards the… bird? No… not a bird… a BAT! How did a bloody bat make it all the way here!?

The bat dives straight towards me as I keep whipping the towel to deter it. I stumble into the kitchen and pull out a spatula. It isn’t ideal, but I don’t want to hurt the thing, just get it out of my flat. The bat keeps trying to reach me, but I’m waving the spatula at it. I’m hoping to move towards the window again and push it outside, when Penny shouts. 

“Simon! It’s got something in its claws!

As if on cue, the bat drops the item it’s been holding the whole time. I pick up the item and inspect it; An ivory wand with a leather grip. Baz’s wand.The little bat lands on the bookshelf and perches upside down. Penny sees the wand and looks to the bat. She figures it out before I do and begins to laugh. 

“Oh… BASIL! How did this happen?!” The little bat -- BAZ -- chirps angrily at Penny and dives towards her. She screams again and dives under the table. “Keep that up, Basil, and we’ll see if I bother helping you!” Bat-Baz flies towards me. I open my hands and he lands in them. I gently close them and hold him softly. I lift him up to my face and take a good look at him. He certainly looks like a bat, but I can see the few elements that are true to Baz and Baz only. Such as the angry little scowl on his face. I softly run my thumb over his little head, something that human-Baz likes, in an effort to calm him down. 

“Baz? Oh… Baz…” Bat-Baz nuzzles my hand and hides his face between his wings. My heart softens for him, because he’s probably mortified that I’m having to see him like this. Penny steps up behind me and studies my little bat-boyfriend. She lowers her glasses and gets a good look at him, small smirk appearing on her lips. 

“You know, I almost prefer Baz like this. How sad is that?”

Bat-Baz hisses at Penny and begins to flap his tiny little wings at her. I turn away from Penny giving her a dirty look. “Penny! Stop! Don’t upset him. He’s already embarrassed!” I start to gently rub his little head again and scratch his little bat wings. It’s something Baz does for me when I’m upset and I like it. It seems to calm him down.

Penny has walked back to the table and sat down. She rests her chin on her hand and starts to think. I place Bat-Baz on my shoulder and walk to join her. He hops up on top of my head and nestles in my curls. “So, how do we fix this?”

Penny shrugs, “I don’t know. There aren’t spells available for this type of transformation. You both know how spells work. The language has to be specific.” 

Bat-Baz flies from my head and lands on the comic book that I’ve been reading. I follow him and pick it up (Batman: Year One). Of course! Batman is incredibly popular, especially the campy TV show from the 60’s (I’ve watched a lot of those reruns. They are more than a little absurd).

“BATMAN!” Penny shouts enthusiastically. Bat-Baz flies back to my hands and lands inside. Penny points her (brand new) ring at him and shouts in a loud, clear voice:

“NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA BAT-MAN!” The jewel on her ring glows a very bright purple over Bat-Baz’s tiny body. But nothing happens. I start to look him over, and he gives me an exasperated look almost as if to say “What are you expecting to find, Snow?”

“Nothing happened… Penny… he’s still a bat…” I sigh. Penny raises her hands up in the air and shrugs. 

“Well, I’m trying Simon! But this is all new to me!” Bat-Baz flies up to my face and nudges my lips with his little head, before returning to my opened hands. Penny suppresses a laugh as she understands what needs to happen.

“Simon… You may have to kiss him…” I stare in disbelief at Penny, and back at Bat-Baz. It sounds absolutely nutters, but if it’ll change Baz back into himself, then I’ll do it. 

I raise him up to my face again: “I know you wanted to try something new, Baz.. but this is really something, yeah?” Bat-Baz raises a tiny eyebrow and sticks his tongue out at me, mockingly. I laugh at him and bring him closer to my mouth. I whisper softly in his ear: “Don’t get any ideas in that disturbed little head of yours.” Bat-Baz looks away from me, and I swear I see the slightest bit of pink underneath his black fur. I bring his tiny face close to me and plant a small kiss on his bat lips. 

Bat-Baz immediately starts glowing a violently bright purple colour. I bolt towards our bedroom, shouting a thanks to Penny. It may be rude, but I get the feeling Baz will come back completely stark-naked and I don’t need him to be further embarrassed. 

I place Bat-Baz on the bed and watch as the transformation takes over... and... I was right. He ends up being magnificently naked. Human-Baz stretches his arms and back and sighs heavily. 

I want to do so many things to him right now, but I figure it’s best to let him get reacquainted with his body. I pull out some clothes and hand them to him. I give him a small peck on his cheek and run my fingers through his black hair.

“You alright?”

“I am going to kill my step-sister.” He grumbles as he pulls on a pair of trousers. I cannot help but laugh at him. Baz shoots a glare at me and I shut up. I pull my mobile from my pocket and hand it to him. I imagine he’s going to want to call his parents to tell them he’s alright. 

Baz dials a number, while I hold onto his hand. I lean my head on his shoulder, thankful that he’s alright and that today’s disaster left us both with minimal damage. Baz’s back straightens up as he begins to yell into the phone.

“I swear to Merlin, Mordelia, if you use a Potter spell again, I will snap your wand myself! How many times do I have to tell you, Rowling’s spells are dodgy at best!?”

I place my hand on his shoulder and begin to rub it, in an effort to calm him down. Baz is back to normal… Thank Crowley for that.

