#i hate my stutter but love simon snow

[amazingmsme]

Oh The Irony

AN: Everyone who loves the vampires with ticklish necks trope come get y’all juice! This one is so cute & flustering, poor Baz doesn’t know what to do with himself! 

Baz really hated Simon sometimes. For years he hated him because he loved him so much, right now he hated him because he was being horribly mean. The thing was that Baz had a deathly ticklish neck, ironic seeing as he was a vampire. A fact that Simon loved to rub in his face. He wouldn't mind so much if it wasn't the worst thing ever. And Simon's teasing really didn't help the situation.

Simon was kissing and nibbling his neck, relishing in every gasp and shriek he elicited. Baz was trapped in a sweet hell: showered with tickly affection.

"Si-Sihi- Sihihimom plehehease! Ihit tihihickles!" he whined, hiding his cherry red blush in his boyfriend's shoulder.

"Does it? I had no idea based on your hysterical giggles," he mused smugly. He cupped either side of Baz's face, fluttering his fingers along the sides of his neck. Simon was holding him still so that he couldn't scrunch his neck, and it tickled like all hell. Baz snorted loudly and his hand immediately flew up to cover his mouth.

"Aww but I wanna hear every single giggle, snort and squeal you make. And I wanna see that pretty smile and those sharp fangs," Simon teased in his ear, sending an unbeatable shiver down his spine.

"Crowley Snow, you're kihihilling mehehe," he whined, drumming his legs on the couch.

"What's the matter? Is the big bad vampire too ticklish on his neck?" he cooed condescendingly. That threw him for a loop. On one hand, it was true and Simon might grant him mercy if he admitted it, but on the other his pride didn't want to face the facts and he was left stuttering.

"Ye- Yes- no! I mean no!" Simon chuckled at him, scratching lightly right over the bite mark on his neck, and Baz was thrown into hysterics.

Simon was laughing almost as hard as he was. He wiped away a tear of mirth from his cheek, staring down at a very flustered Bazilton Grimm Pitch. He leaned in, cuddling close to him as he regained his breath.

"You're sooo cute when I tickle you," Simon spoke into his skin. Baz scrunched just neck, a wide grin on his face as he pushes Simon away.

"Oh stop, you're an absolute fiend. I have other spots you know," he complained, tousled hair hiding pink cheeks.

"Yeah, but this one's my favorite," he said, mouthing at his throat and sending him into another bout of giggles. And then Simon blew a raspberry, and all hope was lost.

Baz was in hell, but Simon was in heaven.

#tickletober #tickletober 2022 #baz pitch #bazilton grimm pitch #simon snow #carry on simon #carry on #carry on fic #carry on tickle fic #ticklish!baz #day 26: favorite spot

[jostens-pitch]

headcanon that simon has a chronic stutter:

since he grew up being moved from foster home to foster home, simon never properly learned how to speak or articulate his thoughts

this results in him developing a stutter

he cant say any words that start with “s”, which is painfully ironic given his name is simon snow. he draws out the “s” sound and ends up sounding like a snake. he also has trouble with words like “charlotte” and the letters “b” “p” “m” “n” and “c”. practically the whole alphabet is his enemy

because of his stutter the kids in the foster homes all mock him and laugh at him, making the stutter worse for simon

he becomes a quiet kid who refuses to use his words in fear of embarrassing himself

he sees some speech therapists, but because theyre appointed by the government, simon never sees the same therapist twice

this causes his stutter to get worse. he tries to fix it himself and developes a nasty habit of using fillers in sentences like “um” “uh” and “like” repeatedly

by the time hes 11 hes given up any hope of becoming normal and being able to speak without fear

when he gets to watford and realizes how important it is to say phrases just right to make spells work, it feels like hes in his own kind of personal hell

the professors at watford do their best to help simon, but in the magik world a stutter is something that is a tragedy to mages as it hinders their speaking capabilities

because of his stutter, simons magic is even more pathetic and chaotic than it should be and his classmates all whisper about it

during simons first year, the mage is constantly trying to find a “cure” for simons stutter and is always quickly frustrated by how long it takes simon to say something

this causes him to retreat further into himself and only speak when absolutely needed (it takes penny a year to get simon to start speaking again)

for a while, penny is the only person who understands that simons stutter isnt something of a tragedy: its just who he is

shes also very protective of simon and his speech impediment. anyone who even glances at simon oddly while hes speaking to them is sure to be jinxed by miss penelope bunce herself

and as for simons relationship with baz throughout their watford years:

simon notices pretty quickly that baz’s taunts never revolve around his speech impediment. baz is many things, mostly a dick, but at least he isnt someone who mocks speech impediments. its something that is oddly comforting to simon. baz may make his life miserable, but at least he knows not to make fun of something simon cant fix

as simon gets older his stutter becomes something he can kinda control (which hes quite proud of) but like every person with a chronic stutter: it gets bad when hes anxious or stressed

baz makes simon anxious and stressed

they share a room

as established above: baz is a dick

you can see simons problem

now baz ? he finds simons stutter endearing and maybe intentionally irritates simon just to hear him say, “p-p-p...phhh..piss o-off !!!”

baz isnt proud of it and knows that its probably something very offensive to stutterers, but to him its what makes simon so human. the chosen one, the heros of all heros, can barely say his own name without jumbling over his words

simon comes to learn that the only time he doesnt stutter is when hes defending others

baz notices this too and is disgusted by how in love that makes him feel

overtime simon slowly begins to accept his stutter and that it will probably always be a part of him, though he still prefers to use actions rather than words

when simon and baz get together, they develope a system that allows them to communicate without words. simon cherishes it dearly

baz also encourages simon to talk about his stutter. simon knows its baz’s way of getting simon to open up more to speaking, but he loves that baz tries to help

they have long conversations every night about how simons stutter feels (painful and like hes choking)

how baz can help simon during a bad stutter fit (dont try and guess what simon is trying to say. dont say the word for simon. just sit there patiently and wait)

if simon should give speech therapy another try (maybe, but for now simon is content with where he is)

what methods simon uses to speak smoothly (visualizing the words helps simon. and repeating what he wants to say numerous times inside his head)

in the end, baz’s dedication to helping and understanding simon’s stutter, along with penny’s fierce protectiveness over him, are what really help simon accept himself

simon’s stutter will never be cured, but for once the thought doesnt make him anxious or ashamed. he has two awesome people who love him as he is. thats what matters to simon. they keep him going

might add more but i was researching my stuttering condition late at night and needed something comforting. so why not project my insecurities onto my comfort characters ? we need more stutter representation (done correctly) anyways x

*please note that i myself have a chronic stutter. all experiences listed here are my own. if anyone tries to tell me im wrong i will cry

#simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #penelope bunce #carry on #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #rainbow rowell #mine #personal #i hate my stutter but love simon snow #stutter #a good post i made #about me #stutter!simon

[lesbianlotties]

Prompt Sam has a crush on deena and becomes her Secret admirer. Deena plays basketball and she keep finding love notes in her locker . Deena thinks the letters are coming from her girlfriend that is not Sam . Will Sam ever confess to her crush on her on or will Kate make her ?

Dear Deena, it's your secret admirer - Sam/Deena - Fear Street

It starts very simply. Sam has a crush on Deena, and on Valentine's Day, she leaves a card on Deena's locker.

But what happens when Deena's girlfriend takes the credit? And Sam keeps making love letters for Deena? And Kate tries to help but creates an even bigger confusion? And Deena shows up on Sam's doorstep during a storm?

Everything started on Valentine's Day, because of course it did. Sam had a crush on Deena for as long as she could remember. Before she knew what a crush was, before she had to go through the emotional rollercoaster of finding out she wasn’t supposed to have crushes on other girls and eventually getting over it because there was no way to escape her feelings for Deena so she might as well accept them. Who could blame her though? She spent most of her classes daydreaming, if she couldn’t discreetly stare from afar, about the other girl. Deena played drums, she was the star of the basketball team, had the best hair in the entire school, along with best eyes, smile, jawline, hands, and, well, maybe that was only Sam’s opinion. She was realizing her crush was a little more serious than she’d expected, but she was dealing with it.

“You aren’t dealing with it!” Kate snapped at her one day not long after they started their Junior year.

“I’ll deal with it!” Sam promised in a whisper to avoid the other cheerleaders from listening. It was already distressing enough that Kate and Simon had figured it out, she couldn’t take any more risks.

But, of course, by the time Sam had gathered enough courage to confess her feelings to Deena during their friend group’s annual Christmas party, Deena showed up to Kate’s house hands holding hands with another girl and not very enthusiastically but still seriously announcing, “Guys, this is my girlfriend, Heather. Be normal, please.”

Kate told embarrassing stories about Deena, Simon started calling her sister-in-law, and Sam tried her hardest to act normal. But it wasn’t easy, not when she locked eyes with Deena for longer than a second and the simple act had her running out of the house, out into the snow, to avoid getting caught crying.

After those excruciating weeks of winter, Sam managed to get her feelings under control. This meant not bursting out crying every time she thought about Deena having a girlfriend, it didn’t mean she stopped having feelings for Deena. So, when Valentine's Day arrived in February, she took her chance. And her chance started with the words “Dear Deena, it’s your secret admirer…” written on pink paper and with Sam’s entire heart in between the words.

Later that day, Sam had to face the consequences of it.

“What did you do?” Kate hissed, pulling Sam apart from the other cheerleaders before practice started.

“What do you mean?”

“Deena. The love letter?!”

Despite her guilty face, blushing cheeks, wide-open eyes, and racing heart, Sam almost expected Kate to believe her when she stuttered out, “I, uh, don’t know… I don’t know what you, uh, what you’re talking, um, about.”

“Listen to yourself!” Kate slapped her arm. “As if that wasn’t incriminating enough. Do you think I’m stupid? I’m not Deena!”

“Hey!”

“Listen, Sam, I love you. Deena might be oblivious, but I’m not,” Kate said, trying to soften her tone. “Do I think you’re infinitely better than Heather? Yes. Do I have a problem with her? Also yes. But technically, I don’t hate her. However, I know she’s not the love letter type. That girl wouldn’t know romance if it hit her in the face. You, on the other hand, have been in love with Deena since you were in diapers.”

“Shh! Kate!” Sam hushed her. She was blushing furiously, but she failed to hold back a smile at hearing her friend’s support. “Do you think I’m that obvious?” Sam asked. “Do you think Deena will notice? Do you think I made a huge mistake? What if-”

“Sam.” Kate interrupted her. At first, she was frowning, but her heart softened seeing her friend’s anxiety at full force. “Come here,” she whispered, and hugged Sam for a long moment. “I know it hasn’t been easy,” she said softly, “I’ve seen you pine after Deena for years, and trust me, she’s missing out.”

“Thank you,” Sam smiled shyly when they pulled back from the embrace.

Kate thought about it for a moment and said, “Look, I think it was a little bit stupid to leave a love letter in the locker of your friend who happens to have a girlfriend. But I think it was a dick move that Heather let Deena assume it was from her, and did nothing to correct her. It’s going to blow up in her face later.”

After saying that, Kate started walking away, but Sam wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. “Wait, Kate!” she exclaimed, “Then what should I do?!”

Kate looked over her shoulder with a mischievous smile. “Keep it up,” she said, and added a wink.

While Kate got the other cheerleaders started for practice, Sam allowed herself, as the best friend of the captain, an additional moment to freak out by herself. However, it didn’t help that she looked around the field helplessly and her eyes found none other than Deena herself, among the other member of band, staring straight at her. As usual, Deena smiled, Sam waved awkwardly and then ran away in the opposite direction.

--

Following Kate’s advice, Sam continued making little cards to leave in Deena’s locker. Surprisingly, it got easier instead of more difficult. For the first time in her life, Sam was putting into words her feelings and actually sharing them with Deena. Sure, it was an imperfect situation, considering Sam still had to deal with Deena kissing her girlfriend every time a new card appeared, but at least she was dealing with it, right?

It started with a big, pink, cheesy, glittery, Valentine’s Day card. There were similar ones, featuring poems, dozens of little hearts drawn, papers folded into butterflies and hearts, and then into bats and frogs to make Deena laugh. Then the cards evolved. There were polaroid pictures of sunsets with simple messages written on them, short stories made on a typewriter, use and mention of all of Deena’s favorite things, including lyrics to her favorite songs, quotes from her favorite movies and books, her favorite colors, flowers, and lucky numbers. Maybe Sam couldn’t be Deena’s girlfriend but, at the very least, she was certain she had to know her just as well as Heather did.

This act of the secret admirer with the stolen identity lasted a couple of months. By the time their summer break started, Sam’s heart remained a little broken as it had been since the day Deena announced she had a girlfriend, but at least she was breathing a little easier, and taking that weight off her shoulders made her a little more confident, made her feel a little more like herself. So when the four of them hung out, Sam didn’t feel on the edge of a breakdown anymore. She could laugh with Deena as they had done for years, she could have conversations with Heather, she continued to have a great time with Simon, jumping on his back, letting him carry her around, and her bond with Kate remained strong, they could cuddle watching movies and talk shit about Heather in whispers when they thought Deena wasn’t looking at them. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was manageable, Sam thought.

Then, shortly after their summer break began, on the night of the first big storm in a while, Deena showed up at Sam’s house with red and swollen eyes and a guilty smile and whispered, “Can I come in?”

Suddenly, life wasn’t manageable at all. Sam dreamed up scenarios like this a million times, and just when she was starting to learn how to live without being hyper-aware of her crush on Deena, this happened.

Silently, she guided Deena up to her bedroom, and offered her a clean sweater and a blanket. She looked just as gorgeous, Sam thought, with her hair a mess, swollen eyes, and a nervous smile, as she did when she was all confident smirks and a perfectly nonchalant style.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked her softly, taking a seat on her bed next to the brunette.

Deena shook her head. “It’s been just one week of our summer break. But it’s the first week since Valentine's Day that I don’t get, you know, one of those cute little cards. And I just knew.”

“Oh,” Sam said through a breathless gasp. But she got this far by going along with Deena’s obliviousness, she could hang on a moment longer. “What… what do you know?”

“It wasn’t Heather,” Deena admitted and shook her head again. “There were so many signs, I should have known. She doesn’t know me that well, she never did. She could never… She could never do it by herself, at least.”

Sam couldn’t avoid frowning. Even then, Heather hadn’t fully admitted that she had nothing to do with the cards, at all. “So, what happened?” Sam asked then, trying her best to be careful.

“We broke up,” Deena shrugged, then chuckled tearfully. “To be honest, I don’t even know how, or why, we even lasted this long. Actually, maybe the cards helped, but now the illusion is over and so are we.”

“Deena, I’m sorry,” Sam blatantly lied, and placed a supportive hand on Deena’s back, because she might have been suffering the entire time Deena and Heather were together, but under no circumstances she would want Deena to suffer.

“Don’t be,” Deena replied, and wiped her eyes. There was a brief silence then. Deena took a deep breath, smiled when she looked at Sam, and said, “There’s so much I want to ask you now.”

“Me?” Sam blurted out, forgetting for a moment the soft whispers they had been communicating with. “What? Why? I mean, what do you want to ask me?”

The smile left Deena’s face. She looked down and started playing with a loose thread on Sam’s blanket wrapped over her shoulders. Sam could be wrong, but she thought she could feel Deena trembling more at that moment than when she found her standing under the rain a few minutes ago.

“Deena, are you okay?” Sam asked once more, even softer now, if possible.

“I’m a little scared, actually,” Deena confessed, without meeting the blonde’s eyes. “But I really need to know why.”

“Why?”

“Why did you do it? Why did you help her?”

“What?” Sam wondered, feeling like she had stumbled into one of those thousands of scenarios she had imagined for years, but she had missed an important part of the story. Finally though, Deena explained it all.

“Look, I asked Heather about the cards, and she couldn’t give me a straight answer. I figured she couldn’t do it by herself, and whoever was helping her stopped, and she couldn’t manage to keep going alone. One thing led to the other and we broke up. But I still don’t know who was helping her. Well… I have a theory. Because, Sam, very few people know me this well. Kate did a shit job at hiding how much she disliked Heather since the beginning, and something tells me it wasn’t Simon. So…”

“Deena…”

“I just want to know why?! Why would you help her? Why did you stop? Why…” Deena started crying softly. “How didn’t you see that I would fall in love with those cards instead of the real Heather? And how fucking confusing and complicated it would be for me when I learned the truth?! Why, Sam, why the fuck would you do all this for me when you’re dating Kate?!”

“What the fuck…”

When Deena started crying, Sam had followed suit. Sam was having an internal breakdown, realizing she would have to explain herself, finally confess everything to Deena and apologize. But then Deena had said that last thing and Sam’s brain simply experienced a short circuit.

“Don’t try to deny it, Sam,” Deena frowned and wiped her tears a little more aggressively now. “I’ve seen you, for years, you two are in love and it's so obvious it drives me crazy. All the hugs, the whispers, the secrets, the stupid fucking winks during cheer practice! And it’s okay, really! I’m a big girl, I can take it, I can keep my feelings to myself. And I found Heather, didn’t I? It was okay, I could pretend… But then you had to go and… Why did you do it, Sam?”

Sam’s heart and mind were racing, but she managed a small smile. “Deena, I swear that Kate and I aren’t dating at all. It’s a very, very impossible thing, I promise.”

Deena attempted a smile, but didn’t quite manage it. “I find that a little hard to believe,” she whispered.

Sam was feeling so many emotions at once that it was enough to cloud most of her usual self-restraint. Carefully, she moved her hand to Deena’s face. She softly wiped away Deena’s tears with her thumb, and left her palm there cradling Deena’s cheek. It was an indescribable feeling what she experienced when Deena leaned into her touch.

“Can you please tell me what feelings you were trying to keep to yourself?” Sam asked, not without a great amount of fear.

Her words didn’t please Deena. The brunette jerked away, so that Sam had to pull her hand away. “Don’t make me say what’s obvious, Sam,” Deena groaned.