Though I think he’s gotten a mad idea in his head… 

Git…

[vkelleyart]

Happy Valentine’s Day, loves! My candy heart comes to you in the form of this fluffy illustrated one-shot (a.k.a. fic-with-a-pic). I hope you enjoy it!

TITLE: “Merlin, May I?” (7466 words)

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: When Simon Snow gets roped into a game of ‘Merlin May I’ against Baz Pitch, what starts off as a competition between mages for the most dangerous request ends up precipitating an unexpected collision of hearts.

READ ON AO3 | Fic + art close-ups are under the cut

Special thanks to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz​, @penpanoply​, and especially Mr. VKelleyArt (Merlin May I kiss you?) for beta reading this fic. ❤️

SIMON

Ah, Spring!

With the sun on my face, the promise of a warm roast beef sandwich in my pocket, and an outdoor luncheon with Penny to look forward to, I’m living in the present moment for a while. The rains have finally given way to clear skies and a crisp breeze. Green has returned to the Great Lawn. And, in a pleasant turn of events, Agatha’s started talking to me again since we broke up last winter. (Okay, maybe not actually talking, but she’s not scurrying off in the opposite direction when she sees me approaching in the hallway anymore. Progress.)

My faith in humanity momentarily restored, and death-by-dark-creature and other variations of my imminent doom seemingly far away, few things on earth could spoil a day like today.

“Oi, Snow!”

Except maybe that.

I turn my gaze downhill to see the voice hailing me belongs to Dev Grimm. Beside him, sneering at me from below a perfect wave of black hair is Baz Pitch.

They are both standing on the inner edge of a circle chockablock with eighth-years. It looks like some sort of spectator event is happening, because standing in the center of the circle are Gareth and Niall, the expression on Gareth’s face bleak and dazed, like he’s just misplaced his dignity and doesn’t know where to look for it.

Dev calls me again. “Fancy joining in, Simon?”

“Not likely,” I say, watching Gareth drag his feet up toward the drawbridge like a man condemned. “What happened to him?”

Baz turns toward me and runs a hand through his hair, moving it out of his eyes. “Gareth was just defeated in Merlin May I,” he answers, prompting the spread of a pompous grin across Niall’s face. “And now Niall here will reap the benefits of Gareth’s… concessions.” A rumble of laughter moves through the crowd.

I frown.

“‘Merlin May I’? What in the name of magic is that?”

“You don’t want to know, Simon. It’s a rotten game,” says Penny, traipsing down behind me. “And shame on all of you for enabling this ridiculousness!” she scolds the crowd, instigating a sea of eye-rolls.

“Come now, Bunce,” says Baz, stepping through an opening in the crowd toward us. “You don’t mean to say you’ve never played Merlin May I. I figured you a braver magician than that.”

Penny’s eyes turn into slits behind her glasses. “Refusing to play that nightmare of a game has no bearing on my bravery. It just means I’m not a glutton for punishment. Or a thundering idiot.”

Baz’s eyes move away from Penny and fix on me. I feel my cheeks flush, and suddenly the sun’s warmth overhead is bordering on oppressively hot.

“That’s perfect. Snow is both. I bet he’d love to play.”

BAZ

Aleister Crowley, I can’t believe my luck. Fate has delivered Simon Snow to my Merlin May I tournament, and though his plucky sidekick is trying to tug him away, he’s still rooted to the spot, which tells me he’s a few carefully timed insults away from playing a round of it himself.

“Simon, don’t you dare,” warns Bunce.

“Don’t worry, Penny. I don’t even know what Merlin May I is.”

“I’d be delighted to bring you up to speed,” I say. “Merlin May I is the mage’s hawk-dove game. We take turns making requests—to do things, take things, and generally force our opponent’s hand—until someone makes a request the other person can’t comply with. Dev, care to brief Snow on the rules?”

“Gladly,” he replies. “The rules are simple…”

You must say “Merlin May I” at the start of every request.

You may not repeat any requests already made.

No requests that will result in shagging, death, or other potentially fatal calamities are allowed either.

To accept a request, you must say “Yes, you may.” Otherwise, say: “You may not.”

The first person to say “You may not” loses the game, and the game is over.

When the game ends, every request the loser agrees to during the game, the winner gets to carry out.

“In other words, say ‘yes, you may’ at your peril,” I finish.

“So it’s ‘chicken’?” Simon sums up. “You just ask questions to see how much the other person will tolerate before they decide they don’t want you to completely fuck them over?”

“No. Chicken is prosaic and dull. Merlin May I is a game of risk and trust. A test of free will,” I reply grandly. “Your opponent may or may not throw you to the merewolves depending on what you request, so you’ll need to weigh just how much harm you want to inflict against how much you’re willing to take. Which is also to say that you should only ask questions you already know the answer to if you want to stay in the game, and that is the last tip I’m giving you.”

“It sounds terrible. I’ll pass.”

“What’s the matter?” I say. “Worried I’ll ask to move your bed to the bottom of the moat?”

“You probably would,” Simon mutters. “Why would anyone play this game? Seems like an easy way to lose friends and make enemies.”