“Deena, look at me, please,” Sam whispered, and when the other girl complied she smiled. “If I’ve learned something over the course of this conversation is that nothing is ever obvious. At least not for us.”

“What do you mean?” Deena frowned in genuine confusion. And Sam found her expression so endearing that she couldn’t help but spill every last word she had been holding back for so long.

“Deena, I didn’t help Heather with the cards. She had nothing to do with them. It was all me,” Sam confessed and watched the realization take over Deena’s face. “I’ve had a crush on you for an embarrassing number of years. Kate has been comforting me and trying to get me to confess through most of them, but nothing else. These cards were the only way I had to express my feelings and I’m really sorry I didn’t just tell you the truth. I was just…”

“Scared,” Deena finished for her.

“Yeah,” Sam sighed.

“I was scared too.”

Now that the confession was over, she expected to feel a lot of things, like relief, embarrassment, mortification, fear. But with the way Deena was looking at her, Sam couldn’t feel or think much of anything at all. “Now what?” She asked with a trembling voice.

“Now, if you please let me, I’d like to kiss you the way I’ve wanted to do for years,” Deena replied.

Deena’s word made Sam smile with unmeasurable happiness. She took Deena’s face in her hands and pulled her in for a kiss. Their first kiss of many more to come. No more secrets, no more hiding their feelings.

Sam’s favorite part? Other than that first kiss? It was waking up the next day and finding out that Deena had managed to hide a letter under her pillow the previous night. It was written on a ripped page from a notebook, it had a couple of scratched-out words and sentences, but it also promised to be the first one of many more.

It started with “Dear Sam, it’s your secret admirer (Deena)...”

#finally writing some prompts! :D #i hope you like it #fear street #sameena #sam x deena #deena x sam #deena johnson #sam fraser #kate schmidt #heather watkins #fs #fear street fanfiction #fear street trilogy #prompts #answered #my fic

[facewithoutheart]

Thanks to @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @you-remind-me-of-the-babe and @urban-sith for the tags 😘

What if… I just gave y’all all the WIPs today??

From a very short fic about Simon being spelled back to age eleven (is this one of my COC prompt fics? Ok maybe, but I fell in love with it. Oops!):

“Where am I?” An eleven-year-old Simon Snow blinks up at me, huddled in the thin sheets of his hospital bed.

Crowley, I’d forgotten how thin he used to be. How small. (Like I needed another overwhelming reason to want to wrap him in my arms.) (To protect him from everything he has yet to face.)

“You’re in the nurse’s suite,” I explain, looking around for the woman in question. Despite my role in his predicament, I’m not equipped to manage this alone.

“Did I get hurt again?”

My heart stutters at the ‘again.’ “Not exactly,” I reply, my panic rising. Where is Miss Christy?

From my Fake Dating AU (unnamed):

“When did I decide to live in a museum of my own vanity?” I ask Fiona.

“About the time you decided you ‘preferred’ bottoming,” she answers, wrinkling her nose at a plain silk shirt. “About the time you filled your wardrobe with solid colors and silk.”

“I hate silk,” I admit.

“Who doesn’t?” She shudders, tossing the shirt onto the pile marked ‘bin’. “It makes you sweat and then it reveals every droplet generated.” She laughs. “Come to think of it, silk sounds a lot like Smith.”

From my textfic “Thirst Trapped”:

Text Message to Shepard Love

Simon Salisbury: you’re not gonna tell Penny that I found that out because I accidentally tried to eat a hot dog whole, right?

Shepard Love: who do you think I am?

Shepard Love: you know I wouldn’t spill your secrets like that

Fuck Davy Snipchat Group

PenelopeBunce: wait

PenelopeBunce: did you discover this trait while eating a hot dog?

Sorry for the long post! Tagging @martsonmars @sillyunicorn @mostlymaudlin @palimpsessed @fatalfangirl @tea-brigade @forabeatofadrum if y’all would like to share (no pressure as always!)

#wip wednesday #snowbaz #fanfic #oops all the WIPs

[fanficsandfluff]

That Damned Laugh

To the anon who informed me of Rainbow Rowell's RACISM, i am writing this for my love of the characters, not the author's writing skill or fame. fuck her. i am still very much aware of what she wrote about and how she portrayed a character, but i cannot stop this inspiration when it comes to me. (wait to be clear to everyone reading this who hadn't seen the anons and my discussion, carry on wasnt the accused racist book. that was something else.)

If you, anon, end up seeing this and maybe don't like what I'm doing or whatnot, I'd love to hear from you again.

For those of you who maybe do practice Death of the Author, I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Carry On