He isn’t wrong. Watford played host to one of the most epic Merlin May I games of all time, and it brought a dramatic end to the school’s then-power couple, Gemma Harrington and Claus Beuchner. They were eight hours into the game when Gemma asked to fly Beuchner’s parents’ Lamborghini into a maelstrom and Claus agreed. He was out of his depth, of course, lost spectacularly, and got into so much trouble for agreeing to Gemma’s requests that his parents made him volunteer to scoop dragon dung at the Swedish Speartail Sanctuary for the rest of term. When he returned, the aroma of smoke and putrescence followed him around the halls for several months.

“Precisely,” I say. “I’m already your enemy. You have nothing to lose.”

“No, thanks. Come on, Penny.” Snow takes a bite from his sandwich, adjusts his rucksack over his shoulder, and turns like he’s about to leave.

I never want him to leave.

“Come, Snow. I’ll make sure your defeat is quick and painless.”

At this, Simon fixes me with an icy glare. “Who says you’d defeat me?”

“I do.”

“You won’t be feeling so jammy in a minute,” he snaps.

I smirk. “Then you’re in?”

Simon drops his rucksack, takes another bite of sandwich, and straightens his jacket. “I’m in.”

“Splendid,” I say.

“Simon!” exclaims Bunce.

“It’ll be fine, Pen,” Simon mutters. “There’s hardly anything terrible this prat can do to me that he hasn’t already done.”

“Apart from kill you!”

I roll my eyes. “As much as it’s in everyone’s best interest for Snow to die, Bunce, requesting his death is against the rules.”

Bunce glares at me, then at Simon. “I’m not playing witness to this. Go ahead and have at it. I’m going to lunch.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll just be a moment,” Simon calls after her, but she’s already storming away. He turns back to face me and sighs. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Yes. Let’s.”

Dev steps forward. “Hands up,” he says and pulls his wand out of his pocket. I extend my right hand toward Simon.

Snow is instantly suspicious. “What’s this about?”

“Insurance,” I answer, “to ward against cheating and ensure we carry out what we agree to. Go on.”

Hesitantly, he takes it. Dev lays the tip of his wand against our joined hands and says, “Do or do not. There is no try.” Dev’s magic sinks blue and cold into our skin.

The game has begun.

“You can start,” I say.

“Fine,” Simon huffs, then takes a massive bite of sandwich as he thinks of something to ask for. After a solid minute of chewing, which I can only assume takes so long because it is directly fueling his capacity for thought, Snow finally says, “Merlin May I pass your essay for Magical Words class off as my own?”

“Yes, you may,” I snigger. “Though I should warn you that Miss Possibelf isn’t a complete moron and will know who really wrote it by the time she gets three words in.”

“I didn’t ask for commentary. Your turn.”

“Merlin May I keep our window closed at night for the rest of term?”

Simon rolls his eyes. “Is this why you wanted me to play? So you could magically strongarm me into complying with your petty wishes?”

“I’m just taking advantage of a rare opportunity to get what I want without throwing curses at you,” I reply. “Your answer?”

“Yes, you may,” he grumbles. “But then… Merlin May I practice my swordplay on your side of the room?”

I frown at him. “I’m assuming you can resist shredding my bedsheets. And clothes. And all my bloody furniture. Yes, you may.”

Simon smiles, satisfied at having sufficiently lowered my upper hand and disturbed my good mood.

We go on for several rounds, and Snow impresses me with his creativity. He manages to rope me into trading soap with him (which pained me deeply to accept, but I suppose even Simon would prefer not to smell like a hospital once in a while) and confiscating my stash of salt and vinegar crisps because apparently the crumbs get stuck to his bare feet. I told him he wouldn’t have to fuss about it if he’d stop being a Neanderthal and get a set of slippers. (At which point, he Merlin-May-I’ed mine away from me.)

But it’s all relatively harmless. Nothing he’s asked for has legitimately threatened me, and as a result, I’ve had a decently challenging time trying to match Snow’s list of requests. I’ve obstructed Bunce’s secret visits to Mummer’s House, and I’ve forced him to let me Clean As a Whistle his side of the room whenever it starts to look like a numpty nest, but I don’t know how much further to go.

Our spectators look bored. Snow has so little to his name, there’s barely anything worth taking from him without leaving him naked and joyless, the latter of which doesn’t suit my interests at all. I just want to needle him, not destroy his will to live.

“All right,” I pick back up, deciding to raise the stakes. “Merlin May I eat all your scones at tea tomorrow?”

Simon blanches. (Adorably.) “All of them? I’ve never seen you eat one, let alone as many as I can put away.”

“What does that matter so long as it means you don’t get to eat them?” I retort.

He folds his arms across his chest. “Fine. I hope you choke on them.”

I tip an ear toward him. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Yes. You. May,” says Simon through clenched teeth. He looks justifiably forlorn until something wicked occurs to him and his smile returns.

“Merlin May I… play your violin?”

The crowd around us “Ohs” like this is a football game and Snow’s just fouled me.

Because he has. My violin is nearly 300 years old. It’s practically a museum piece. If my parents ever found out Simon so much as touched it, they’d cancel my classes and confiscate the instrument along with my entire sheet music collection.

It’s also my most treasured possession next to my wand. Crowley knows what this hamfisted idiot might do to it.

Well, fuck all, it’s a risk I’ll have to take.

“Yes. You may,” I hiss. “You’ll pay for that one, Snow.”

“Yeah? Let’s hear it then.”