Characters: Simon Snow, Baz Pitch

Words: 1,905

~~~~~

BAZ

Simon Snow does not laugh, full stop.

(Well, to be fair I'm not a cackler much myself, but I do at least guffaw from time to time.)

Snow spent so much of his youth being weighed down by the 'Chosen One' moniker and being tormented by yours truly. Still, I know of that little list he kept of things he liked about Watford and all its experiences and people. It seemed he did take joy in most of it all. After all, I'm sure he had fun at Bunce's house on many an occasion.

But just being around him and in this way for a while now, you start to notice. He's seen me laugh. A few times, in fact. And hard. I'm not very proud of it; what that man can do to me and make me do. He doesn't like when I cover my hand over my smile. It's habit, though, I've reminded him countless times. The fangs and all. We're working on it.

But Simon may just smile or huff. I've giggled with him on our particularly soft nights or togethertimes.

All this to say... I've found a new hobby/goal/obsession recently.

Make Simon Snow laugh.

My cheekiness all these years has kept my humor to cruel, lowbrow tones. Maybe it makes me less funny, I don't know. But once or twice I'd nail a comeback or snarky one-liner (of course with a bit of flirt thrown in) and Snow will giggle and shake his head. But that's all I've achieved! A small, pandering, boring -- though still admirably adorable -- (Damn that Snow) giggle.

I've moved on to physical humor. I tried throwing myself dramatically over him when he's in bed, but he just seems to think it's all part of my Pitch flair.

Today I made a minor breakthrough.

I was in the kitchen trying to mix myself a smoothie. Bunce has been gushing about a smoothie craze for weeks now, so I finally figured why not. The damn lid wasn't on tight enough. Not-yet-smooth smoothie shot everywhere. There was a pause as it happened, my one hand on the Liquify button, my other resting nonchalantly atop the lid that didn't do any lidding, dammit.

Snow looked up at me from his seat by the kitchen counter, eyes drawn from his phone. A beat. He barked out a laugh. A much louder one than I think I'd ever heard him make.

"Put a sock in it, Snow," I growled, to keep with my facade, though inside I was jittery with glee. I wanted to hear more.

Snow convinced me to binge a new show. Crime Minds. Something like that. No, criminal. It's Criminal Minds.

You wouldn't expect this to be a series fit enough for a cuddle, but Snow and I are an unexpected couple. So it works.

A few dumb jokes are littered throughout the show, in between corpses and the same police station set being reorganized and shot from different angles every episode. One such joke was so inconspicuous and so nothing that I cannot even recall it now. But both Snow and I chuckled at it. Then Snow made an additional comment to it, making me laugh. And soon we were both giggling together like schoolboys, like we had early on when we were maybe still a bit bashful with each other.

He shoved his face into my ribs and snorted when I whispered the new inside joke much later on in the episode. I was also grinning like a madman, but the soft tickle his action gave me didn't exactly---

Oh.

In bed. Perfect. Lovers fool around all the time in bed. Not fool around as in sex--well, no, of course sex, but I mean they also play around-- never mind.

SIMON

Baz has been acting off lately. I can't quite put my finger on what it is. He seems distracted. More like how I act. I'm always thinking of something else, not able to stay focused on one thing for long. He's like that, but trying to act like he isn't.

We're doing something odd today. We're in bed at sunset. It's hardly sunset, as a matter of fact. The sun isn't seeping orange and red into the flat yet. Penelope took us out on a hike today. It tuckered the both of us out. Baz drained a buck when we got home.

I'm laying perpendicular to Baz (or is it parallel? composite? I could never remember mathematics), my legs resting over his stomach. He's reading and I'm playing a puzzle app on my phone.

BAZ

Now's the time, Baz. Just do it, don't think.

His socked feet are right in front of me. There's only been a handful of times we've sat in this position, half of them being my lower half resting on Simon's sturdier upper half. It's now or never.

I stare at his feet for too long, zoning out and forgetting that I was left staring at them, so it definitely looked like I have a fetish for feet. Which I don't. Focus, Basilton.

I take a finger-- no, two fingers. I scratch quickly at his heel. His leg jerks, foot being pulled back.

"What?" he asks me, as if I hadn't been plotting this for weeks. As if I just did it to get his attention.

"Something on the bottom of your sock, love."

Simon went right back to his head hanging upside down off the side of the bed, phone held out in front of his eyes.

Well, that proved one thing. He's ticklish.

He places his ankles right back where they originally were, crossed, atop my stomach. I try again, this time on his arch. I apply more pressure.

"Bahaz!" Simon shakes his foot out, "Is that how you start a foot massage?"

"Would you like a foot massage?"

"No. Not if it's going to tickle like that."

My cheeks heat up. Damn that buck. I'm rosier than I usually am.

"You're ticklish?" I ask, coolly. I barely stuttered.

"I wouldn't try it," he's back to looking at his phone again, "Penny did once and I nearly broke her elbow or something. She wouldn't stop talking about it for days."

"So you're very ticklish, then."

"Don't," this is the first time Snow seems to tense up.

There's a moment of quiet between us. A tense quiet. I lunge for his ankles and he shoots up into a sitting position. I scratch at his arch with four fingers now and he screams.

"Baz!" Simon whines a bit and he somehow yanks his legs free, not without losing one of his socks in my grip.

SIMON

He's grinning at me. No. Sneering.

I still hate when he does that. Reminds me of back when I wanted to throttle him. Sometimes I still do.

"Baz," I warn. His whole posture changes into a predator's, like he's the lion and I'm his fresh zebra. The new stance sends a shiver down my spine, with his shoulders hunched and all, ready to pounce.

"Baz... Baz, Baz, Baz..." I say over and over again because he's smiling at me, and then I start to smile, too, "Bahaz!" I try once more, but his name is all that's coming out, and now I'm giggling. I'm nervous. He did this to me.

BAZ

He's already giggling and I haven't even laid a hand on him.

"Yes, Snow?" I respond to his many calls of my name before I lurch forward, sending my whole body crashing on top of his and trying to pin him. I dig my fingers into his sides and don't stop for as long as I can maintain contact through his squirming.

"Gehehet off!" he's already crumbling, words being broken up with short laughs.

I slide my fingertips to his stomach and scratch there; Snow bucks. It gets even better when my cold fingers make contact with his warm skin beneath the shirt he's wearing. He yelps like I've never heard him yelp (like he's burnt his finger, but he's also 11-years-old again), and he dissolves into loud, beautiful laughter.

"St-Stohohop! Baz! I'm going to end you!"

"Isn't that how we always said it would end? Snuffing each other out? I'm perfectly happy that it's now going to end in my favor. You should've told me you were this easy to defeat earlier on, Snow."

"Shut up!" he cackles, legs kicking wildly behind me, as my body is thrown over his torso. Now I have both my hands buried into his sides, squeezing and squeezing. I get curious, my cheeks still burning with blood, and I lean down to his neck and... (no, I don't bite) I start nibbling. Snow loses it.

His whole face scrunches up, as I watch when I pull my head back. His smile is huge and bright. And the laughs bubble up from his stomach, releasing softer into the air like he sucked a little of the joy from it before releasing to keep for himself.

"Dohon't do that!"

"I thought you love my kisses."

"Not tha-HAAT!"

He shrieks again, hands too slow to stop my face from moving in. I nibble and even lick a few times, careful not to touch him with my fangs.

Did I mention that my hands are still tickling at his sides and ribs while I'm nibbling? Oh yes, I've waited so long for this sound. I wasn't going to make it come out lightly.

I blow a raspberry and that's when Snow's laughter catches and turns all hiccuppy. The noises are infecting me, starting to make me giggle. I shift, and my face now descends towards his stomach, which is bared after I rucked the shirt up.

SIMON

"TYRANNUS BASILTON G-GRIMM FUCKING PITCH-- OR WHATEVER YOUR LONG STUPID ARSEHOLE NAME IS--"

He's laughing at me. I keep laughing even without him tickling me.

"I swehehear I'm going to fucking kill you and your whole family if you do that dohown thehere--" I'm hiccuping. Crowley, how embarrassing.

BAZ

He's got me. I can hardly breathe from laughter. I keel over into him or he into me, but soon we're a laughing pile together on top of the mussed up sheets on the bed.

I make a loud snort and that reels us both back in again, laughing til we're red in the face and til my cheeks hurt.

Simon is giggling away, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself, but he just keeps on giggling. I'm able to sit up a little more and Snow's head is in my lap. He's beaming and looking up at me through squinted, teary eyes.

"That was fun," I say, and I don't think it's the brightest or smartest thing to say. But I say it.

"I love you," Snow's smile is still wide, like he's drunk from it. There's a moment where I feel like I've died again, color drained from me.

It doesn't seem to bother him, that he's said that. For the first time. I run my fingers through his reddish curls once, letting them tangle in the locks towards the back of his head. I hunch myself down so I can kiss him.

"I've wanted to hear that for so long," I whisper.

"That I love you? You haven't figured it out by now?"

"No, you idiot," I say with nothing but fondness, brushing my nose along Simon's jaw, "Your laugh."

#carry on #carry on: the rise and fall of simon snow #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #snowbaz #simon/baz #simon and baz #fanfiction #carry on fanfiction #carry on fanfic #fanfic #ticklish!simon #ticklish!simonsnow #lee!simon #ler!baz

[angelsfalling16]

The Way You Wear That Dress

Inspired by the song Dress by Charlotte Sands

Part of the 20 First Kisses Series

Summary: It's the beginning of eighth year, and Simon can't find Baz at the Welcome Back Picnic, so he goes in search of him. What he finds is unexpected and makes him rethink everything he has ever felt for Baz.

Word Count: 2150

If you want to know what I imagined Baz’s outfit looking like, here are the links to the dress and the boots! (I love the idea of Baz in these boots and have used them in a couple of fics now.)

Read it on ao3

***

Simon

It’s the beginning of eighth year, and I’m pretty sure Baz is already up to something. He isn’t at the Welcome Back picnic with everyone else, so I decide to go in search of him and stop whatever scheme he’s about to put into motion.

I start with our room, wondering if maybe he decided to go back up there, but the room looks the same as it always is at the beginning of term. My side is devoid of any personal items since I didn’t have anything I felt like bringing back from the care homes (not that I really had anything there). Baz’s side is immaculate, all of his things neatly put away in their respective places, filled but not cluttered.

I move over to the window to look out at the school. It seems empty right now with everyone else out at the picnic. My eyes skate over the courtyard where, not long ago, the first years’ fates were sealed by the Crucible. I only hope none of them were given as evil a roommate I was.

My gaze continues over the grounds for anyone who isn’t out on the lawn, and after a minute of searching I catch movement on the ramparts.

It could be anyone, but I know it’s him.

I turn away from the window and head back down the stairs and away from Mummers House. I quickly but quietly make my way to where Baz is, not wanting to scare him off before I can figure out what he’s up to but also wanting to get to him before he disappears again.

I come to a stop several feet away from where he stands on the ramparts. It isn’t what he’s doing that causes me to freeze, though. It’s what he’s wearing.

At first, I wonder if he has decided to don the Watford-issued cape for his final year, but then I realize that the swishing of cloth around him isn’t a cape. It’s a dress.

The dark green material falls to just above his knee in the front, giving just a glimpse of his thighs, but in the back, it nearly grazes the ground. At the top, around Baz’s shoulders and chest and around to his back, the material is sheer with interwoven lace, allowing his pale, grey skin to show through. He wears the dress like it’s nothing, like it was made specifically for him. (Knowing Baz, it probably was).

My eyes follow the line of his dress down to his things and knees, but where I expect to see the rest of his legs – his muscular football calves – I’m met with the sight of knee-high boots that are laced up the back and have a heel that adds at least two inches to two inches Baz already has over me.

I can’t seem to stop staring at his outfit, but I finally manage to force my eyes back up, and that’s when I notice Baz’s hair.

For the first time since I’ve met him, Baz is wearing his hair down with no products slicking it back away from his face. Instead, it’s being pushed back by a thin headband, silver like his eyes, that still allows his hair to fall in natural waves around his face.

Suddenly, my mouth is dry and my throat feels tight. I try to form words in my head, but my mind is blank. All I can think is, legs. And that’s when I know that I’m fucked.

How is it that Baz looks so good in a dress? He should look ridiculous. I should want to ridicule him for it. Instead, all I can do is stare and hope that he doesn’t turn and find me staring at him.

For a full minute, my eyes slowly drag up and down his body, taking it all in, before I force myself to look away, not wanting to get caught staring at him. Inevitably, though, my eyes are drawn back to him. 

It’s hard to believe that it’s really him. I just can’t reconcile this version of Baz with the version I’ve known for seven years. He looks so different, but he also looks very much like himself. Possibly even more like himself than he ever has. (If that makes sense.)

I wonder what happened to him this summer. It’s like there was a shift somewhere within him that made him act and dress differently. I just don’t know what it is.

He is dressed so femininely, but he still holds this masculinity about him, and the whole thing is driving me crazy. He pulls it off so effortlessly.

He’s dripping with confidence as he leans his arms on the ramparts, a lit cigarette hanging between his fingers.

I know the smart thing to do would be to turn away and leave him be, but doing what’s smart has never really been my strong suit.

I take a few steps towards him even though I haven’t consciously made the decision to do so. I feel drawn to him like a string is pulling me towards him, and as I draw nearer, I notice a glossiness to his lips, as if he’s spread lip gloss or something over them.

I want to hit him. Why does he always look so good? It’s annoying. 

My eyes fall back to the dress he’s wearing, and I can only imagine what other people might think if they saw him like this. For starters, he’s out of uniform, and also, he looks bloody well perfect, like nothing he wears will ever make him look bad.

I briefly consider going to find the mage and telling him what Baz is wearing, but breaking dress code isn’t enough to get him kicked out of school. Plus, I’m not sure I want to share this side of Baz with anyone else.

I’m not sure why but it probably has a lot to do with the fact that Baz has obviously chosen a place away from everyone else, maybe so they won’t see him like this and judge him for it. But it could be something else holding me back. Something like this desperate need I’m feeling to put my hands on him.

I want to push him up against the wall and…and…. That’s where my thoughts cut off because usually when I push Baz against the wall, I want to punch him, but today, that’s not what I want. I don’t want to fight him. I want to…

I shake my head. I can’t finish that thought, can’t think about what it means.

And yet…

An image pops into my head of my hands on his hips, rubbing against the luxurious material of the dress he’s wearing. Of my hands in his hair, tangling in it. Of his breath on my cheek. Of the feeling of his glossed lips on mine. Of the moment he starts to kiss me back and--.

And I shake my head again.

I won’t lie and say that I don’t want any of that, but I can’t be foolish enough to allow myself to hope for it. Nothing has changed. Baz still hates me, and he’d laugh in my face if he found out that I want to kiss him.

Because I do. Want to kiss him, that is. And it’s not just because of the dress. I think that was just the thing that pushed me to finally admit how I feel. How I’ve felt for a long time.

But Baz will never feel the same way about me.

I should go. I can’t let him catch me practically drooling at the sight of him in that dress.

I turn away from him, but I turn too quickly and trip on my own feet, cursing loudly as I try to catch myself.

“Simon?” Baz says behind me.

“Uh…” I say stupidly, picking myself up off the ground and slowly turning to face him. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing here?”

“You, uh, you w-weren’t at the picnic. I came looking for y-you,” I stutter out as my face flushes red.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” he says, and his voice sounds strangled.

He drops the cigarette to ground and grounds it out with the toe of a boot that probably costs more than everything I have ever owned. That sight shouldn’t make me even more attracted to him, but it does.

He turns one of his usual sneers on me and snaps something snarky at me, probably the beginning of chewing me out for following him, but I barely hear a word he says because I’m so mesmerized by the way he looks. Also, the sound of his voice is somewhat soothing, even with the biting words that no doubt spill from his glossy lips. I missed hearing it while we were away for the summer.

He’s looking at me expectantly now, like he’s waiting for me to answer a question I didn’t hear, and I feel myself blush even deeper.

What the hell is wrong with me? This is Baz. He’s just wearing a dress. I shouldn’t be acting this weird around him.

That’s when I see his nails, colored all black, a glossy sheen to them, and that’s the last straw.

I can’t possibly think straight anymore, so I push all thoughts from my mind and move to close the distance between us. Careful not to mess up the dress, I shove him up against the wall but stop just before our lips meet.

The heels of his boots cause him to tower over me even more than usual, but I’m not bothered by it. I actually kind of love it.

His mouth is parted as if I stopped him mid-word, and the tips of his ears are turning pink. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, though. I’ve never been very good at reading people, especially not when it’s Baz.

“If you’re going to punch me, get it over with already, Snow,” he sneers.

“You called me Simon before,” I say.

“No, I didn’t.”

I shrug. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is, “I don’t want to punch you. Far from it actually.”

He hasn’t pushed me away yet, and my confidence starts to build. Maybe Baz would be more receptive to this than I originally thought. 

I keep one hand on his hip to keep him pinned to the wall and move the other one up to cup the side of his face.

“Is this okay?” I whisper, hesitantly. He nods, so I move my hand up higher, into his hair. My hand slides over the headband and combs through his hair. “What about this?” I ask, my voice breathy and barely audibly.

He nods again.

My eyes drop down to his mouth, and I want to try one more thing, but I don’t want to push my luck. I don’t want to risk trying too much and losing it all.

“Just do it,” Baz whispers as though he read my mind.

I cock my head at him in a question, uncertain whether he actually means what I think he does. Then he says “kiss me” so I quietly I almost don’t hear him. But I do hear him, and it only takes me a beat to lean forward and press my lips firmly to his.

The kiss is everything I imagined and more. His lips taste like cherry cola, and I feel drunk on the taste of him. Like I’ve lost all sense. (And maybe I have since I’m kissing Baz of all people.)

It only takes a moment for Baz to begin kissing me back, his arms coming up to wrap around me and pull me closer. I can feel the dress move along his body as he moves under my hand, and I feel lucky that I get to experience this. It’s a shame that he’ll only be wearing the uniform after this.

I wonder if he would even want to wear this dress in front of other people if he could.

I like the way he looks in it, but I obviously wasn’t meant to see him like this. Does he like wearing the dress? Is he afraid of what other people might think? Has he worn it before?

I have a million questions, but now is not the time to ask. If Baz wants to talk to me about his choice to wear the dress, I’ll be there to listen. But I won’t pressure him into talking about it.

So, for now, I’m going to enjoy it while I can.

I’m going to enjoy this while I can. Having Baz in my hands and not fighting with him. This is so much better than fighting, I think, and I continue to kiss him, thinking about how this may be the best year at Watford yet.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow trilogy #rainbow rowell #my writing #the way you wear that dress #20fk

[theshrubbery]

Here’s my new snowbaz fic!!

Summary: Back at Watford I was always on the ball with these things. I spent years suspecting he was a vampire and yet here I am, completely oblivious. Sometimes I feel as though I left all of that at Watford, like Baz took on a new identity when we left, like that’s an old life that I’m not a part of anymore.

Sometimes I forget that I’m not the only one with scars. My tail flicks pointedly.

Or; 5 times Simon forgot that Baz was a vampire, and 1 time he didn't.

________________________________________________________________

Baz has been gone for far too long. He’s never out this long. Especially not when he has uni the next day. It’s way past midnight, probably past one now. I haven’t checked in a while because that would mean I have to stop pacing long enough to look.

He should be back by now. Where is he?

He said he’d be back over an hour ago and he’s not answering his phone. It’s just ringing straight through to voicemail - he doesn’t even have the excuse that it’s died. Unless he’s lost it? But that’s unlikely. Baz never loses anything, Merlin knows how.  