His whole body is tilted in my direction. His jaw is pushed out, his eyes flinty. This is my favourite of Simon’s expressions (he only has about three), which is why I provoke it as often as I do. It often precedes him roughing me up, which is the only physical contact with Snow I’m allowed to have, but I’ll take it.

No one would know it by looking at me—least of all Snow—but my heart is practically beating its way out of my rib cage with anticipation.

I know the answer to my next request. It’s the one I ask him in my mind all the time. But I’ll finally get to say it out loud.

I make sure everyone can hear me.

“Merlin May I kiss you?”

Simon drops his sandwich.

SIMON

“Kiss me?” I repeat. “What are you playing at?”

Baz cackles at me. “Well, it’s a classic trap, isn’t it? If you say ‘yes,’ you’ll finally be called out for spreading lies because no one in their right mind would let a vampire’s mouth anywhere near them. Back down, and you’ll not only lose the game, you’ll be branded a coward,” he explains. His head is tilted slightly upward so he can look down on me.

“So which is it, Snow?” he asks, his eyes bright, triumphant. “Are you a liar, or are you a weakling? Either way, I win.”

“I’m neither. You are a manipulative arsehole,” I growl.

He shrugs. “In the present circumstances, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I clench my jaw and shove my elbows against my sides to keep from reaching up and creating a more dramatic bend in his nose with my fist.

“Well?” he drawls, his voice saccharine sweet. “May I?”

Fuck it all, there’s nothing else I can say, is there?

“You may… not.”

Baz’s lips curl into a vicious smile. Applause for his cunning victory permeates the crowd of students around us, and I can feel my magic, red and burning, prickle up my spine like the mercury in a thermometer.

No.

I’ll be damned if this actual bloodsucking wanker walks off thinking he’s won.

He’s turning away from me when I seize him by the sleeve. I yank him back and shove my face into his, catching his mouth in a kiss that nearly cuts my lip on my own teeth. Everyone around us gasps in unison, then goes instantly silent.

There. I’m not a coward or a liar if kissing a vampire in the presence of at least three dozen witnesses ensures I won’t get bitten.

I didn’t plan this out very well, though.

My mouth is pinched shut and crammed uncomfortably against Baz’s, and he’s completely frozen on the spot. (Literally, I think. His lips feel like ice.) I’m tempted to open my eyes just to see if his are closed. He doesn’t even pull his sleeve out of my fingers.

I also think I’ve bruised my lip. I don’t know if I’m motivated by discomfort or habit, but I soften against him the way I would if he were Agatha. And for the briefest moment—less than a few seconds—I kiss him properly. I suppose I don’t know any other way to kiss.

Astonishingly, Baz’s breath smells like cinnamon tea. I don’t know what I was expecting (blood, maybe?) and I also don’t know why this observation feels so important, but it instantly wedges itself in my long-term memory.

Because… he’s kissing me back.

I flinch and pull away.

When I open my eyes, Baz looks like he’s been visited by Merlin‘s ghost. His lips are still parted. His eyes are wide and glittering at me.

I clear my throat.

“Reckon it’s lunchtime,” I say above a chorus of hoots and howls of laughter. I feel lightheaded and embarrassed, so I try to channel Baz’s arrogance, smirking as I reach down for my rucksack and sandwich (the latter of which thankfully fell onto the former when I dropped it).

When I stand back upright, he’s striding down toward the Wavering Wood away from me, his coal-black hair dancing in the wind behind him.

BAZ

I’m sitting on a large rock—fuming—when I hear Snow’s footsteps crunching loudly behind me. His foot must slip on some wet leaves because I hear him yelp so loudly, it sends the dryads back into their huts. He has the grace of a hippopotamus.

“Hunting, are we?” he calls after me.

“Fuck off,” I say.

“Funny. That’s usually my line.”

I ignore him.

“I don’t know why you’re sulking,” he grumbles. “You’re the one who made me play.”

“A decision I wholeheartedly regret. Come to gloat now that you’ve humiliated me?”

“Humiliated you? You were trying to humiliate me!” Snow bothers his curls with one hand and makes a gnarled mess of them. “I actually came here to apologize, but seeing as you’re still intent on being a git, I’ll just head back to lunch with Penny and be satisfied that you’ll have all my scones tomorrow as a consolation prize.”

“Consolation prize indeed. You cheated,” I snap, and I hate how petulant I sound.

“I didn’t cheat.”

“Yes, you did. The game was over. And then you decided to make up your own rules.”

“What else was I supposed to do? You cornered me!”

I spring to my feet and spin around to face him. “Of course I cornered you! Entrapment is how you win! I’d demand a rematch if I didn’t think you’d just find a new way to cock it up!”

Snow flings down his rucksack. “Come on, then. A rematch.”

“Here? In the Wavering Wood, where no one can witness your defeat? That’s convenient.”

“Yes, here. Where no one can wipe you off the floor if you call a chimera on me and it goes after you instead,” he snarls. “Which, by the way: you’re welcome.”

“I’m not thanking you for that. If not for me, it would have obliterated us both. You don’t even know how to trigger your own nuclear meltdowns without my help.”

“Get on with it, arsehole.”

“On one condition,” I hiss. “This time, we play the sudden death version of the game. That means every request gets fulfilled on the spot—no hesitation, no excuses.” I fold my arms. “Then we’ll see who is the hawk and who is the dove.”

Simon nods.

“You’re on.”

SIMON

“You start this time,” I say, squaring my shoulders.

Baz is leering at me through narrowed eyes. “Merlin May I have your sandwich?”

It takes everything in me not to throw it at him.

“Yes, you may,” I reply. He reaches me in two steps, stopping less than an arm-length away. (Trying to intimidate me already, the prick.) Then, he grabs my sandwich and flings it into the brush.

One does not simply take away my sandwich and my scones without a fight.

I go straight for the jugular.

“Merlin May I have your wand,” I say in as even a voice as I can muster.

Baz’s nostrils flare. “That depends. Do you plan to use it to blow yourself up?”

“Answer the question.”

He pauses, then he reaches into his sleeve and draws out his wand. “Yes. You may,” he says, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will, his eyes locked on mine as he drops it into my palm.

Shit. I never thought in a million years he’d ever let me take his wand. It seems impossible—counterintuitive even—but he must trust me at least a little if he’d relinquish it. I set it down on the rock.

“Merlin May I have your sword?” he asks.

I feel myself pale. “Shouldn’t you be asking for my wand?”

“No repeats. And what would be the point? You’re practically useless with one.”

“Fuck you, Baz.”

This isn’t going well at all. I can’t bloody think with Baz this close to me. After a brief pause in which I struggle to come up with ways this could backfire, I come up dry and finally say, “Yes, you may.”

He extends both hands. I call the Sword of Mages and hold it up between us by the hilt. Baz doesn’t so much as flinch, but I can see his brain working behind his eyes.

He didn’t expect me to give up my sword anymore than I expected him to give up his wand.

I lay the blade gently across his palms, but he doesn’t put it down. “Why are you still holding it?” I ask.

“There’s nothing in the rules that say I have to put it down. Consider it a deterrent—in case you’re thinking of asking for permission to hit me.”

“Is that right? Well then: Merlin May I take your hands?” I ask.

“You… may.”

Baz looks irritated and bends to put my sword on the ground behind him. Where I can’t reach it.

When he stands again, I hold out my hands. For a moment he just stares at them, and my mind races for a way he might twist my request to harm me. He’s a vampire; I wonder if he would use super strength to crush my fingers in his grip.

But then he slides both his palms over mine. Gently. His hands are rougher than I expected (from a lifetime lighting flames in his palms, no doubt) and cold.

So cold.

The shock of it makes me involuntarily close my fingers around his, like it’s my own hands that are freezing and I need to warm them.

Unnerved, I look up at Baz’s face.

He’s staring right at my throat.

BAZ

Fucking Snow.

He’s better at this than I thought he’d be. I need a way to get his hands off my own and end this before I forget we’re playing “Merlin May I” altogether and trap him with a kiss instead of a question.

I see something glitter near the button of his collar. “Merlin May I take your cross necklace?” I say.

His eyes widen. “It’ll burn you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. You’re a vampire.”

“Yeah? Prove it. Give me the necklace.”

Snow lets go of my hands, and I let out the breath I had no idea I was holding. I watch as he reaches behind his neck, unclasps the chain, and dangles the cross between us.

I don’t let him drop it in my hand. I simply close my fingers around the chain, making sure not to make contact with the cross itself, and cup my other hand around the pendant as I would protecting a flame from the wind. He can’t see that it’s not touching my skin. Quickly, I drop it onto the rock beside my discarded wand.

Snow frowns. “Let me see your palm,” he demands.

I shake my head. “Not if that’s how you’re asking.”

He growls. “Merlin May I see your palm?”

I hold my hand up, but he snatches it out of the air and squints so he can get a better look. With his other hand, he runs a finger down the centerline of my palm to see if I’m burned, and it’s everything I can do to keep my breath from hitching at the sensation of it. His touch is so soft, it feels like dragonflies lighting in my hand.

It’s as if he doesn’t want to inflict more pain, in case the cross had burned me after all.

Snow looks up at me, disappointed. Hurt. Because he knows I’ve tricked him and he can’t prove it. I ought to be used to that expression. I lie to him daily. This shouldn’t be any different than any other trick, but here, alone in the Wavering Wood together with my hand in his, standing on the receiving end of that glare feels like he’s slapped me.

Surely, he knows. He must know; when I cornered him on the great lawn and threatened to out him as a dishonest weakling, I wasn’t talking about him. How could I be? Simon Snow is the most powerful mage ever to walk the earth (and trample my heart in the process).

I am the liar. I am the coward.

I am… losing my nerve.

My constitution won’t let me concede defeat yet—I am a Pitch, after all—but I also can’t help entertaining an outcome where I just cave, hand him his victory, and come clean. Crowley, what would that feel like? What disasters might occur if I confessed it all right here, with the Chosen One burning lines into my palms with his fingertips?

Maybe then, I’d be freed from the other game we play. The one where I pretend I’m not a love-sick vampire with a brass neck and too many secrets. I could just let it all go—my better judgment, my family’s wishes, my hardwired instinct for self-preservation—and say it…

I asked to kiss you, Simon Snow, because I knew you’d never let me. Because I punish myself for loving you by conjuring scenarios where I can come close enough to your fire without being burned.

Of course, he went and kissed me anyway, and now I’m incinerating.

If only.

I wish I could believe that, if he trusts me enough to hand over the only two things in the world that could protect him from someone like me, perhaps I could trust him, too.