I can’t take much more of this. I stop pacing, growl in frustration, run my hands through my hair and then slide my phone out of my pocket.

he’s still not back pen I type out quickly, sending it to Penny. She’s at home visiting her parents for the weekend, it’s her mum’s birthday. I’d give anything to have her here now, she always knows what to do. Unlike me. So much for being the chosen one, Merlin and Morgana I can’t do anything on my own.

Give him a little longer. Penny texts back in reply. I rush to unlock my phone so I can read it in full. Don’t go looking for him. Not with your tail and wings out.

Frustration bubbles up from my stomach to my chest. I hate this. I hate that I can’t just go out like a normal person. I hate that I can’t even open the door for a bloody delivery driver anymore without someone spelling all my extra parts invisible first. It’s demeaning and ridiculous and I feel like a ninny.

I clench my teeth and walk stiffly over to the table, finishing off the dregs of a bottle of cider - my third one of the night. So far. I shake the bottle a few times over my open mouth and then slam it down and continue to pace. At least it’s gotten me off the sofa, I suppose.

My stomach is in absolute knots. I’m so worried over this it’s making it ache. It doesn’t matter that we’re living safely amongst Normals, anything could have happened. It’s not like the underbelly of the Magickal world pays any attention to the rules.

Then, just as I really am about to go insane with worry, there’s a dull thump at the door. It rattles on its hinges, like someone’s thrown themselves against it and all I can think is I swear Baz took his keys when he left.

I rush to look through the keyhole, just in case. It’s a habit Baz and Penny absolutely drilled into me so that I didn’t swing the door open to anyone with my wings out.

It’s Baz. Oh, great snakes. Thank Merlin. Though the relief is short lived.

I yank the door open and my heart instantly drops to somewhere near my intestines.

Baz is heaving for breath, one arm clutching his bloodied shirt and the other hanging limply at his side, his wand in his hand. His clothes are dirty and torn, blood is puddling slowly at the floor by his feet. I’m having trouble breathing. It’s like the fight with the Mage all over again, it’s Ebb’s dead body.

Baz mutters a spell under his breath, I don’t catch what it is but it magicks the floor clean. Has he been doing that the entire way up here? Surely that’s draining way more magic than it’s worth! Energy that Baz could be better using to just concentrate on getting to the flat and not dying in the process.

“You goin’ to… You going to let me in or what?” Baz slurs, catching himself halfway through and fighting to get the words out. He’s gritting his teeth, his perfect mouth is stained red. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Baz slur, it’s disconcerting. I’ve known him most of my life and in all that time his enunciation was always near perfect at the worst of times, impeccable at the best. It’s part of what makes him so talented with magick.

“Oh fuck. Baz? Baz, what happened?” I rush out, distantly noticing I’m swearing like a Normal from the stress. My hands flutter around Baz, I don’t know where I should touch him, I don’t know if I can touch him. What if I make it worse? What if I hurt him?

“I got jumped,” Baz tells me, starting to shoulder his way past me and into the flat. “I got stabbed. Quite a few times, actually.”

I block the way, glad that Baz doesn’t seem to have the strength to boulder his way past me.

“Oh, god. We need to go to the hospital.” I dart to the dish on the hallway side, my vision tilting in panic as I grab my keys and wallet. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe what we’ve fought together and he’s been so badly maimed by muggers. This might even beat the Numpties incident. I can’t believe I’m thinking something like that at a time like this - this isn’t the time for jokes. Oh, god.

“I’m not going,” Baz says, pushing past me. I grab his shoulders to stop him, and then let go with a sickened jolt when he winces.

“Stop being stupid, Baz. Hospital. Now.” Baz leans his forearm on the door-frame and begins to bow over himself, groaning. My heart is hammering a mile a minute. “Look at you, you’re bleeding to death!”

Baz snorts. “If only.”

“What?”

“Merlin and Morgana, just let me in.” Baz spells the floor clean again. “Hurry up, before someone sees you.”

“But the-”

“Simon.” Baz lifts his bowed head to look at me, his forehead is crinkled. “Trust me. Don’t-” he breaks off with a load moan of pain, turning to rest his forehead on the arm holding him up against the frame.

“Baz!” My voice is shaking so hard it’s difficult to imagine I ever stood up to dragons, if this is all it takes to bring me down. To be fair, I think I’d go down with a lot less, too, these days.

“I need to lay down,” Baz says faintly. I really don’t like this. I mean, who would? But this is terrifying. It’s always Baz cleaning up after me, Baz patching me up, Baz is never the one as vulnerable as this. I don’t like it, I hate it, and I hate that I don’t have a single clue what to fucking do.

“Fine. Fuck. Okay, come on,” I stutter out. I take Baz’s wand, ignoring the pang in my chest at holding it, and sling his arm over my shoulders. I lead him into the flat, kicking the front door closed behind us, and walk us slowly to the sofa.

Baz staggers his way over, holding out his other arm and grabbing at things as we pass them. He grabs the back of a chair, the sideboard, the back of the sofa. He’s leaving blood stains but I don’t care.

“Easy, Snow,” Baz says as I lower him down, as gently as I possibly can. Baz’s eyes look a little glazed and I feel sick.

“I got you,” I tell him quietly. I put his wand on the coffee table.

“Your hands’re shaking,” Baz mumbles, his words stringing together, like that’s the most important fucking thing to be realising right now. Maybe he’s going into shock? I really doesn’t know what to do. I needs Penny. Penny would know what to do.

Once he can feel the sofa beneath him, Baz lays himself down and I lift both his legs up onto the sofa for him. I try to make him as comfortable as possible despite the way they hang, lanky, over the arm. Or as comfortable as one can be when he’s fucking bleeding out and refusing to get any medical attention .

“Do you need anything?” I ask quickly, already pulling my phone out to scroll for Penny’s number.

“Towel or something, please. Just to soak the blood.”

“Okay, love. Okay. I got it. I’ll be right back.” I kiss his forehead and rush off, holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I crash my way into the bathroom and start rummaging around for towels and anything that might possibly help.

“Simon? What is it?” Penny's tinny voice asks. Not even a hello, that’s so typical, straight to the point. Right now I’m extremely thankful for it. I pull a plastic bowl out of the sink and throw some towels in it as I reply.

“Baz’s hurt. He got jumped. I think he’s been stabbed.”

“Merlin, stabbed? How is that possible? Is he alright?”  

“He’s bleeding bad and refusing to go to hospital.” I throw a half empty packet of plasters in my bowl as though they’ll help anything. “I don’t know what to do, Pen.”

“I mean… He can’t go to hospital anyways, Simon. He should be fine unless it was some special sort of weapon. I mean, I can’t think of many ways that a knife can actually kill a vampire.” And then the other shoe drops.

“Oh, shit,” I swear, realisation washing over me in a great big wave of Simon you complete buffoon.

“What is it?”  

“A vampire. Great snakes, Pen, I forgot he was a bloody vampire!”

“Oh, Simon,” Penny says with a sigh. Though there’s still a worried edge to her voice. “No wonder you were worrying so much.”

“Now it makes sense why he wouldn’t go to hospital.”

“Go and look after him, Simon. He’ll be alright. Just keep him comfortable and he’ll be healed up in no time. If he’s still not healed by the time I come back home I’ll sort him out.”

“I will. Sorry, Pen. For disturbing you so late. But- thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s what I’m here for.” There’s a muted beep as she hangs up the phone, and I shove it back in my pocket. I feel like a complete idiot. Vampire. How on earth could I possibly forget that? I’m going to blame it on my panic. I’m going to blame it on the fact Baz doesn’t hang from walls and kidnap virgin maidens to drain their blood, the fact he doesn’t turn into a bat.

Or at least not that I’m aware of.

I take the towels and box of plasters out of the empty bowl and fill it with warm water out the bathroom tap instead, then carry all of it back to the sofa and set it out on the floor next to Baz.

He’s still lying exactly how I left him, though with one arm draped over his eyes, the other clutching in a white-knuckled grip at his torso.

“Took you long enough,” Baz says in a low voice. It almost sounds like a groan.

“Sorry, Baz.” I kneel down, my legs tucked under me. “I completely forgot about the whole… Vampire thing.”

“Vampire thing,” he parrots back. “Right. So I heard. That would explain things.” Guilt rushes through my system, heats my cheeks. Of course he heard me on the phone. Back at Watford I was always on the ball with these things. I spent years suspecting he was a vampire and yet here I am, completely oblivious. Sometimes I feel as though I left all of that at Watford, like Baz took on a new identity when we left, like that’s an old life that I’m not a part of anymore.

Sometimes I forget that I’m not the only one with scars. My tail flicks pointedly.

“Does it hurt?” I ask him, dunking a towel in the water. “How did it even happen?”

Baz nods and makes a small noise deep in his throat. “Yeah. It hurts. It probably will for a few hours, then it’ll mostly just be itchy. I’ll heal in no time. The only reason I’m even bleeding like this is because I’d just fed - I’ll have to go again once this is sorted.”

“But how did it happen? Was it another vampire?” Surely there has to be more to the story than this. Baz looks uncomfortable, if a little sheepish.

“Just your average alleyway muggers, really.” I raise my eyebrows.

“Crowley.” I curse. “How’d you manage that?”

“I didn’t want to hurt them,” Baz admits with a wince, lowering his arm and staring up at the ceiling. “It would, of course, been fairly easy to tear them to shreds with my bare hands. But that isn’t something I was willing to do.”

“Christ, Baz. There’s going easy on people and then there’s this.” I let go of the towel and gesture sweepingly across Baz’s abdomen and chest. “They shouldn’t have been able to leave this much damage on you.”

Baz looks distant, like he’s weighing things up in his head. I hate that look. It means he’s deciding how much I need to know.

We haven’t really been getting along as well as we used to, recently. Or maybe, it’s just hard to transition from sworn enemies to boyfriends in the matter of a few days. We’ve only been out of Watford a couple of months, but it’s been difficult for us. At first we couldn’t stop kissing and groping for long enough to watch a full episode of the Bake Off but recently it’s like there’s some invisible wedge growing between us.

I still love him, I’m sure of it. I think he loves me, too. But I don’t know what I’m doing. What we’re doing. We need to talk, communicate, but I’m terrified that if we do he’ll leave me. So I just let the divide deepen, and hate myself for it the entire time.

Looking at Baz now, though, I’m scared that I’m looking at the same Baz that tried to set himself alight in the woods. He has issues too, he just hides them better than I do. I feel like such a shit boyfriend, I can’t help him. One day he’ll realise he’s better than me, that I’m not good enough. But I don't want him to go, and that's selfish.

“I didn’t want to hurt them,” Baz repeats after a long silence. “Either way, they were pretty scared by the fact I stayed on my feet for so long.”

“Of course they were, if you were normal you’d be dead.”

Baz immediately flinches, his smirk drops along with my stomach.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly, but the words catch in my throat and sound like an insincere stutter. “You are normal. For you, I mean.”

Baz sighs. For a second I think he’s going to punch me, but then I realise it’s the opposite. He deflates; his pinched brow and glazed eyes are the fight leaving him.

“Help me out of this shirt,” he says, letting it go.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“But I’m not normal, am I? Not for me. I wasn’t born this way, I was made. It was forced on me,” he quips. Sharp and fast and unfaltering. His eyes are blazing again.

“I-”

“It’s fine.” As quickly as the sparks catch they return to ash again. I really am sorry though. He won’t let me say it, not out loud, so I carry it like a mantra through my thoughts; I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry. “Help me with the shirt. Please, love.”

I bite my lip, but the endearment melts me a little. I know that it’s genuine, even if there is a whole void of unsaid things drifting between us. I reach for the buttons, undoing them as best I can with how my hands are shaking. I have to fight to keep my wings still, my tail, but it’s a losing battle. It’s written all over my body how agitated and nervous I am.

The shirt (the white shirt, why Baz hunts in a white shirt is beyond me) is torn across the chest and stomach, and as I undo the buttons and push the sides apart, my hand accidentally slides through the slash. Baz flinches, though he tries to control it.

“Watch the gaping bloody holes,” he says bluntly. I wince. There’s two glistening puncture wounds, I do my best not to look at them.

I pull the shirt away from him, bracing a hand on his back to help him sit up so I can pull it from under him even though I’m fairly sure he doesn’t really need the help. Looking at him, I can already see where the skin is healing. It doesn’t scab and clot, like flesh wounds normally do, the skin just seems to stitch itself smoothly back together.

I ball his shirt up and throw it to the side, then gently begin wiping the blood away with a damp towel.

“Careful, Snow,” Baz warns with a quiet hiss.

“Does it still hurt?” I have no idea how vampire pain receptors work.

“Crowely, Snow. Of course it hurts. I got stabbed .” Baz doesn’t really sound mad, but his voice has an edge to it.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. I don’t really know what else to say.

Baz doesn’t reply straight away. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I carry on wiping at the blood, vaguely recognising that, really, this isn’t even Baz’s.

“Why do you keep apologising so much?” He asks softly.

“I just- I don’t know.” I really don’t. “I just keep making you feel bad, and what sort of boyfriend forgets his boyfriend is a vampire? I’m sorry, Baz. Really.”

“It’s alright, Simon.” My stomach flutters at the use of my first name. “I’m glad I have you.” Baz always does this. He puts affection over everything like a salve. Lately he won’t let me be in the wrong, not him or Penny. The both of them walking on eggshells with me. It’s why nothing ever gets properly sorted out. Now isn’t the time for a fight, though.

“I bet you could do a better job with magic,” I mutter bitterly anyways.

“I don’t want to use magic. I’ve used enough magic. I don’t think I’d have enough left in me if I wanted to regardless.”

“Are you sure this is okay?”

“Absolutely, Simon. Absolutely.”

I carry on patching him up in silence. Even though it’s pointless. He’ll heal anyways, but he doesn’t stop me from wrapping the towels around him like a bandage and applying pressure with my hand. I look at where my hands are pressing over the wounds, trying to focus on the solid pressure of Baz beneath them.

The pain is mostly gone out of his face now, he just looks uncomfortable.

I wonder how indestructible Baz is. I wonder how long he’ll live. I wonder- no. I swallow. It’s no good thinking about all of this, not now, at least.

“I’m going to nap,” Baz says.

“Here? Or…?”

“I’ll be alright here, don’t worry.” I stare down at him until he looks back up at me. My heart squeezes as our eyes make contact and I reach up to press my hand against the side of his his grey face. His eyes seem to melt a little, he smiles and turns his head to kiss my hand.

“Come to bed. With me,” I whisper. I don’t want to be away from him right now. I need him near me, I need to feel that un-dead chest breathing.

It’s a struggle, but I help him up, and keep an arm around his waist as I lead him to the bedroom. He gets into bed first, lifting the covers and sliding in with a low hum. He’s falling asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. I notice how he pushes the covers away so that they don’t get stained.

I don’t care, I climb in and pull them over the both of us.

Baz lays still for a moment, tense. Then he shuffles closer to me, rests his head on my shoulder. I press my cheek to the top of it, hoping to smell bergamot. All I can smell is the tangy copper of blood. He’ll be wanting to shower once he’s awake, Baz hates being a mess.

He’s cold where he presses against me, but I don’t mind. He’s a vampire. It’s part of the deal. I want him as he is, not as he wishes he should be. I wonder if he thinks the same of me.

#snowbaz #simon snow fanfiction #snowbaz fic #fic rec #baz pitch fanfiction #simon snow #baz pitch

[nick-eyre]

I just thought idk if you write but for the Tyler Pitch au, have it so Baz gets attacked by vampires and his mum dies, and Malcom can’t take it, Fiona wants to drown him and call it an accident (I love her but she’s ruthless and she only gets that far bc Malcom is broken and doesn’t argue back) and as a compromise they put him in a home and wipe his memory so he knows nothing about himself except 1. He’s a vampire and he can’t tell anybody 2. He has magic and he can’t tell anybody 3. If somebody says they’re taking you to Watford, trust them. But apart from that he thinks he’s been born into care. And with Simon Davy has half a heart and sends him to Salisbury’s with a forged note from Lucy and a photo of her holding him, so he’s raised with Ruth. I’m not sure what would happen plott wise but I’d love to see the interactions between Powerful but Clumsy who was raised by his aunt and has a temper like the sun and knew how to use the 14-set pieces of cutlery before he could spell his own name. He still has a stutter (I HC that’s because he has so much power trying to get out bio a spells, that when he speaks his words jump out and it also explains why he’s seemingly impulsive speech wise) but it only shows up when he is out of his depth in the middle of town. You can have childhood best friends with Penny how they play pretend dragons and knights, and Simons first bit of magic is breathing fire. This means the mage doesn’t know if his rituals worked as he didn’t go off. With Baz, I’m not sure how he’d get to Watford other than when he was 11 Aunt Fiona showed up, but he obviously didn’t remember her. He told her to shove off and didn’t trust her, untill she showed him fire magic. It takes Baz a moment to actually use his magic and Fi is terrified that the last legacy of her sisters son is a dead battery. But once he gets a flame started he can controll it like a snake weaving through his fingers. She takes him to Watford, saying she’s been tracing him for a while bc Baz had moved home a few times and they weren’t notified as they (the carers) thought he had no family. I wanna see Baz go to Watford and have everybody talk about the tragic accident that took his mum, how brave and powerful she was, and how her family mourned her for years and years untill Malcom remarried. And he’s just stood there like “I’ve never met those people” and at one point he bunks off lesson and speaks to Ebb, who talks about fi and his dad and daphne and mordelia and the family he could have had. Baz, in his childhood naivety tells Ebb about him being a vampire, which she is shocked by but very maternal instead of scared. And it ends up with Simon and Baz hating eachother (the plotting and vampire accusations is still a thing and Simon is still simon, but he also makes digs about Baz stealing shit bc he’s poor, to which Penny jabs him in the ribs for, Baz says he doesn’t need penny’s help albeit more rudely calling her a “purple headed fuck” (he is 12 give him time to become more smarmy lmao) which starts the feud. So Simon and Baz are constantly going down to ebb to chat shit about eachother, (Simon was down every night for a week once Baz “took his spot [“im just be’ah than you snow, don’t be a cunt”]” on the football team) and honestly it’s a miracle they haven’t bumped into eachother. The stalking starts when Simon sees Baz talk to Ebb and they are walking into Forrest (to get a rouge sheep but Simon thinks he’s gonna drain ebb) so he starts pestering ebb into what she and Baz talk about, and when she refused he starts to follow him around. I’m not sure how snowbaz would happend,but I just needed to vent about the idea. Obviously this is just a fun prompt you don’t have to do, but I thought of like 5 chapter >20k where it’s snapshots throughout there time together

Tyler Pitch is just Baz but heterosexual so there will be no snowbaz. in my fic Baz will marry a woman named Becky and move to the suburbs where baz has a mancave and like a cool truck or something they hosts backyard barbecues and drinks pilsners

But if you want to write this go for it bc I’m not going to and you seem very passionate about the idea!

#*for legal reasons I am not writing a stright baz au its a joke* #I wrote 1 900 word fic and now im retired

[thesmalltowngal]

Snowbaz 26- Finding His Fangs 101

OTP Prompt #26: It’s eighth year, and Simon has cooked up a very… unique idea to get Baz to reveal his fangs. 

~ During this time of quarantine, I’m aiming to post much more regularly. Enjoy! ~

I have tried everything to get Baz to show me his fangs. Well, presumed fangs, as Penny says. But he’s a bloody vampire, and I just know it. The cold, pale skin, the sneaking around in the catacombs, and having colour right after. The strength and grace he has on the pitch, his cheekbones! (Penny says that has nothing to do with vampirism- but I know better. I’ve seen Twilight.) I’ve tried scaring him into it (he’s never even flinched), punching him into it, provoking him into it, giving myself a papercut near him, etc. And I’m almost bloody positive that his fangs pop out when he eats. So anyway, I’ve decided to try a different tactic. It probably won’t work, and he’ll probably punch me for it, (not probably. He will) but it’s my last resort. I haven’t told Penny about it and I’m not going to, because she’ll lecture me for it, no doubt. I’m going to Bella him. As in Bella from Twilight. 

As in seduce him. Logically, I know he’s probably not even capable of being seduced. And especially not by me. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s gay. (I’m not, but. Drastic measures, yeah?) Logically, I know that this will not work. But when have I ever been one for logic? I haven’t got much planned out, but I’m in our room now, and it’s dark and he’s just got back from the catacombs, so I’m thinking I’ll just go from there. 

When Baz sees me sitting up in bed, he looks me up and down and then sneers. “Snow.” His voice is clipped and to the point, blatantly showcasing the hate he feels for me. Crowley, this might be harder than I thought. (No- bloody impossible is what it might be.) I can’t work up the nerve to get up and approach him before he locks himself in our bloody en suite, and I hear the shower turn on.

I could go into the en suite while he’s in the shower. I could. I probably shouldn’t. But I very well could. And if I did and he was starkers, it might speed the process up a bit. I feel my cheeks burn at the thought of Baz naked. I wonder briefly what would happen if I went in there starkers. Bloody armageddon, probably. (This is the most my mind has thought this year.) But apparently, I’ve thought too much without any action, because by the time I finally un-glue my arse from my bed, Baz is out of the bathroom in his posh pajamas, completely ignoring me. 

His back is facing me when he says, “Can I help you with something, Snow?” (He has eyes in the back of his head, he does. Bloody vampire.) 

“Erm,” I stutter as I stand up, moving toward him. Just fangs. I just want to see the fangs. “Actually, yes,” I try my best to sound seductive, but I s’pose I sound right constipated because Baz spins right around and quirks an eyebrow at me. 

“Alright there, prat?” I’m bloody done with this. I only wanted to see his fangs, and now he’s insulting me and standing so close that I can see blue flecks in his grey eyes, and his cold is seeping through my warmth and I’m only focusing on his hair, and when did I start looking at his lips? (My mind is going too bloody fast.)

“Baz-” I whisper it, but his name gets engulfed by the bloody devil himself as his lips press against mine. It’s all teeth at first, but he slows the kiss down, and I take him by the back of the head to deepen it. His mouth is soft and cold, and much nicer than a bloke’s mouth should feel. But he pulls back all too soon, and looks right mortified. A faint blush creeps up his neck to his cheeks. 

“Sorry Snow, I just, um,” Baz never trips over his words. (Or apologizes.) “You were just so close, and I-” It’s my turn to shut him up with my mouth, bringing him back into the kiss. He doesn’t pull away this time. I’m very aware of his hands on my back and threading through my hair, tugging softly. I am not, however, so aware of why this began in the first place. (Not that I want it to stop.) 

Fangs I remember as I pull on his hair. (As soft as I had always imagined it to be.) I want to see his fangs, but I won’t mention it now, so he doesn’t think I’m using him. (I am using him. And I feel like a right prat about it.) (As I tug off his shirt, it doesn’t feel like I’m using him.) He puts sloppy kisses down my neck and my shoulders, leaving love bites. I can’t help but groan his name, and I wonder briefly how long he’s been wanting this. (How long have I been wanting this?) I don’t want this, I remind myself. It’s just means to an end. And that end is finally proving that he’s a vampire, once and for all. 

“Bite me,” I whisper fervently, barely audible. My voice wavers and Baz stills, and for a moment I wonder if I’ve gone and bloody fucked it up. 

“Excuse me, Snow?”

“Baz. Bite me.” I say again, meeting his gaze as he moves to sit up. (Just one look and this’ll all be over with.) 

“Simon, I don’t um-” He looks unsure, and I try to non-verbally communicate that he can trust me. (Even though this is all just a plot to prove his vampirism.) (Maybe I’m the one that’s been plotting this whole time.) “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He looks to anywhere but me. Right. So that’s practically an admission. I could just stop right here, call it good, yeah? But something tugs in my gut (and not my never ending hunger, for once), telling me that I shouldn’t stop here. I don’t want to stop here. 

“Baz, love,” I bring a hand up to his (Edward Cullen style) cheekbones. “It’s okay. I don’t care.” I try telling myself I do care, but, well. I don’t think I intended to go this far, and now I’ve got no idea where to go from here. 

For a moment, I think he’s either going to walk away or punch me. Instead, he reaches up to take my hand and takes a deep breath. Then he opens his mouth a bit. Before anything happens, I give his hand a reassuring squeeze. When his fangs drop and he flushes a bit, I can’t help but gasp a bit. 

“Wicked,” I expected a lot of things to come out of my mouth when I finally saw his fangs. Admiration was not expected. Attraction was not expected. Blood rushing to certain extremities was not expected. 

He smiles a bit and rolls his eyes when I try to get closer to look at them. “Really?” He asks, gently trying to push me away. (It’s half arsed. He’s not really trying, anyway.) 

“Crowley, Baz! They’re- they’re so cool.” He flushes just a touch again as I put my hand out to touch the front of one. (Is this weird? This is definitely weird.) “This is insane. Insane, Baz! Do they pop out when you eat?”

“Yes,” I always wondered why he didn’t eat in the dining hall. (He lisps with his fangs. It is the single most bloody arousing thing I’ve ever heard in my life.)

“And you um,” I stumble, looking for the right words. “They help you… drink?” He goes stiff and I rub soft circles in his hand to help him relax. He only nods. “Okay, and now the biggest question.” He braces himself. 

“Carry on then, Simon.”

“Your fangs- are they… are they like straws that suck the blood up or do you stab and then drink?” He stares at me in what I can only assume to be shock at my genius question, but then he laughs and rolls his eyes while shoving me, and I think he might be the most beautiful thing I’ve seen, fangs and all. (Especially with the fangs.)

“I am not a sippy cup, Simon. I could kill you in an instant- without magic. I’m...” He trails off, looking sad. I think I know what he’s thinking, and I don’t like it a bit. (Maybe this morning I would’ve said I did. But now? Now it’s like everything has changed… maybe because everything has.)

I softly open his mouth and press a soft kiss to each of his fangs. Somehow, he manages to both tense and relax at the same time. “You’re beautiful, Baz.” I know his secret now. Years and years spent trying to get it out of him- for just some clue. But what I didn’t realize was that he was giving me bloody clues all the time! I was right daft, looking for other secrets- the wrong secrets... not knowing he was always trying to tell me his biggest one of all. 

He fancies me. More than that, I think after the right proper snog we had, I fancy him. (And I think it’s been that way a long bloody time, too.) I dunno what I thought I’d do once I figured out he was a vampire and he showed me his fangs. Maybe I thought I was going to tell the mage; finally get rid of Baz, once and for all. But really, I think Penny would tell me this has all been because I secretly wanted to snog him. (Maybe she’s right- usually is.)

Baz grins at me like I’m all he’s ever wanted. (He’s all I’ve ever wanted- I just didn’t know it yet.) “You’re not so bad yourself, Snow.” (His lisping is driving me mad.)

“You called me Simon, before.” He shakes his head and cocks his eyebrow in that infuriating way that’s always riled me up. (In more ways than one, now that I think on it.)

“No I-” I shove my mouth into his, risking my lip getting sliced open in order to shut him up. (If I would have known this method of shutting-up would work, I certainly would have done it a bloody long time ago.) 

After what seems like a very long and heated time, I pull back, despite his protestations. Sheepishly, but with more want and lust and love that I’ve ever felt before, I choke out, “About that bite I asked for earlier…”

#snowbaz #snowbaz fanfic #snowbaz fanfiction #simon #simon snow #baz #baz grimm pitch #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #penny #penelope #penelope bunce #rainbow rowell #carry on #wayward son #fanfic #fanfiction #magic #watford #Watford School of Magicks #love #mlm #simonxbaz #fluff #fangs #fang fluff #not smut i swear #a little smutty #but not too bad #tyrannus 'baz' basilton grimm pitch is in love with simon snow

[anika-222]

Carry On Sparks: Watch

I present to you my submission for @carryonsparks prompt ‘Watch’! This ended up being a second chapter of my first spark submission, Drive Slow. I wanted to see where it was going.

Timing

Baz

Sunday is a quintessentially English winter day - grey and wet and chilling to the core. I arrived at the café disappointingly early, despite my best efforts to arrive right at eleven. I check my watch for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes. It’s only two minutes past and I’m already bracing for the possibility that Snow might not come. He’s changed his mind. He’s remembered all the reasons why he left in the first place. The kiss last Thursday was simply a massive lapse in judgement. On his part. For me, it was everything. If I hadn’t still felt the imprint of his lips on mine as I drove home, I’d have thought it all a dream.

Doubt is growing, taking up more and more space in my head. I check my watch again. The watch Snow gave me for our anniversary. It has a gorgeous Italian brown leather band with rose gold case. I was astounded at Snow’s good taste. It’s not a Cartier, but quite lovely for what was available in Snow’s price range. 11:04. Crowley, time is moving slower than a numpty (they are essentially sentient boulders.)

I’m starting to question everything. Did I miss something when we discussed when and where we were meeting? Was I too kiss-addled to remember correctly? Was I a fool for not confirming our meeting? I’m fiddling with the hardware on my watch, cursing my sentimental heart for wearing a gift from Snow, getting my hopes too high for what is certain to be an inevitable let down. Though admittedly, I didn’t think the let down would come quite so soon; I thought Snow would at least show up before crushing my hopes and dreams.

Simon

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m always late, but I took extra precautions today. I set about fifteen alarms to remind me when to start getting ready and when I needed to leave my flat. And when I really, really needed to leave my flat. But here I am, dodging through people strolling along the pavement like it’s a lazy Sunday. Ok, I guess it is a lazy Sunday, but can’t these people see that my fate, the possibility of getting back together with the love of my life, hangs in the balance?! It’s a cold, wet day, yet I’m burning up in my coat. I growl in frustration, and the lady in front of me glances back with concern, but then steps aside to let me rush past.

My heart is beating wildly, and I don’t think it’s entirely because of this unexpected cardio session I’m getting. My heart’s been thrumming since Thursday. I’ve talked non stop at Penny the last two days in anticipation of today, while she smiles, sort of sadly, at me. She doesn’t even try to enforce her Baz quota. I think she’s worried. She talks to me with that tone of voice she uses for her younger siblings, when she’s explaining some terrible truth about the world to them, like the humdrum stealing magic. Fuck. Me and Baz aren’t as doomed as the humdrum, are we?

Well, there’s not any time to fuss about that, I’ve arrived at the small cafe near Baz’s flat that he loves. That he loved, anyway, when we were still together. Without pausing, I push through the door, huffing and loud. Probably should have stopped to catch my breath.

Baz

Even though I’m still fixated on my watch, there’s no doubt when Snow arrives. The door to the cafe slams open, and the bell crashes against the glass. I look up to see Snow, out of breath, with ruddy red cheeks (he’s beautiful) standing in the entrance, eyes sweeping the few tables until they hook onto me. His tentative grin makes me forget everything. Every worry, every minute perseverating over whether he would be here. Of course he would be here. Snow doesn’t go back on his word.

He walks up to where I’m seated and I stand to greet him. “Snow.” I say in greeting, hoping the tremor I feel doesn’t make it into my voice. His eyes are fixed on mine and he seems to not know what to say. His gaze is uncomfortably intense but I find I can’t tear my eyes from his. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to watch his shades of blue shift in the light. Eventually, he looks down, surveying the table for whether I already have a beverage.

“Can I get you a drink? Your usual?” He says. My heart flutters at the familiarity. My throat works to make some sound of assent, but I give up and simply nod. When he turns to go to the counter, I sit heavily back in the chair, my legs feeling weak from the brief interaction with Snow.

He returns quickly with our drinks and unloads his coat and scarf onto an empty chair at our table. “Hi,” he says. He’s looking everywhere but at me.

“Snow.” The following stretch of silence is torture. I’m in physical pain trying to find something to say that strikes the balance of nonchalance but will also convince Snow to get back together with me. I think I can actually hear the arm of my watch tick the seconds by.

“So -” he says at the same time I start to ask how he’s been. (Truly inadequate, but nothing else was coming to mind.) “Sorry, sorry, go ahead,”

“How did you find a job as a veterinary assistant?” I resort to the conversation piece from last Thursday that lit him up most.

“Oh, yeah, Shepard met Dr. Patel when he was trying to track a gulon. He saw it get injured, thought it might end up in a veterinarian’s office. You know Shep: he became fast friends with her, found out she was looking for an assistant, and recommended me.” He recounts, smiling incredulously at Shepard’s ability to charm his way in or out of any situation.

“And you like it?” I prompt him, hoping he’ll talk forever about this, as long as it keeps lighting up his features like this.

“Yeah, yeah. I guess at first I was a little surprised, what with my track record with maybes.”

I huff a laugh at the American slang for magical beings, “Maybes? I think you’ve spent too much time with Shepard.” He grins. I’m not surprised in the least that he excels in working with animals. Simon never wanted to hurt any of the creatures launched at him in battle, it was always out of necessity. His nature is gentle and caring to his core.

“But dogs and cats and the like, they don’t need much. Just a little food and cuddles and they’ll love you forever. It’s calming to be around them. Um,” he hesitates, breaking eye contact and looking uncertain of whether he wants to continue. “‘S helped a lot with the depression.”

My heart cracks open at his admission, his vulnerability. A little jealousy slips in, too, that it wasn’t me that could help him be happy. My mouth suddenly feels dry. I swallow and it feels loud and exaggerated.

Simon

Baz is looking at me with an expression I can’t quite place. I was worried he would pity me, but this is something different. He looks in pain, like when we roomed together at Watford, it’s a look I would have mistaken for hate.

I don’t want to dwell on this point so I change the subject. “How’re classes? The term just started, yeah?”

Baz’s expression returns to a neutral expression, “Yes, they’ve just begun, though you wouldn’t know it with the workload they’ve given us.” I smile at his complaint, knowing Baz is perfectly content with a big academic load, especially if it’s all English Lit classes. He’s in his element.

“You’ve a class with Penny?” He hums his agreement as he sets his cup down. I continue, “she mentioned you study together on Saturdays. D’you study with anyone else in class?” It’s a pathetic attempt to see if Baz’s social circle has widened since we broke up. To suss out if there’s anyone special in his life.

He laughs. It’s beautiful and light and happy. “No, you know Bunce. She hasn’t time for any more than 2.5 friends.”

“Dev and Niall, how are they?”

“Quite good. They rather enjoy some of the more social aspects of university.” I assume he means parties and drinking. Dev and Niall seemed to be the reason Baz went to any social functions at Watford at all.

“Um. Do you?”

“Do I what, Snow?”

“Erm, enjoy the s-social aspects of university?” Fuck, my stutter is coming out. He’s definitely going to know I’m nervous.

His eyebrow raises. “Every once in a while they’ll drag me out, but you know I don’t enjoy parties much.” There’s a note of suspicion in his voice.

Baz

Snow was never a great conversationalist, but this is starting to feel more like a line of questioning than catching up over coffee. He’s starting to fidget and shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Have you met anyone new?” Snow spits it out, like it’s all one word instead of a full sentence. I’m so stunned I sit back in my chair. He wants to know if I’ve met anyone. Does he want to know if I’m dating? My stomach flips and drops, then flips again at the implication. It seems there’s an Olympic gymnast in my torso.

I sit forward again, my muscles tensing in the effort to remain impassive, cool, and collected in the face of his interest in my romantic status. “I’m not dating anyone, if that’s what you mean.”

He blushes, but looks more pleased than embarrassed. I try to keep my hopes tempered, but I can’t help but consider that Snow’s concern for my romantic life is due to his personal interests, and not simply curiosity.

Our conversation becomes lighter and easier, a slow return to familiarity. We talk about Snow living on his own, the whirlwind romance of Penny and Shepard. Snow even asks after Daphne and Mordelia, but leaves Malcolm and Fiona out of the conversation. I think he gets nervous even talking about them. Our coffees are long finished when Snow realizes the time, “Oi, I have to get going.” I feel my face fall, ever so slightly.

“Baz…” Snow says softly. It feels so intimate and my pulse is racing from hearing my name in his voice. He reaches out and his hand hovers just over mine, like he might take it, and I’m quite honestly holding my breath. At the last minute he pulls back, and I look up at him curiously. 

Simon

“The watch,” I say, my smile widening, fully betraying how chuffed I am that he’s wearing my gift. Baz doesn’t wear anything without full consideration, usually of fashion, but he’s chosen to wear the watch I gave him for our first anniversary. I doubt it could live up to his taste, but I spent hours trying to think through what he might like and would fit his style.

Baz isn’t saying anything. He’s watching me, watching my reaction. I’m suddenly filled with embarrassment. What if it just happened to go with his outfit? What if he doesn’t even remember that it was a gift from me? It could actually mean nothing at all and I’ve just gone and completely mucked up the nice time we were having. I can feel panic filling my nerves and urging me to escape.

“R-right,” I stutter, breaking the silence. “Best b-be off.” I stand up and the chair clatters loudly against the floor. I hastily grab my outerwear from the chair and don’t even bother pulling it on. I’m sure the heat of my shame will keep me sufficiently warm during the walk to Penny’s.

“Snow -” I barely hear as I slip out the door and half run towards Penny’s.

My mind churns. I can’t believe I was about to ask Baz on a date and interrupted myself to comment on his watch. I’m both relieved I didn’t give him the chance to turn me down and angry at myself for not following through with it. By the time I get to Penny’s I’ve cooled down a bit, both literally and figuratively. I stand outside her flat, flipping my mobile over and over in my hand. I’m considering if I should just text him now, ask him out and get it over with, or forget it entirely. My mobile chimes with an incoming message.

Baz: Simon, can I take you out to dinner Friday?

#carry on sparks #carry on fanfiction #snowbaz fanfiction

[light-on-the-riverbed]

Pics or it didn’t happen

Baz

Thank Merlin uni ends at 12:30 pm, at Waterford we had 6 hours of class, that's not even counting the hours we had to spend practicing our spells and elocution (not that I needed much practice in the later years). Living among NormaIs has not been as terribly boring as I thought it was going to be. I’ve always taken Normal's words for granted, they speak the words and we make them magic. The phrase I've taken a liking to is "Pics or it didn't happen". Not because it sounds nice (I really wish they said something more clever) but because with the right emphasis you can get a perfect picture of what you are seeing right onto your phone. Thanks to that spell my camera roll is now filled with candids of Simon. Simon laughing, Simon with a messy bed head, Simon just being alive. Every day with him feels amazing even the mundane things like getting groceries or hanging out at his apartment. Almost as if Simon could hear me thinking about him, my phone lights up with his name.

4 new messages Simon Snow

My class is almost done!!!

Friday!

Still on for board games

and snacks with Penny?

                 Yes, Simon, I haven't forgotten

                 Did you want me to pick up anything

Butter and Cherries

Penny and I been trying to

figure out Chef's recipe

I think we got it >-<

                 Ah yes, but this time I'm trying them last

                My mouth still tastes salty from last time

                And I keep making sure to check that

               my tongue is there every so often

Salt and sugar look the same!!!

:P

See you soon Bae ;)

               You know I hate Normal pet names

               You’ll pay for it when I get there -__-

Simon

We've been at the flat for almost two months now and I'm starting to get a good routine. Some days it reminds me of my Normal summers in the homes but in a happy way. At least I think I’m happy (I don’t think it should be this hard to tell) Baz is over a lot more than Penny would like but I think they are growing on each other (though neither of them will admit it). They love to debate the most frivolous topics and I love listening to them, most of the time it’s about which language has the best whatever. I never pay enough attention to know the exact topic. I just love that they had so much passion for something so mundane. Baz gets this thoughtful faraway look on his face whenever he is thinking hard about what Penny is saying and I have to stop myself from kissing his nose to get rid of it. Though one time I didn't stop myself and Baz actually stuttered (I never thought I’d see the day) and he called me Simon (well yelled), which made me burst out laughing. Penny pretended to disapprove but I could see her eyes shining with amusement.