I’d tell him no one asked for my permission to make me what I am. There was no “Merlin May I?” when the vampires bit me. There wasn’t one when the Crucible shackled me to Snow, either, and I sure as fuck didn’t ask to fall in love. The whole concept of free will as it applies to my life is a sick joke.

Simon was right. This game is terrible.

I don’t want to play anymore.

SIMON

When I look up at Baz’s face, I see him staring straight at me, his grey eyes boring holes into my pupils. They’re like mirrors in this light, casting back the greens and browns of the forest around us. I catch myself looking for my reflection in them before I clear my throat and say, “It’s your turn.”

I have no idea what he could possibly ask for now. We’ve disarmed each other, except for my wand, but he’s right. Ever since he asked to kiss me, my magic has been volatile and flaring just under my skin. I’d avoid using it against him. (Too risky.) And, rules or no rules, he’s still close enough to bite me if he wanted. No one else is here. Looking at his face now, tense and concentrating, I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

Would being bitten feel different than kissing him felt?

I think, in either case, my heart stops.

He’s got a strange look on his face. When Baz finally speaks, it’s unlike any sound I’ve ever heard come from his mouth. His voice is soft and low, all its sharp edges gone. Like music.

“Merlin May I touch you,” he says, “here.”

His fingers hover over my neck, just below my jaw.

My heart is racing now. Maybe he’s putting me in a thrall (vampires can do that, can’t they?), or else it’s a challenge. Maybe he wants me to think he’s actually going to bite me so I’ll concede defeat. But neither of these theories seems compatible with the sound of Baz’s voice, and the next moment, the breeze sends a whiff of cinnamon in my direction, turning all my thoughts to mud.

I say, “Yes, you may,” and Baz’s face is unreadable. I feel his fingers first, then his palm. His thumb trails against my cheek. I expect it to feel uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. My skin is always too warm and his feels like cool water against it.

I can’t help it. I think of Baz’s lips parting against mine.

The breeze picks up then, sending his raven hair flying. He turns his face into the wind, but his hand is on my neck, and I don’t want him to let go.

“Merlin May I touch your hair?” I ask.

He looks confused. It’s an expression Baz doesn’t usually wear unless I’ve done something uncharacteristically civil, like thanking him for leaving the bathroom door open, or waiting for him to finish his homework to turn off the light. It usually precedes a sneer or an eyeroll, but instead, I see Baz’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

Is Baz… nervous?

“Why?” he asks.

“It’s getting in my eyes,” I say. Maybe he was right about me being a liar.

Nevertheless, Baz nods slowly. “Yes,” he says. “You may.”

Hesitantly, I reach up and move several wayward strands of his hair off his forehead, tucking them behind his ear.

My arm stays raised of its own volition. Instead of pulling away, I thread my hand further into Baz’s hair until my fingers are full of it. I’ve always wondered what this would feel like, so I run my hand through it again, and it slips softly through my fingers. I don’t encounter a single knot.

I can’t believe he’s letting me do this.

As I do, Baz tips his head into my touch and closes his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was enjoying it. But then he sighs, and I revise my assessment. He’s definitely enjoying it.

What the hell am I doing?

What the hell are we doing?

“Merlin May I…” Baz whispers, his eyes still closed.

Cross that, I’m definitely in his thrall. I must be. Gravity or some other kind of magic is pulling me closer to him, and I’m staring at his mouth when I feel his hand—the one that isn’t on my neck—slip gently over my waist.

I’m unarmed. No one is here to save me. But I’m not afraid of him.

I wonder if his lips are always so cold…

“Yes?” I whisper back.

His eyes open just then. He’s so close to my face, and where once he looked serene, he now looks stricken.

“Baz?”

He yanks his hands back and shakes his head, like he’s stirring from a bad dream.

“I forfeit.”

I must not have heard him correctly. “What?”

“You win. I’m out.”

“You’re out? You can’t just quit the game,” I say, but he ignores me, scoops up his jacket and wand and heads hurriedly back up the hill toward Mummer’s House. Grabbing my things, I rush after him, but his head start and long legs mean I’m utterly outpaced.

I’m halfway up the hill running at full speed after Baz before I realise I have to turn back around.

I’ve left my sword and cross behind.

BAZ

I’m back in our room, pacing.

More accurately, I’m trapped in the torture chamber between my ears.

I keep reliving the moment on the Great Lawn when Simon’s mouth softened against mine, and when I’m not doing that, I’m obsessing over all the moments that followed. Snow’s fingers in my hair. My hand on his waist. The sticky, smoky smell of his magic pouring off of him as he leaned in… It’s all cycling over and over in my mind like I’m looping through television channels and every network is broadcasting the same slow motion instant replay.

I’m not nearly as devastated over Simon calling my bluff and embarrassing me in front of everyone in our year as I am that he kissed me and didn’t mean it. But then… why did he linger? Why did he run his hand through my hair? Did I imagine him moving in to kiss me again or was that… real?

Nothing makes any bleeding sense.

I should leave. Head to the catacombs. He’ll be here any moment, and I need to get out of this godforsaken room. I would torch it to a cinder if it meant not having to share it with Simon Snow anymore.

My hand is on the doorknob when Snow pushes it open and nearly knocks me down.

“Baz,” he says, panting. We stand there for an endless moment gaping at each other like a pair of idiots before Simon finally notices my rucksack.  “Where are you going?”