Most weekends we will all hang out together and take at least a couple of hours away from uni work. Penny and I have taken to baking as a way to spend time together and destress after the busy week of class. I love baking anything that has a ton of butter. I've finally managed to get a decent croissant (they're not perfect but you can tell what they are now). Then there was that incident with the Salty Scones, Baz took a bite and suddenly his eyes were red and crying and he was spitting out the scone and wiping his tongue. Penny panicked and spelled Baz with “Cat got your tongue” but that just made him mute, which led to an impromptu game of charades (a couple of curses might have been involved). Penny finally got him to start speaking by saying his name three times with Magic. He still watches us bake, even after that incident, though he still refuses to try anything first. Baz acts like he is too posh to help us bake (well his actual words were I don't want to get flour on my clothes) but secretly I think he just enjoys watching Penny and I bake as much as I love watching him debate.

Penny

I’ll never admit it out loud but I genuinely like it when Baz Comes over. He is one of the few people who will explore a topic (debate, whatever) with me and legitimately care. Simon also seems to glow around him it's almost as if he can breathe better around Baz. I'm happy that Simon gets to be this happy, I never thought I would see the day. Of course, I still have to act indignant every time they start to get a bit too sweet with one another because I do have my limits of witnessing their PDA. I hear the door open and Baz comes in lugging a couple bags of groceries and an overnight bag. Baz has a spare key for emergencies but honestly, it’s so he can let himself in without having to knock (he’s over often enough that it would be annoying to have to open the door every time).

“Don’t lock the door behind you”, I say as he takes off his shoes and coat and gets comfortable on a barstool. I look pointedly at the table, “Simon forgot something this morning.”

“Oh Simon, he’d forget his head if it wasn’t screwed on,” Baz said with a soft smile.

“Do you want some tea while we wait for Simon?”

“I could use a cup it’s bloody freezing outside.”

“Well you know where we keep the tea and the kettle is in the wash, I’ll be nice and get a couple of biscuits together.”

“Ever the gracious host Bunce,” Baz teased.

“Hey getting groceries is hard work! Especially with how cold it is now!”

“You probably spelled them home!”

“Well yes, but I still had to go to the store.”

"Fine but the presentation of those biscuits better be sublime!"

"As if the Queen herself was coming, oh wait," I say cheekily.

Baz shoots me a look but continues filling the kettle. I go into the pantry and grab Baz's favorite biscuits and start arranging them deliberately and delicately while smiling at Baz. He rolls his eyes at me but chuckles, over the last few months he's felt more like a brother than even PremaI ever did.

"So when is Simon getting here?'' Baz asks.

“He shouldn't be long, but he wanted to play a new game so he was going to pick up a game at the shop after class."

Simon

I'm rubbish at directions, it drives Baz and Penny mad, but I managed to buy Runes and Regulations (Think American HOA meets the Families). I thought Penny and Baz would get a kick out of it. I was running a bit later than I wanted but I finally recognized the streets! (Thank Merlin!). I trekked up 3 flights of stairs (they seem to get longer every time.) and as I got to our floor I could hear Penny and Baz arguing through the door.

''How is it possible you only just learned to make a decent cup of tea you're British!''

"I've away just used Magic, or the maid would make it.''

"But Baz you're British, it's blasphemous!”

“I didn't think to do it myself until Simon started doing it, now I find it relaxing.”

“I heard my name all good things I hope,” I said walking in through the door.

Suddenly Baz lunged at my neck startling me,

“Baz, bloody hell you almost made me piss my trousers.”

He plants a kiss on one of the moles on my neck, (sometimes I think the only reason he loves me is because of my moles).

“I told you I’d make you pay for that, Bae,” he said with a smirk.

“Sorry my love, my heart, my soul, my other half.” I teased him.

“I live here too remember, a greeting would be nice."

“Hi, Penny!” I say hugging her extra tightly.

“Never mind, I give, go snog Baz,” said Penny trying to wiggle free.

“I can be bribed with Sour Cherry Scones.”

“Simon I already promised I’d help you make them, now let go."

I let her go and poured myself a cup of nice warm tea.

“Let me get warm first, I may have gotten a bit lost and now I can't feel anything.”

Baz

I sit at one of the barstools and watch Penny and Simon meticulously measure each ingredient. I like the excuse to look at Simon without him being self-conscious, he’s so relaxed and shiny from how much he beams with happiness. “Pics or it didn’t happen,” I say under my breath.

“What was that?” Simon asks.

“You’ve got flour on your nose,” I tease him

As he goes to wipe his nose he leaves even more flour on it. Penny raises her eyebrows, amused, but says nothing.

“Perfect,” I tell him and in that moment he is.

Author’s Note: Gift for @helplesshobo for the @coexchange

#carry on exchange #july 2020 #carry on #wayward son #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #rainbow rowell

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Being Simon

Chapter 1: The Past

Chapter 1/2 (All chapters)

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count:  8493

Summary:  Simon's type of therapy is...unusual to say the least. He has the incredible chance to go back in time to fix what he regrets. However, things get more complicated when Simon meets someone very interesting in the past.

Read on AO3

AN: Ahahahaha I did it!!! I finished a fic! That's a big achievement for me nowadays tbh. This has taken forever because stupid fucking health, but I did it! Of course I'm not 100% good with it but I'm still proud. Being Erica is one of my fave shows ever and is severely underrated imo. Then I saw this post and was like "oh damn that would be great for snowbaz." Now like three-four months late, here we are! Big thank you to @carryonmylovelies​ as always. She has been a big support for me through this writing slump. I couldn't be more grateful for her <3

World basics: time travel therapy is a thing, no further explanation given, and going back in time to fix past regrets teaches patients how to live better in the present. Patients take over their past selves' bodies for a bit. Patients can return from the past either suddenly or by stepping through doors. So just imagine Simon doing that. Saying much more is spoilers. 

I’m gonna post chapter 1 today, then chapter 2 sometime within the next week. Hopefully y'all like it!

———————————————

You know that guy who’s got it all? A perfect job, a perfect partner, wonderful family, a life that people are secretly jealous of? You know that guy, everyone knows that guy. Unfortunately, I am not that guy.

My name is Simon Snow, and I’m a fuck up. But I’m getting better.

“Mr. Snow, Mr. Snow!” Cassidy shouts, waving her hand, “I know the answer!”

“Cass,” I say, “what did we say about inside voices?”

She pouts and crosses her arms. “Keep the volume down for all those around.”

“Exactly. Now, try again.” Cassidy raises her arm with no added sound effects. I point my chalk at her. “Cassidy, what’s the answer?”

She puts her hand down, grinning wide. “It’s 42.”

I hold my hand out to her. “Nice job, Cassy, right on the money.”

She gives me a big high five. The feeling of accomplishment surges through me. God, I love this job. My old customer service work made me feel dead inside. Day in, day out, same old fucking garbage from garbage customers. It was just never something I wanted to do. Now I get to see a little girl smile, and I helped her smile. Yeah, little self centred, but I’ll take it.

“Patrick,” I say, “can you tell me how we can find 8 times 4?”

Patrick nods and starts rattling off the technique he’s come up with. It’s a bit odd and round about but all his. That’s what I love about kids, the strange and unique things their little minds come up with. It’s why I wanted to be a teacher in the first place, before I lost my way.

The bell rings and everyone's on their feet immediately. “Alright everyone,” I shout over the clamour, “make sure to finish chapter three for tonight. And get your worksheets done! We’re going to go over them with a fine toothed comb. Have a good weekend, kids.”

“Bye, Mr. Snow,” they all parrot back. I wave them off, then start on my laptop. Being a teacher means having a lot of paperwork. (Or Google Doc work, I guess.) Everything is in mismatched folders and I have to scour them for my lesson plan draft. Unfortunately, I’m still not great at organization, but I’m working on it. I’m working on a lot in my life.

My phone rings. I look up from my screen, and notice there’s no sunlight from the windows. Holy shit, how long have I been sitting here? I quickly grab my phone. “Hello?”

“Simon!” Todd shouts. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Oh, uh, hi Todd.” Fuck, what did I do this time? “I-I’m still at work...”

He scoffs. “Of course you are. Shit, Simon, I’ve been sitting at Casper’s for an hour!”

My heart drops. I look down at my watch. It’s 6:34. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, love, I just totally lost track of time-”

“Yeah, I guessed that. I should expect that of you now.”

Well, that stings. A lot. I’ve felt like a screw up my whole life, so much so even my parents didn’t want me. Like they had some prophetic vision that their kid would be a no good moron. Therapy has started to rid me of those thoughts, but they still creep up every once in a while. Like now.

“I’m sorry, darling, I’m really sorry. We can go to my place, have take away-”

“No, Simon,” he sighs. “I just...I picked the day, the time, and the restaurant. All you had to do was bloody show up, and you couldn’t even do that. I mean...do you even care, Simon?”

A horrible, familiar pain goes through my heart. I can still hear Agatha’s voice all these years later. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. My thoughts get all muddled up, mixing up old fears and trauma with today.

“I do care, Todd, I really do. I just- I didn’t- I was- We can-”

“Please stop..” He sighs again. I can almost see him rubbing his pretty black eyebrows together. “Don’t stress stutter, it’s alright. Enjoy your work and takeaway.”

“Uh, could we reschedule?”

“No, we can’t.”

I gulp. I hate that I know what’s coming. “Are...are you too busy?”

“No, I’m just...I’m done. I can’t do this anymore, Simon. Hope you do well. I mean that.”

I slump in my chair. “Okay. You too. Bye, Todd.”

“Goodbye, Simon.”

He hangs up, but I keep the phone by my ear. My body feels too heavy to move and get out of this fucking chair. Once again, I screwed up my relationship. And the fact that it’s too familiar is even worse. This is what, the third partner I’ve lost in the last year? An abysmal track record. Before that I had been alone since uni, yeah, but I think it was better than feeling like this.

Slowly, I pack up all my stuff. Everything is quiet, like the world is in mourning for my latest lost relationship. Self centered as fuck but a nice thought. I sling my book bag over my shoulder and walk towards the door. It’s not even a shock when I don’t enter the foyer, but step through and end up in Dr. Margaret’s stony yet brightly lit office instead, complete with torches and pristine furniture. It’s like some medieval version of an IKEA showroom. Dr. Margaret is sitting in her chair with a book in hand, obviously waiting for me. Just another day with a super powered therapist who has her office in a pocket dimension outside of our reality. (That’s my theory anyway).

I speed walk forward and flop down face first on her white couch. “Hi to you too, Simon,” she says. I groan into the cushions. “Good day, huh?” I groan louder. “Tell me what happened or get off my couch.”

I move my face to the side, glaring at Dr. Margaret. She just keeps looking at me blankly from her large leather chair. Dr. Margaret has little time for my whining, something I usually appreciate. “Todd broke up with me.”

“You poor baby.”

I narrow my eyes even more. “Aren’t therapists supposed to be all sympathetic and shit?”

She scoffs. “Sympathetic when you’re not being pathetic.”

“My boyfriend just broke up with me, I’m allowed to be a bit pathetic.” I rub my very strained forehead. “I always get dumped.”

“Mhm.” Dr. Margaret picks up the notepad, the one I filled with my regrets the first day we met. It’s embarrassingly long, but a lot are crossed off too. “Tell me about ‘breakup with Agatha.’”

I groan, head falling back against the couch. “God, that’s one I’ve been waiting for.”

“Stop groaning and tell me.”

“Okay, okay, gimme a sec.” I sit up and put my elbows on my knees, rubbing my temple. Headache is coming. Though I’ve started to actually pay attention to my health and take care of myself now (thanks to Dr. Margaret), the headaches still happen sometimes. Especially when I think about this.

“It was 2003,” I sigh. “Agatha and I had been together for six years. Just before third year finals, Agatha broke up with me. I got really pissed at her. Turned into a huge screaming match. She said I didn’t care, and I called her an arsehole that never loved me.” I run a hand through my hair. Old stress habit. “I’ll never forget the look on her face. She was so unbelievably hurt. I knew it was wrong the moment after I said it, but I was too angry and proud to apologize. Agatha walked out. And that was the last time I ever saw her.” The words piece my heart like a knife. I feel like I'm about to shatter into pieces “We avoided each other all through finals. Right after graduation, Agatha moved to California for her masters. She wouldn’t take my calls, then she changed her number. So I gave up. Haven’t talked to her in twelve years. No idea where she is now and what she’s doing.”

Dr. Margaret nods thoughtfully, placing the notebook down. “What would you do differently? Try to fix things? Stay together?”

I shake my head vigorously. “No, god no. We weren’t good as a couple. But Agatha was one of my closest friends way before she was my girlfriend. I just, I want the breakup to not be so awful. That way we can stay friends. I want to keep her in my life. If I wasn’t such an arse, she would be.”

“Sounds reasonable. Let’s see if you can do it.”

A familiar chill hits me. At first it was terrifying but now I expect it. “Alright.”

Dr. Margaret nods, and the world spins.

———————————————

“You’re not hearing me, Simon!” Agatha screams. “I’m trying to tell you that it’s over!”

I stumble, blinking at Agatha and trying to focus on what’s around me. Dirty walls, Lady Gaga posters, a shitty desk I picked up off the curb. Yeah, this is definitely my uni apartment. And this is definitely Agatha screaming at me, trying to break things off and I’ve just been yelling. She’s so mad but I can’t help but smile. God, I’ve missed her.

“What are you smiling about?! Are you listening to me?!” She groans and shakes her head. “We’re done, Si. I can’t do this anymore. Goodbye.”

She turns around to leave and my pulse skyrockets. No no, not again. “Ags, wait! I-I am listening. Please, don’t leave!”

Agatha freezes, hand on the knob. She glares at me over her shoulder. “What?”

“I-I’m sorry for yelling, that was awful. Can we just sit down and talk this out? Please?”

She looks me over, probably trying to figure out if I’m being sincere. I know I am, but as far as she's concerned I was screaming my bloody lungs out a minute ago. Must be weird for her. Thankfully, she lets go of the knob. “Fine.”

I sigh in utter relief. I sit down on my shitty mattress (pretty sure I got this off the curb too) and Agatha follows. She’s tense, arms crossed. I fiddle with my fingers. The nail beds are all chewed up, hangnails surrounded by dark dried blood. Glad I broke that habit, but right now I sort of wish I still did it. It made me feel better.

“Are you going to say something?” Agatha asks, voice biting.

“Yeah, yeah, just, uh...” I rub the back of my neck. Words are getting fucked up again.

“You’re not going to change my mind, Simon. We’re through.”

“I know, Ags, I know. I don’t want us to stay together.”

Her eyebrows furrow. It’s really cute. I miss when she did that. “You don’t?”

“No, no, we’re not good as a couple. We don’t work well.”

“Oh.” Her arms fall into her lap. “Okay. Yeah, I think the same.”

“Awesome.” I turn towards her with a big grin. “But, uh, could we still be friends though? You’ve always been one of my best friends, Agatha. I-I don’t want to lose you after this.”

Agatha rubs her lips together, But slowly, she nods. “Okay, yeah.”

A huge weight lifts off my shoulders. I grin so wide it hurts. “That’s great! That’s so great. I-I just, I don’t want to lose you just cause our relationship didn’t work out.”

She looks even more confused, and I’m not sure why. “What do you mean ‘didn’t work out?’”

“Well, I-I mean, y’know, we just don’t work as a couple. We haven’t been happy for awhile because things have kind of...fizzled out, right?”

Suddenly, that infuriated expression comes back. She groans and stands up. “I can’t believe you, Si! You really haven’t been listening to anything I’ve said, have you?!”

I stand up too. “No, no, I have! You want to break up, and I get why, we’re not happy together. We’re not a good couple-”

“Because of you!” she screams. I stumble back slightly from the force of her words.  “You fucked up!”

A horrible, upset, disgusted feeling takes over my whole body. Like my very soul is sicking up. I step towards her, reaching out. “Ags, I don’t know what you mean. H-How did I ruin things? Tell me what I did wrong!”

She shakes her head and backs away. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Si. If you don’t know by now, I don’t think you ever will.”

Agatha starts to stomp away. I chase after her. “Agatha! Ags, please, don’t-”

She slams the door so hard all my knick knacks rattle. I’m left in silence, except for the thoughts rattling around in my head. Fuck, what did I say? What did I do? I can’t think of anything I’ve done horrible enough to warrant such a response from Agatha. I pull at my hair and gnaw at my nail beds. I mean, this me already does it, so where’s the harm? Fuck, I don’t know what I did. I can’t remember!

Penny. I gotta go find Penny. She always has the answers. She’ll remember why I fucked up. I rush out the door and swing my way down the shitty stairs, careful to avoid the usual vomit puddles. I’m speed walking across the lawn towards Pen’s TA building when I spot familiar frizzy white hair.

“That was fast,” Dr. Margaret says, looking down at her book with a Starbucks drink in hand. She’s dressed in a horribly ugly orange tank top and boho skirt. Perfect for 2003. She needs to blend in with the time period, or at least that’s what she says. I think she just likes to dress up. “Saw her storm out. Looked really mad.”

“What the fuck was the point of this?!” I yell. I’m so angry, I can’t help it. My temper is something I need to work on but I really don’t care right now. “I still cocked things up with Agatha, so she still hates me, and all I’ve learned is that I apparently did something horrible that I don’t even remember because it’s been twelve bloody years!”

She takes a long drink from her large Starbucks cup. “Hm. Quite difficult. What’re you going to do?”

“Find Penny, I guess, She’ll know, right?”

Dr. Margaret shrugs. “Don’t know. You have a phone. Call her.”

Oh, right, phones are a thing. I dig around in my cargo shorts (god, I can’t believe, I used to wear these things) and pull out my old Nokia slide phone. I sneer at the thing. It was my first and shittiest cell phone. I thought I was so cool because my mobile slid out. I was such a prat.

I go to my contacts, and Penny is one of five. That makes me a little sad. I always liked people, but I was always bad at making real friends. I’ve gotten better now but past me barely had anyone. I click her number, and she picks up after two rings.

“Hey, Simon, what’s up?” she asks.

“Um, not much,” I respond automatically. Dr. Margaret glares at me. Right, I don’t need to push down my problems and pretend everything is okay. Penny’s my friend, she’ll want to help. “Actually, there’s a lot. Aggie and I just broke up.”

“Oh Si, I’m so sorry. How’re you feeling?”

“Not too bad. I guess it was inevitable. I’m more confused than anything. Ags said I ruined it by doing something, but I’m not sure what I did. Do you have any idea what she meant?”

“Uh...I really don’t know. She hasn’t told me anything. She doesn’t usually tell me things anyway.”

I sigh and rub my face. “Yeah, true. I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Pen.”

“Welcome, Simon. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” I hang up and shove my phone back in my massive pocket. Dr. Margaret is back to reading. “Well, that was no help.”

“Too bad. Maybe going to the source would be better.”

I frown in utter confusion. “You want me to go talk to Agatha again?”

“She knows what’s wrong. You don’t. Ask her.”

I put my hands on my hips. “You’re never this direct. What’s going on?”

She flicks her eyes to me, smiling slyly. “Don’t trust me, Simon?”

“No! I just know you always have something else going on. Nothing in therapy is ever easy or simple.”

“Know that. Taught you that.” She snaps the book closed. “Do what you think is best, Simon. Then live with choices.”

She stands up, book tucked into her hippie purse, and walks down the lawn. I huff, blowing a piece of stray hair out of my face. “You know I hate when you say that! It’s just pointing out the obvious! That’s lazy therapy!”

Dr. Margaret, the woman who has changed my life in so many ways, makes the “whatever” W sign at me. I chuckle and shake my head. Okay, well, this is probably some weird test (again), but Dr. Margaret has a point. Best to be direct. Maybe Agatha will have cooled down by the time I get there. I should do something nice. Bring her flowers, yeah, that’s a good idea. I look down at my cargo shorts, baggy Eminem shirt, and filthy knock off converse. Definitely need to change too.

I rush back to my apartment. It’s dingy and gross, but there’s a weird nostalgia to it. I should’ve put up more posters. (Why can’t that be a regret? That would be so much easier.) My dresser is bursting at the seams as usual. I throw my t-shirts around looking for something passable, but everything is dirty, tacky, smells like weed, or all of the above.

“Christ, how did I live like this?” I grumble, as if I wasn’t pretty much still living like this a year ago. (Minus the weed. Kicked that after uni, thankfully.)

Eventually I find a plain brown shirt and a pair of jeans with only one tomato sauce stain. Alright, I’m passable now at least. That’ll get Agatha’s attention just because it’s so out of character for who I am in this time. I open the old pickle jar where I keep all my change and scrounge together about 20 quid. Should be enough for flowers, especially before the 2008 crash. The exchange rate is the only thing I miss about the past, honestly.