“Library. I have homework,” I mutter, and I try to push past him, but he blocks my path.

“Why did you forfeit?”

“I couldn’t come up with anything else to ask, obviously.”

“That wasn’t in the rules.”

“It’s implied.”

Simon sets his jaw and pushes me further into the room. “Well, I don’t accept your forfeiture.”

“It doesn’t matter if you accept. It’s my choice,” I retort. “And honestly, what’s wrong with you? No one in their right mind passes up the opportunity to win Merlin May I.”

“That’s not how I want to win!”

I wish there was a rule prohibiting the victor of Merlin May I from talking about it ever again.

“Please, Simon,” I say, lowering my voice, and he starts at the sound of his first name. “I don’t want to play anymore. You won, fair and square. Crowley, even when you lose, you fucking win…”

I shove past him and make it through the doorway when I hear him call out behind me. “Why did you ask to kiss me?”

I spin around to the sound of neighboring doors clicking and creaking open. “Aleister almighty, are you a bloody air raid siren? Keep your voice down!” With a huff, I rush back to our room, push him back inside by the shoulders and close the door behind me. “Haven’t you wrecked my reputation enough for one day?”

“Why did you ask to kiss me?” he repeats, ignoring me. He looks pained.

“Like I said. You should only ask questions you know the answer to. I asked because I knew you wouldn’t allow it,” I whisper loudly. I almost stop myself before curiosity commandeers my voice and I say, “Why did you touch my hair?”

“You touched me first.”

“Because I was trying to intimidate you!”

He shakes his head, furious. “I know what it looks like when you’re trying to intimidate me, Baz. You do it every fucking day,” he growls. “Tell me the truth.”

“I have nothing more to say to you,” I snap. “You’re the one withholding infor-”

“Because I wanted to!” he shouts over me. And then, silence.

I’ve lost the ability to speak.

Or think.

Simon’s face is dragon red.

I think actual sudden death would be preferable to standing awkwardly across from Simon with no feeling in my extremities and no hope of escape. The Humdrum could materialize right here in this room to vanquish us, and it would be a mercy.

Snow looks fit to go off right now.

“I thought maybe you’d put me in a thrall,” he murmurs finally and laughs bitterly at himself. “I thought kissing you was about winning that stupid fucking game. But you kissed me back, and now it’s all I can bloody think about and… Baz, why did you kiss me back?”

My mind is reeling, scouring for excuses, but for once, I’m unprepared. Everything I could say right now would only hurt me on its way out of my mouth.

He steps toward me. “Don’t tell me I imagined it.”

Entrapment is how you win.

I don’t have to lie to him, do I? He just said he wanted his hand in my hair. I’m getting dizzy thinking about what else might he want from me. Aleister Crowley, I want him to have it, whatever it is. Simon has opened a door. I just need to walk through it.

Out with it, Basilton…

Instead—out of habit, sheer stupidity, cowardice, or all of the above—every muscle in me clenches like locks in a fortified wall, bracing me for my usual self-immolation. I hate myself with every word as I monotone, “You imagined it.”

Snow’s eyes darken, and he nods.

“Right,” he says quietly. “Don’t bother going to the library if you’d rather stay. I’m leaving.”

He picks up his belongings.

Oh, Simon.

I never want you to leave.

SIMON

“Snow, wait.”

I pause with my hand on the doorknob. Not a second later, I feel Baz’s hand on my shoulder.

“Merlin May I… tell you a secret?” he whispers, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He feels close.

Glancing over my shoulder, I answer: “Yes, you may.”

“Crowley, don’t turn around,” he says. “You’ll just make this worse.”

I’m at a loss for words, so I just nod.

“You’re right about me. About what I am,” he says, his voice low from behind. “I don’t want to be a vampire anymore than you probably want to share a room with one, but I didn’t really get a say in the matter.” Dropping his hand from my shoulder, he adds, “I’ve never bitten a person. And I never will—unless you tell anyone what I’m saying to you, in which case I’ll have no choice but to tear out your larynx with my teeth.”

I can’t help myself. I turn to face him. Baz’s face is ashen, his eyes fixed to the floor. He’s holding himself by the arms, like he might come apart if he lets go.

“I was a child when the vampires attacked Watford,” he continues softly. “They bit me. And they killed my mother.”

It takes all my mental faculties, but I finally find my voice—only I don’t know what to do with it except whisper, “Jesus Christ,” which is both an inadequate and utterly useless thing to say. Though I can’t see Baz’s eyes behind the veil of his dark lashes, at least my reaction doesn’t seem to offend him because he keeps talking.

“I didn’t lie when I said that I asked to kiss you because I knew you wouldn’t allow it. But then you kissed me , and…,” he says, his voice so quiet, I can barely hear it. “You didn’t imagine it. I kissed you back.”

He finally lifts his eyes to look at me.

“Because I wanted to,” he whispers.

My heart is thundering in my chest. I don’t know what to say. This is too much to process and I’m clearly shit with words anyway. I have so many questions, but none of them are appropriate, and Baz is just standing there with his hair in his eyes, waiting for my cue—to fight, flee, or die on the spot, probably.

But I don’t want him to do any of those things. He told me the truth for once, and it was the biggest, most terrible truth I could have imagined.

And he trusted me with it.

I step around him and toss my jacket and rucksack on my bed. “My turn.”

“What?” Baz looks properly surprised.