“Alright,” I mutter to myself, slinging my bookbag over my shoulder, “decent clothes, okay hair, pocket change, bag to hold flowers. Let’s do this.”

I walk out my front door feeling confident, hopefully not too much. Can’t get a big head. Need to focus on Agatha.

“Simon, mate.” I turn around to see Rhys wheeling out of his flat. “What’s up? Heard a lot of shouting earlier, you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m cool, man. Agatha and I broke up and things got messy.”

He inhales sharply between his teeth. “Yikes. Sorry to hear that. Can’t believe she dumped you for that snotty prep.”

I stand ramrod straight, then spin around on my heels to face him properly. “What snotty prep?”

“Oh you didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know what?!”

Rhys raises his hands in surrender. “Whoa, take it easy, man.”

Shit. Reel in your temper, Simon, don’t explode. “Sorry, sorry, mate. Just, what are you talking about with this prep?”

“Yeah, this preppy pretty boy Agatha sits next to in our romantic literature and creative writing classes. They’ve always got their heads together. I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my business, but then you said you two broke up, so...”

“So you thought she told me, got it.” I rub my temples. Headache is coming back. “Do you know who he is?”

Rhys scratches the side of his head. “Yeah, think so. Tall, dark-ish skin, grey eyes, posh accent, even more posh clothes. Name starts with a T. Terrence, Terry, Tyler-” He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Ty! That’s it!”

My face scrunches up. “Ty? Ty what?”

“Dunno. Just Ty, I guess. Like Madonna. Dude thinks he’s better than fucking everyone just because he’s rich or something.”

My blood boils to a fever pitch. So Agatha broke up with me for someone prettier and richer. She said it was my fault because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Mission failed, because I am fucking gutted.

“Thanks for telling me, mate,” I say, holding out my fist to him. He bumps his own against mine. “Really appreciate it.”

“Sure thing, mate. Come have a beer with us to commiserate?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, but you may have to remind me later. Brain like sieve.”

“Gotchu. See ya.”

“See ya.”

Rhys rolls down the hall towards Gareth’s. Right, it’s their weekly beer and footie night. I would hang out with them sometimes. I miss that. I should call them when I’m back in 2015. Right now though, I have a mission.

———————————————

Finding Ty will be pretty easy. I know when Agatha and Rhys’ creative writing class is, which is in a couple of minutes. (Rhys skipped a lot of class. Luckily he was a genius so he graduated at the top of our year. And Agatha never went to class when she was upset, so I know I won’t see her.) I run over to the building I know it’s in, a massive hall made from dingy grey stone and filled with caffeine addicted twenty somethings. Then I sit by a tree, waiting to see someone like Rhys described. Oh and when I find him I’ll- Well, I’ll do something. Not sure yet but it’ll be something!

Droves of zombified uni students pass me by. None of them look posh and preppy enough to be like this Ty dude. He sounds like such a twat. What the fuck does Agatha see in him? (Or did see in him, I guess. Time travel is weird.) Maybe Agatha is still with him. Maybe they went to California together. She talked about me going with her for a bit, but I was scared to leave England. I don’t regret staying, but I do regret the crushed look on her face.

The guy passes by me. He looks ridiculous, wearing oxfords, black slacks, and a goddamn tweed jacket with leather patches on the sleeves. It’s the preppiest posh shit I’ve ever seen. I can see his hands, curled around his textbook, and his slicked back hair. Dark-ish skin and ear length black hair. I’m on my feet in an instant.

“Hey!” I shout. He doesn’t move. “Hey, Ty! I’m talking to you!”

He finally turns around, and my heart stops for a second. Holy shit. This guy is beautiful. Like, super model on the cover of a high end fashion magazine gorgeous. He’s got cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and his eyes aren’t just grey, they’re green and blue mixed together. Like deep ocean water. And right now they’re staring at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind.

“Yes?” he says. His voice is smooth, strong, really pretty. “You called my name?”

I shake off my small gay panic (technically pansexual panic) and my anger returns. I glare hard at him. “Yeah, I did. My name is Simon Snow, Agatha’s boyfriend.”

His confusion quickly switches to stone faced boredom. “Oh you’re the boyfriend. Well, the ex-boyfriend now, according to the text Agatha sent me.” He tilts his head to the side, ocean eyes scanning me over. “I thought you’d be taller.”

My body feels like it’s on fire. This guy may be hot but he’s a total prick. How could Agatha dump me for him?! “Who do you think you are, huh? Flirting with someone’s girlfriend? That’s fucking low, you pathetic shit!”

He scoffs, putting on hand on his hip. “Very well spoken. If you’re done with your little alpha male display, I have a class to get to.”

Ty turns away. I’m ready to explode. I haven’t felt this angry in years but this guy is getting so under my skin. I grab his shoulder and force him to look at me.

“You don’t get to walk away, dick!” I roar. “Do you think you’re better than me?! Well you’re not!”

“I’m not the one shouting at a random stranger on the quad.”

“I’m shouting because you stole my girlfriend!”

“I didn’t steal her, you sexist shit,” he hisses. “She’s my  friend. Are you the kind of arse to not allow his girlfriend to have friends?”

“No! And I’m not sexist! I just don’t like someone flirting with the girl I was with when I was with her, especially when you’re all...posh and shit!”

Ty scoffs again and leans forward. “Well, at least I don’t wear dirty jeans out in public. I have more self respect than that.”

My entire body explodes in a way it hasn’t in ages. My vision goes completely fucking red. I shove Ty, hard. Way harder than I mean to. He stumbles backwards, dropping his books on the grass. He looks at me in utter shock.

“What the fuck?!” Ty shouts. He then shoves my shoulders, and I stumble five steps back. Holy shit, he’s strong. 

“Fuck you!” I shout back. I charge forward with all my might. Ty blocks me but that doesn’t stop me. I claw and push and pull at him, no clue what I’m doing at all. I’m just so angry and pushing it all at him. He pushes back just as hard. Neither of us will give an inch. We scrabble like a pair of cats. I can’t think, I just feel. I'm so angry and sad and worthless because...because....

Because I’m losing my friend again. And I don’t know what to do.

My hits get weaker and weaker. All the energy dribbles out like a melting ice cream in July. As I slow down, Ty stops pushing back. My arms fall down at my sides. His hands rest awkwardly on my shoulders.

“Uh,” he says, “are you alright?”

“No,” I choke out. Tears fill my eyes and cloud my vision. “No, I’m not.”

I break down, crying with heavy, ugly sobs. Everything is just collapsing in and around me. I really am losing Agatha all over again. It hurts even more this time. I’ve never fallen apart this badly on a regret. But everything from the past and present, losing all my partners in the past year then Agatha again, is just hitting me in one terrible mental blow.

“Oh shit,” he says. “Um...” I feel his hand move off my shoulder and slowly pat my head. “There, there?”

I snort like one of the kids I teach. I pull back, wiping the still flowing tears under my eye. “Seriously? That’s the best you can do?”

Though it’s a bit hard to tell, I think Ty’s face flushes. He crosses his arms defiantly. “Well, what the fuck are you supposed to do when a stranger attacks you then breaks down crying?”

I shrug. “Dunno, really. This is new for me too.”

Ty rubs the back of his neck, shuffling his polished oxfords in the dirt. I’m still sniffling like a child. “You want to go somewhere private? Where no one can see you?”

My eyes catch a couple of people glancing and outright staring at us. Or just at me. I nod vigorously. “Yeah, that would be good.”

Ty collects up the books I knocked out of his hands. He jerks his head to the side, and I follow behind him. Tears are still streaming down my face. They won’t stop no matter how hard I try. Ty leads us through a secluded area, past large trees and bushes, until we reach a completely hidden, beautiful ravine. Holy shit. Was this always here? I went to this uni for three years and I have no memory of this place. Either I’m super oblivious or getting old. (Probably both.)

We go past a couple more bushes until we come upon a ramshackle rainbow coloured bench against some trees. It looks handmade by some stoned out art major. The mess of cigarette and joint butts on the ground only reinforces that theory. Ty sits on one end of the bench. I take the other, but we’re still pretty close. It’s not very big. We sit in silence for a bit, save for my continued sniffling. Something bumps my arm. I look down to see Ty’s long fingered hand holding out a cigarette pack.

“Want one?” he asks.

“Smoking is bad for you,” I say automatically.

“Like you’re one to talk. You reek of marijuana”

“Fuck, really?” I sniff my shirt collar and get a whiff of weed. I groan, letting my head fall back against the tree. “Dammit. Thought this one was clean.”

“Unfortunately not.” He shakes the box. “You want one or no?”

I sigh and pluck a stick out of the box. Ty takes one as well, then pulls out a pristine silver Zippo lighter. He lights us both with one flame. I watch the paper crinkle and shrivel away into ash. I’m a bit nervous. Technically, I haven’t smoked anything in over a decade. Hopefully I can depend on past me’s muscle memory. 

Ty takes a long, deep draft and breathes out a long puff of smoke. I try to mimic him. My lungs burn with the heat of twin suns. I wheeze out, thumping my chest. Ty throws his head back laughing,  hair touching his neck.

“You must be a shitty stoner,” he chuckles.

“Yeah,” I cough, “never been great at inhaling.”

“Bring it into your mouth, then your lungs. Don’t do it all once.”

I nod, even though I kind of knew that. Just been awhile. I smoked a few joints but I preferred my old bong. But I try again, doing what Ty said. This time I only cough a little instead of wheezing like the world’s most pathetic dragon.

“There you go,” Ty drawls. He’s definitely mocking me a little.

“Fuck off.”

“Christ, what bug crawled up your arse?”

I glare at him, and his face is completely unaffected. “The bug that Agatha broke up with me for you.”

He scoffs, flicking cigarette ash on the ground. “Your  ex- girlfriend did not break up with you to be with me. We’re only friends. I’d never date her.”

“That’s mean, Agatha is amazing.”

Ty rolls his eyes dramatically. “It has nothing to do with Agatha. She’s wonderful. I just don’t like women.”

My eyes grow wider than saucer plates “You’re gay?”

He cocks an eyebrow. How did he get so good at that? Does he practice in the mirror? “You have a problem with that, Snow?”

“No, no, of course not. Just didn’t realise...”

“It’s not like I’m hiding it.” He gestures to his perfectly pressed button down, spotless navy slacks, and polished Oxfords. Okay, he has a point, most straight men don’t take such meticulous care of their clothes. 2003 closeted me had the excuse of being heteronormative as fuck, but 2015 pansexual me needs to work on his gaydar.

“I, uh, didn’t want to assume...” Usually a safe answer in my experience.

“How noble.” Ty takes a long drag. I still hate cigarettes, but the way his lips fit around the smoke plume is kind of attractive. “Agatha knows I’m gay. I told her after she almost kissed me.”

“What?!” I throw down the cigarette and shoot to my feet. The fire in my gut is back, along with the sense of utter worthlessness. I fucked up so badly, made Agatha so miserable, that she nearly kissed a gay bloke. I feel so awful and confused and I don’t know what I'm supposed to do, I’m just mad.

He rolls his eyes,  again. “Sit down, alpha male, I said ‘almost.’ I’m not even sure she realised what she was doing, we were both completely pissed. She leaned forward slightly and I blurted out that I was gay. Then she promptly burst into tears.”

My heart feels like someone has reached inside and twisted every vein. My arms relax at my sides. “She...she was crying?”

“Yes, quite heavily.” He taps the cig with one long, graceful finger. (Does he play piano? He should.) “She said she was sorry, then blubbered for an hour about how conflicted she felt about wanting to break up with you.”

The impact of those words send me back down onto the bench. My whole body feels heavier than lead. “She felt conflicted?”

“Of course she did.”

“I-I thought this was easy for her. That our relationship was already going downhill, then I did something so bad she decided to end it. And then I thought it was because she found you, someone better than me.”

Ty scoffs. “My god, she was right, you are completely oblivious.”

I scowl at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You’re so blind to what you’ve been doing.”

“What’ve I been doing?!”

“You’ve been a terrible boyfriend!” he yells. “You’re forgetful, you miss things, you don’t pay attention to Agatha, and most of all you take her for granted!” He sighs, rolling the half finished cig between his fingers. “Ags says you don’t mean to do it, you’re just oblivious, but she’s still hurt. There isn’t one bad thing you did, Snow. You’ve been hurting her for awhile.”

Every word is slap to the face. My body literally aches with all the guilt I feel. Ty is right. I was an awful,  awful boyfriend. Every missed date, every burnt meal, every stupid thing I’ve ever said, they all rush into me. Fucking hell. How could I have not seen it? I always had reasons, and they were always small things. But I guess a lot of small things pile up.

“Fuck,” I choke out. Tears make little wet spots on the dirt floor. I don’t know when I started crying again. God, I’m a mess.

“Please don’t cry,” Ty says, sounding almost sympathetic. “I only have so many cigarettes.”

That makes a laugh surprisingly fly out of my mouth. Yet I’m still picking at my nails, flicking away bits of my cuticle like I want to get rid of my pain. I’m nervously babbling before I even realise it. “My brain’s always filled with...stuff. Keeping my scholarship, keeping my job, working towards my future. E-Everything’s always been about my future, what I’ll do eventually, even with Agatha. She was supposed to be my happy ending after all the shit I’ve been through.”

“She’s a person,” he mutters, “not your goal.”

“I know that!” I rub away more tears. “Well, I’m learning. I dunno. I-I had a shitty childhood, okay? So I’m always waiting for things to get better. And I thought if I did well at school and found a nice girl, things would just fall into place. Turns out shit is more complicated than that.”

I laugh to try to break the tension, but Ty stays silent. I cautiously flick my eyes over to him. He’s still holding his cigarette. It’s burnt down to the filter. His face is stone again, yet I can see the slight tremor in his fingers. It’s miniscule but it’s there. I don’t think he’s okay, but I barely know this guy, I’m scared to ask.

“I don’t know how to fix things with Agatha,” I sigh. “I’m bad at talking, bad at relationships, sometimes bad at friendships. It’s not like I want her back. I...I just want her in life. She’s amazing. I don’t- I can’t lose her again.”

“Again?” he says. My face goes bright red and my breath hitches. Fuck. Stupid time travel, screwing things up.

“Y-Yeah, we’ve had fights before, stopped talking for a while. I know this feeling, I hate it. I want her to be in my life and be happy and I don’t know how to do that!”

“Tell her that.”

I face him, blinking in confusion. “What?”

Ty sighs and flicks the butt onto the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his utterly perfect oxford. “Tell her that. Say you’re scared and clueless but you want to still be friends, so you want to figure out how to do that. Be honest. What else are you going to do?”

My mouth flaps up and down. Fuck. It’s so damn obvious yet it never came to mind. I thought I needed something big and smart so Agatha would understand. But... “All I need to do is be honest with her.”

“Exactly.”

I smile for the first time since I got here. “Wow, can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

“You do seem to be a bit thick.” His slight smirk and teasing lilt save me from getting angry. I scoff and shake my head.

“Yeah, well, you seem like a bit of a prick.” He scoffs too, but he’s still smiling.

We sit there in silence for a little. All I can hear is birds chirping and students in the distance. I feel calm. So calm I don’t want to get up for a while. I just want to catch my breath. Ty slowly tilts his head back over the bench.

“I haven’t sat down in awhile,” he says quietly, almost as if to himself, but too loud for me not to hear. “I’m always at class or studying. I don’t sit down and just...sit.”

“Well you haven’t really been only sitting,” I chuckle. “You’ve been helping me.”

“Would it be sad that this has actually been the most relaxing time I’ve had in months?”

“Uh, yeah, and a bit concerning.”

Ty laughs a little louder this time. His smile seems a bit more genuine, but his pretty eyes are a bit sad. It may just be his face. It looks like it’s designed for pouting. “I’m a political science and English double major getting ready for law school. My whole life is stress.”

I chuckle sadly. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“It is. A nightmare I chose...” He spins the cigarette pack between two fingers. I know he’s just fiddling but it looks so damn cool when he does it.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re happy about that choice.”

His eyes shift over to me without moving his head. “Since when do you know anything about my feelings?”

I shrug, crossing my arms. “I usually know what sadness looks like.”

Ty sighs. He rubs his temple slowly with his elegant ring finger. (What is with my finger fetish today?) “Ever since I was little, it was expected that I follow in the family tradition. Get perfect grades, go to a good university, go to an even better law school, become a lawyer, then finally take over the family practice. It’s what my mother did. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want,” he scoffs.

I tilt my head towards him, but not too close to scare him away. “Well, if you could do what you want, what would you do?”

“I told you, it doesn’t mat-”

“Then pretend it does matter. What would you do for the rest of your life?”

Ty sinks further into the bench. It makes his stupid tweed jacket bunch up slightly, and he almost looks like a normal young adult. “Honestly, I just want to read books forever.”

I giggle quietly, and Ty glares at me with a now obvious flush in his cheeks. “Fuck off,” he snarls.

“I’m not laughing at you!” He doesn’t look convinced. “It’s just, when I first saw you, I never expected you to be a total bookworm. You seem too posh for that.” Ty snorts, keeping his arms crossed. He won’t meet my eyes. I lean closer, and he doesn’t back away. “Reading books forever sounds hellish to me, but it sounds like heaven for you. It’s a great idea. Why not do it?”

Ty’s glare somehow gets even more intense. His eyes are just slivers of beautiful grey. “Because I’m a responsible person, unlike you.”

The words hit me right in the gut. I scowl deeply at him. “That is beyond not okay. You don’t know me, you don’t know my life. So you don’t get to spew shit like that just because you’re pissed off. Got it?”

Honestly, I’m surprised how clear and articulate I’m being. A year with Dr. Margaret has made it a lot easier for me to stand up for myself in a meaningful way, not just with growls and punching. But still, it’s hard, and I did this so easily. I’ve really made progress.

Ty scowls back, but I don’t back down. I’ve always been good at standing my ground, thankfully. Slowly, Ty’s face falls and gets less angry. In fact, he looks a bit regretful. We slowly move apart again. He takes a few deep breaths before he finally speaks again.

“You’re right,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Good, apology accepted.” I lean my cheek onto my fist. “Seems both of us are having trouble with our futures.”

“Mine is secure.”

“But not happy.”

He rubs his lips together, like he’s chewing his words. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Why not? Why not do what you want instead?”

“Because I’ve already applied to law school!”

“Okay.” I put my back to the bench again, staring up at the sky through the trees. “Well, I’m nearly done with my maths and am about to start my teaching degrees. Then I've got a private school job lined up, but who knows? Maybe I’ll hate the job and quit and work at shitty customer service jobs for years until I decide to get my shit together and find an actually good teaching gig at a school I like.”

Ty’s dark brows furrow together. “That is extremely specific.”

I shrug, hoping my smirk doesn't say too much. “I don’t know, just a possibility.”

“Alright,” he snorts. “My life will be fine, it won’t go off the rails.”

He looks so sure and resolute. I don’t think I’m going to change his mind, and I don’t think it’s my job to. I can’t save everyone, something Dr. Margaret taught me. Plus I just met this guy. No matter how pretty he is, I don’t know him. (Wish I did.) Hopefully he can figure out his own shit.

“Okay. Your life, you can figure it all out.” I put my hands behind my head, leaning back, staring at the sky.

“Your life is going to be fine,” Ty says. “Agatha says that despite what you think, you’re smart. And I’m partial to agree. You have trouble with relationships, but who doesn’t? You’ve still got a good head on your shoulders. You’ll figure everything out too.”

I can feel my face turns bright red, and from the smirk on Ty’s face he can see it. I rub the back of my neck, trying to use my arm to hide my blush. “Y’know, I get why Agatha liked you. You’re weirdly nice and, well, really hot.”

Now it’s Ty’s turn to have his eyes go wide. He looks very cute. “Wow, you’re pretty forward for a straight guy.”

“Whoever said I was straight?” I smirk at him with one eyebrow raised. I hope I look confident and sexy and not just fucking weird.

“Oh.” His voice is almost a squeak. “I’m sorry I assumed.”

“S’alright, common mistake.” I look down at my stupid Nokia. “Wow, you’re beyond late for your class.”

Ty scoffs. “And who’s fault is that?”

“Okay, yeah, guilty as charged. You should probably get to it though. Need good grades for law school and all.”

“Yes, good point.” He stands up, and I follow, hands in my pockets. I both hate and love that Ty is a little taller than me. “But...it was nice to talk to you, Snow.”

“Feeling’s mutual, Ty. So, uh, see you around.”