“Merlin May I sit beside you?”

He closes his eyes and sighs. “Snow, I didn’t mean to imply that I still want to play this infernal game.”

“I know,” I say, moving toward him. “Consider this the world’s first single-player game of Merlin May I. Your answer?”

He furrows his brow and says warily, “Yes, you may. Aren’t you at all concerned that I’m—“

“Still my turn,” I cut him off, pulling him by the wrist toward his bed and taking a seat next to him. With one hand, I smooth his hair away from his eyes and fix him with a soft gaze. “Merlin May I hold your face?” I say.

Baz is looking at me like I’ve sprouted an extra head. He doesn’t say “yes, you may.” He simply nods. As both my hands reach up and rest against his cheeks, I decide to let the infraction go.

Because he’s trembling.

I’m weightless with shock. This Baz isn’t a threat or a villain or a monster. He’s just… a boy.

He leans into my palm and closes his eyes. His eyelashes look wet.

“Merlin May I tell you something?” I say.

“Yes,” he breathes, “you may.”

I stroke his cheek with my thumb. “I want to kiss you again,” I whisper.

His eyes spring open. “No repeats,” he replies, breathless.

“That was a different game.”

“Same opponents. Same day. Same game. It’s illegal.”

“I don’t think you mind.”

I weave my fingers through Baz’s hair without asking, my hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. He lets me.

“You’re not worried I’ll bite you?” he asks.

Smiling, I touch my forehead to his. “‘Merlin May I is a game of risk and trust.’ Isn’t that what you said?”

“You don’t trust me.”

I shrug. “I trust you not to make supper out of me.”

He shakes his head against mine, and laughs. “I don’t understand your strategy.”

“I don’t have one,” I say, and I’m so close to his mouth that I’m breathing in the scent of cinnamon and cedar. “What’s your answer?”

His answer doesn’t come in words. He just shuts up and closes his eyes. His hand finds my wrist, like he’s afraid of me, but I won’t hurt him. As I close the gap between us, a thought enters my mind.

This is so much better than fighting.

BAZ

I’m certain I don’t know what I’m doing. My first kiss only happened an hour ago in front of God and everyone, lasted mere seconds, and precipitated the most senseless and backwards game of Merlin May I in the history of Magic.

I’m not sure if we’re still playing.

I don’t care. Fuck this ridiculous game.

Simon Snow is kissing me.

On. My. Bed.

Thank Crowley he’s done this before. His hands are still on my face and in my hair, and whatever blood is in me is singing in my ears. He’s blessedly warm which is helping my trembling, and his lips are so strong with intention—to devour me whole, it seems—that mine move in his rhythm, like we’re dancing and he’s leading.

And he’s humming. Like I’m something to savor. I can hear the whisper of his breath, its warmth skimming gently over my face. As his lips move against mine, it sounds like the tail end of a rainstorm. I would give up all my possessions to Merlin May I if he asked for them, just to keep him attached to my mouth.

I feel light. Like I’ve been exorcised of something toxic and terrible.

When he pulls away, we both look stunned.

“So…” he rasps, “this is not how I envisioned finishing out my day.”

“Someone should make sure hell hasn’t frozen over,” I murmur, grinning in spite of myself.  

Snow’s eyes brighten. “Merlin’s tooth, I’ve never seen you smile like this before.” He sounds awed. “I mean, you’re fit whether or not you’re smiling at me, but you’re gorgeous when you do.”

“You think I’m fit?” I ask incredulously. “Are you possessed?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. You’re still a git,” he laughs.  

“A git, it appears, you’re willing to kiss,” I say, and I can’t help the disbelief that sneaks into my voice. “I didn’t think kissing blokes fell into the realm of things you do for fun.”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure it does,” he murmurs. “You’re the only bloke I’ve ever wanted to kiss.”

I smile. “Crowley, Snow, you have no idea how strange it is to hear those words come out of your mouth.”

“Can’t be much stranger than hearing you admit you’re a vampire,” he says. “I promise to properly shut up about that from now on, by the way.”

“What happens now?” I ask, staring at his lips.

“I haven’t thought much farther ahead than snogging you until Penny has to send a search party here to find us.”

He barely finishes his sentence before something courageous comes over me and I take him by the shoulders. I don’t need to say “Merlin May I” for permission to kiss him this time, so I just do it. I just want to dwell a little longer in this impossible reality where I’ve confessed all my secrets to Simon Snow and he somehow still wants me—in spite of what I am, what I’ve done to him, and what we were to each other before I conned him into playing a game designed to drive mages apart.

Leave it to Snow to completely subvert the point of Merlin May I by sheer accident.

A long moment later, Simon pulls away from me, frowning. “Are you still eating my scones tomorrow?”

I raise an eyebrow. “If all this is just an elaborate scheme to salvage your scones—”

Snow knocks my arm in retaliation. “No, I mean, is Dev’s spell still active?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Are we still playing?”

He shrugs and reaches for my hand. “Dunno. We sort of got sidetracked…”

And now he’s lacing his fingers in mine.

Simon Snow wants to kiss me and hold my hand, and any moment now I’m going to wake up.

“I suppose we both lose, then,” I say. “And that way you can keep your precious scones.”

“We’ll share them,” he whispers, bringing our joined hands to his heart. “I’d say we both won.”

❤️❤️ HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY, LOVELIES! ❤️❤️