I grin brightly, then turn around before I say something really stupid. I usually do in front of pretty people. Plus I need to see Agatha. That’s why I’m here, back in 2003. I’m not supposed to be chasing after a pretty guy who went to my uni ages ago. Even if he is like,  really pretty.

“Simon.” His voice makes me stop in my tracks and turn back.

“Yeah?”

Ty steps forward and holds out a scrap of lined paper. “Since you’re newly single, and now I know you’re not straight, give me a call sometime? If you’re up to it, that is.”

My brain completely short circuits. Blows a fuse. Maybe every fuse. I just stare at Ty with my mouth hanging open for a bit too long. Ty starts to look genuinely concerned. But thankfully the synapses start firing again and I shake it off.

“Um, y-yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I would like that.” I take the paper. “Uh, thank you.”

“You’re most welcome. I hope to see you around as well.”

I watch as he walks away, and I’m mesmerised by the way his hips swing. Fuck, he is so hot. And he likes  me. I honestly have no clue why but I’m not going to question it. I have to make sure to call him before I go back to 2020. But right now I have to find Agatha, so I carefully put the paper in the smallest pocket of my bag, then dash off towards Aggie’s dorm.

———————————————

I knock on the door softly, and there’s no answer at first. “Aggie?” I say. “I came here to say I’m sorry. I won’t yell, I promise.”

Still silence at first. I nearly leave, but then the sound of soft footsteps comes from under the door. The doorknob slowly turns and my pulse increases every second. Agatha is wearing her purple Watford lacrosse sweater, a pair of my trackies that I left behind last week, and blonde hair piled up in a bun. Her eyes are puffy and her cheeks are red. My stomach drops at the sight.

“What are you sorry for?” she asks, voice low and flat. She sounds more tired than angry. For some reason that hurts even more.

I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry for how I treated you, Ags. Our relationship didn’t fall apart for no reason. I didn’t pay attention to what you wanted and took you for granted. I was a terrible boyfriend. And I’m really, really sorry.” I start nervously pulling at my hair. “I-I’m not saying we should get back together. We weren’t happy, and you deserve someone who will put you first. But I still want to be your friend. You’re one of my first and best friends. I’m not sure how to do that, considering I was such an shit boyfriend, but can we figure it out? Together?”

Agatha rubs her lips together, taking slow deep breaths. Her fingers tap against the door one by one. I don’t know if I’m going to throw up or run or both. All are possible. But then Agatha nods slowly.

“Okay,” she sighs.

“Okay?”

“Let’s try to be friends again. I don’t want to lose you either.”

I grin ear to ear. “Okay, awesome, that’s great. I’m so glad you want to as well. I do love you, Ags, and I’m sorry I hurt you so much.”

“Apology accepted, Si, so you don’t need to do it anymore. Let’s just move forward, alright?”

“Alright, yeah, I’d like that.” I rub my neck and nervously gnaw at my lip. “Um, could I hug you? As a friend?”

She smiles softly. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her smile. Not just because I’m from the future, but I can’t remember the last time she smiled back when we were together. I hope I can make her smile more now.

“Yeah,” she says, “that would be nice.”

We both step forward and throw our arms around each other. I haven’t hugged Agatha in a long time either. Sure, we snogged and had sex, (though not very often honestly), but this is so much better. There’s no pressure or nerves. It feels normal. The most normal I’ve ever felt with her.

As we slowly part, we’re still smiling. “You,” Agatha pokes my chest, “need to study for your exam on Monday.”

I chuckle and nod, being silently thankful  I’m not doing that exam again. Once was more than enough. “Yeah, I know. This felt more important though. You’re more important.”

She blinks in confusion. I can’t blame her. Past me was always too focused on my work so that I could reach the happy ending I always wanted. Future me is figuring out that there is no happy ending. There’s just life, and I have to make it what I want, not just wait for happiness to fall into my lap. I haven’t got it down pat but I’m getting there. That’s more than good enough.

“Well, I’m definitely glad to hear that,” Agatha says. “Call me tomorrow. We’ll go get brunch, okay?”

I nod enthusiastically. “Sounds great.” The voice in the back of my head reminds me about the small fact of time travel, and that when I go back to 2015, past me is only going to remember bits and pieces of this day. “But, uh, studying may fry my brain. So could you maybe call instead? And I’ll call next time?”

Agatha sighs with exasperation, but she’s still smiling. “Alright, that’s a valid excuse.” She presses a small kiss to my cheek. It’s completely platonic, and it feels great. “See you later, Simon.”

“Yeah, definitely.” I hug her tight one more time before I go. She gives me a kind wave before closing her door. I’m grinning like a mad man as I walk down the hell. I did it, I saved my friendship with Agatha. I’m so damn happy. Plus I met Ty.

Oh right. I reach into my bookbag, feeling around for my notebook. My hand curls over the rings of the spine as I push open the stairwell door. And I instantly fall face first onto the dirty public school floor.

“Mr, Snow!” Ms. Petty, the nicest janitor in the entire school, possibly in the whole world, rushes to me. “Are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” I say. “I’m fine. Just clumsy.”

“Here, let me help.”

I take her hand and she hoists me to my feet. I still feel a bit dizzy, a small side effect of time travel I know all too well now. Ms. Petty keeps a hand on my back until I regain my bearings. “Alright, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll be alright.”

“Okay, dearie.” She pats my shoulder. “Go get some rest, get your mind off work.”

“Right, yeah, work...”

Ebb gives me one last comforting pat and goes back to sweeping the hallway floor. I wave at her as I leave, hoping she doesn’t see the distress in my face. 

Fuck.

———————————————

AN: Chapter 2 will be posted within the next week, i.e whenever I'm well enough to edit it lol. See you all next time!

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on fanfiction #being erica au #time travel #time travel therapy #fluff #angst #first meeting #mysnowbazfic

[wardenmages]

“We’re all a little stronger than we think we are.” for Kara orConnor from dbh, you pick the nerd!

thank you friend!! i’m going to do some polycho+connor, this got away from me a little bit oops

—

One day, out of the blue, Connor disappears. He leaves the apartment he shares with Markus, Simon, Josh and North, refuses all calls, and ignores all messages. North is trying to pretend she isn’t worried, but it’s obvious she is. Simon has been sending periodic messages into their group chat, hoping Connor will at least look at them. Markus stress cleans the entire apartment.

Josh figures out where he is by accident, when he finds a paper receipt from a florist in his own trash can. Connor picked up a preference for paper and written things from Hank. He must have thrown it away in Josh’s room hoping no one would find it there, clearly not expecting Josh to knock one of his notebooks into it and need to fish it back out. Josh keeps the find from their partners, slips on his vest over his sweater, and lies about needing to run to the store. Instead, he finds Connor at a human cemetery, sitting in front of a freshly cleaned grave. 

“Hey, Con.”

Connor doesn’t startle or flinch, just peeks over his shoulder back at him. “Hello. I didn’t expect anyone to find me here.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you.”

The order from the florist - a bundle of three roses - sits on top of the headstone. The rest of the plot is bare and covered in snow. Out of respect, Josh tries not to read the name of the human buried there. That isn’t why he’s there. He carefully sits down on the ground behind Connor and wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s waist, resting his hands on top of Connor’s and opening up a light interface.

“Coming here was a stupid idea,” Connor mumbles.

Josh sends a soothing wave of love through the link, dipping his head down to Connor’s shoulder. “No it wasn’t. It’s important to you, it can’t be stupid.”

“I shouldn’t miss her, and this isn’t even her, I just…” He lets out a stuttering sigh. “I still look for her sometimes.”

Amanda, then. The grave must belong to the original Amanda Stern the AI was based on. Josh suddenly feels like he’s walking on unstable ground, and he doesn’t know where to step. He just sends another flood of calm and warmth and hopes it helps.

Connor turns his hands around without breaking the connection to hold Josh’s, fidgeting with the ridges of their bared casing. “It’s ridiculous. She tried to kill me. But I still feel like I need her advice, her approval. Every time I learn a new skill or close a case at work I wish I could have her evaluate my performance. I hate it.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Josh repeats. “But, for the record, you’ve been doing amazing on your own, even if it doesn’t always feel that way. I get that feeling too, obviously it’s different but… I get it.”

He can barely see the way Connor’s face twists at that, but he feels the sudden rush of anxiety in their interface before Connor cuts it off.

“How do you keep doing it anyway?” Connor asks.

“We’re all a little stronger than we think we are.”

When the anxiety breaks through whatever dam Connor set in place, Josh just fights it back with as much love and affection as he can manage, kissing Connor’s jaw and holding him tight as he trembles.

“I should go back, shouldn’t I,” Connor says after a long moment.

“Not until you’re ready.”

“Can… we stay here a little longer? Please?”

“Sure. I’ll just tell the others I found you.”

“… Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

#connor writes #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh josh #i've fallen in love with writing josh and polycho in general help

[fleursowl]

Hello! I actually have a snowbaz fic request- the idea of penny and maybe Simon being at watford and then casting a spell that makes them see the future sounds so interesting to me!!! Like, simon or penny just seeing Baz and Simon dating and etc and being like, wtf- thanks:)

yes yes YES i love this!! thank you for being my first official request 💞💞

Simon

“Come on, Pen, surely it can’t be too bad?” I pleaded, giving her my best pouty lip and puppy eyes from across the table.

“No means no, Simon.”

“But-“

Penny slammed her book down on the table with an exasperated sigh.

“Simon, time magick is dangerous. It’s unstable, messy, and can have disastrous consequences.”

“Everything we do is dangerous! Crowley, my existence is dangerous!” I argued. “I think it’s reasonable that I want to know at the very least if I’m alive in the next five years!”

It was playing dirty, but by the look on Penny‘s face, I could tell it had worked.

“Fine.” she snapped. “But don’t blame me when it goes wrong.”

“Oh, I assure you,” I snorted, “if it goes wrong it will most definitely be all my fault.”

Penny

Simon Snow will be the death of me, but he’s also my life. That is the only reason I am agreeing to this stupid charade. Of course Simon will be alive in the next five years, because I’ll be making sure of it. And unless I die (which won’t happen, my mum wouldn’t allow it) then he’s going to be here, alive and healthy for a very long time.

It’s only my ridiculous weak spot for him that is the reason we’re both in the library in the late hours of the night, reading every book we could get our hands on about time magick (there aren’t many- because it’s dangerous). A small noise to my left makes me look up, and I catch a glimpse of what I think could be Baz, before he disappears behind a bookshelf. I’m not going to mention it to Simon, though, because I seriously do not have the energy for another lecture on how I should be careful around him (me and Baz study together sometimes- he’s only of the only people who keep me sane in our classes). I sneak a glance at Simon, who is half asleep and barely even recognising the words on the pages in front of him. This is how I like him best. Content. Safe. Happy.

Baz

I don’t know what Snow and Bunce are doing, and I don’t want to. All I know is that they’re in the library late at night, when I want to be alone (my room smells far too much like Snow to serve as a distraction from him). I know Bunce has seen me, but I’m just praying Simon hasn’t. I really don’t have the energy to resist him right now.

Simon

I know Penny still thinks this is stupid, but she doesn’t get it. This is beyond natural curiosity and a hidden self destructiveness, I just need to know. She’s sitting on Baz’s bed (he won’t like that) frowning at the vial or black liquid like it’s insulted her and her entire family.

“What’s wrong?” I ask tentatively, hoping I don’t aggravate her further.

“This is illegal.” she huffs, her curls bouncing up off her forehead. “It’s dangerous, unstable, and-“ she sees the look on my face, and stops.

“Let’s do this.” she says through gritted teeth, picking up the mirror framed in silver (I don’t understand why it has to be framed in silver- Penny explained it was simple magic, but it doesn’t make sense) and placing it in the palm of my hand. She drips the liquid around the edges, her eyebrows furrowing together in concentration.

“Okay, it’s ready.” she says eventually, sitting back and pulling out her ring. “You have to concentrate for this part, Simon. Hard.” she gives me a stern look, and I nod earnestly.

“Go. You’ve got this.” I say reassuringly, and she snorts.

“I know I do, but...” what she doesn’t say is clear- but you haven’t got this. She doesn’t mean it unkindly, I know, so I let it go.

“Mirror mirror on the wall,

Will I rise or will I fall?” she says in a clear voice, following the path of the liquid with her ring. The mirror glows purple, and fog starts swirling around on it. I gasp in awe, and Penny nudges me, startling me out of it. I concentrate harder, and an imagine comes into focus.

It’s of a small kitchen in the middle of the day, with a pan on the stove bubbling away. Two figures come into view, and if I squint, I can make out one could be me.

So I survive, then I think, feeling dazed at this.

I look back, and see... is that Baz?

We’re both laughing, and I have him pressed against the countertop. That’s... strange?

“Your eggs are burning, Snow.” he smirks. Ah, so nothing has changed then.

Future-me grins back, and leans in further to him. My heart starts beating in my chest so loudly I can barely hear my reply.

“‘S not Snow anymore though, is it? It’s Grimm-Pitch now.” Future-me grins, closing the distance and pressing my lips against Baz’s.

I drop the mirror, and the connection goes, the mirror breaking into shards on the floor.

Seven years bad luck, a voice at the back of my mind reminds me.

I turn to Penny desperately for answers, and see someone else at the doorway.

Baz is standing there, frozen, his hair falling in his face and his eyes wide and scared.

“What... what the hell was that?” he splutters, and this takes me by surprise. Crowley, Baz must really hate the idea of ending up with me- he’s stuttering and swearing like a Normal. For some reason, my heart gives a tug at this, and I curse it. It doesn’t know what it’s doing.

Penny answers before I can, saving me. Again.

“It’s the future.” she replies smoothly, somehow giving us both a challenging look at the same time.

Baz chokes, and shakes his head.

“No, this is-this is revenge, for earlier this year, the Chimera, you- you-“ he seems unable to form anymore words, and turns on his heel and runs out of the room.

“Wait!” I yelp, and race after him, though I’m not sure why.

Baz

‘Grimm-Pitch. Simon Grimm Pitch.’ those words circle around my head; haunting me as I run to the library. Obviously I’ve thought about marrying Simon (as a fantasy, not a realistic hope) but I’m not lovesick enough to doodle our intials together, or anything. So hearing Simon- Future Simon- trick Simon- saying it has bowled me over.

I know I’ll be safe for a while in the library, because Snow is nothing if not predictable, and will probably assume I’ve gone to the catacombs. This will give me about ten minutes to cry, and another five to collect myself and pull out some homework, and a further two to form a mask of indifference.

However, I’m only five minutes into my allotted crying time, and a hand on my shoulder jerks me out of my misery.

“Baz, I-“ Simon begins, then looks closer at my face. “Crowley, are you crying?” he asks in disbelief.

“No.” I sniff, but it’s pretty obvious. My eyes are red and still watery, and my nose feels like it’s going to start running soon. In fact, you can still see the drying tear tracks on my cheeks. Great lying, Baz I curse myself.

“Yes you are.” Simon said firmly, sitting down into the chair next to me. His hand on my shoulder drops to my knee, and I flinch. There’s something that looks like a flicker of pain on his face, but it’s gone as soon as it came, and I must’ve just imagined it.

“Look, if the thought of being with me in the future is really that bad-“ he begins, and I curse.

“Crowley, Snow, I may be a lovesick fool but I’m not completely dense! It’s obvious that isn’t the future. You’re going to kill me, and ride into the sunset with Wellbelove. And I’m going to die. What you saw is impossible, and it’s a track. I mean, I knew you hated me, but to use my feelings against me? That’s low, even for you.” I ramble, waving my hands in the air.

Once I’ve finished my little speech, Snow catches my arms mid-wave, and uses this to tug me to him. Our lips crash against each other with all the elegance of a baby deer, but I don’t care.

Crowley, I’m kissing Simon Snow.

He’s doing this lovely thing with his chin, and I give up my battle for dominance, letting him just consume me.

Eventually we pull away for air, and his cheeks are flushed a beautiful colour.

“Look, Snow, I don’t-“ I begin, and he turns to me, smirking.

“It’ll be Grimm-Pitch one day.” he murmurs.

Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.

Very sorry this took so long, I had massive writers block for it! Hope you all enjoy 💞

#snowbaz textpost #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #snowbaz ficlet #snowbaz kiss #simon snow #penelope bunce #basilton pitch #minor angst #snowbaz angst #snowbaz fluff

[isauntervaguelydownwards]

Glares like Burning

Baz can't stand her roommate - or rather, the fact that her roommate can't stand her.

or: both Baz and Simone are useless lesbians

Fill for COC2019 day 7 prompt: WLW.

Baz

“I hate her,” I said, narrowing my eyes at the aforementioned girl.  Niall, sitting beside me, snorted. Dev twisted in his seat in the least subtle display of people watching I had ever seen. If I hadn’t been busy glaring, I probably would’ve joined Niall in his laughter.

“Who?” Dev finally asked, seemingly having given up looking. 

“Who else?” Niall laughed, jostling me with his shoulder. I kept glaring.

“Simone Snow, that’s who,” I replied, taking pity on Dev before he twisted himself entirely into a pretzel.

“What did she do now?” Dev asked, and Niall groaned in reply.

“She’s existing, Dev, what do you think?” 

“I mean, maybe she’s existing in a particularly abrasive way just today?”

“She’s sitting there, and she’s letting Bunce braid her hair,” I said and abruptly realised that if I narrowed my eyes any more I’d have my eyes closed.

“...because they’re friends?” Niall droned, rolling his eyes at Dev. Had I been less used to them making a mockery of me, I might have been hurt by the laugh Dev let out.

“...we’re roommates and she never lets me braid her hair…” I muttered into my teacup, having finally looked away from Simone (mostly because she and Bunce left the dining room, really).

“I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe you have a tendency to tell her - loud and clear, at least once a day - that you hate her?” Niall said.

“I hate you too, you know that, right?” I grumbled. “How dare you make sense at me?”

“I’m just saying, if you stopped saying you hate her when you actually want to snog her, maybe things would work out better?” he said, all reasonably. I didn’t intend to respond, mostly because Dev was watching us like we were playing tennis, but that was a gravely erroneous statement and I just couldn’t let it stand.

“I don’t want to snog her. I want to hold her close and soothe her through all her troubles and issues.” With that said, I rose from my chair, pulling my blazer closed around me, before striding off. If it happened to be in vaguely the same direction that Simone disappeared in, well, that’s nothing but happenstance.

Simone

She was glaring at me again, I knew it. I could feel the glares like burning.

If she hadn’t been glaring like that for almost as long as we’d known each other, I would’ve thought she’d figured me out, actually. 

“Hey Penny, could you - braid my hair?” I said, studiously not looking at Baz or Penny, mostly because I knew what I’d see in both cases. From Baz, it would be the same hateful glare as always, and from Penny the almost pitying look. 

I did understand her pity, and I actually welcomed it now. In the beginning, after I’d confided in her, she’d been angry. 

“Pitch?! Simone! She’s - I don’t know what she is, but she’s surely nothing good!” Penny whisper-shouted, reaching out to shake me by my shoulders. 

“I know,” I moaned, scrubbing my hands over my face, letting her shake me bodily. “She’s evil, she’s plotting something, and quite probably also a vampire.”

“And! She hates you!”

“And she hates me, I know…” 

“What could you - how, what even.” It was the first time I’d heard Penny so upset that she was stuttering, having a difficult time getting the words out properly in the right order.

“The heart wants what the heart wants, Penny, and in this, I’ve got nothing to say about it.” I shrugged, more or less resigned to being in love with someone who’s hated me the entire time we’d known each other.

The pity was better than the rage, at least, even if it meant we both knew how pointless and hopeless my crush actually was. Well, I call it a crush, because that sounds a little less serious - the truth is that if Baz asked me now, I’d marry her tomorrow.

“‘Course I can,” she said, always game to play around with my hair. She’d managed to put it up in Leia buns once, and while it did look absolutely hilarious, it was a nice hairstyle to have. 

She’d gotten quite good at braiding hair - at least others’  hair. Her own she still used magic to braid. Mine she managed to fishtail no problem, which was evidenced by the fact that it held for the entire day.

It was when I was untangling the braid that evening that Baz came back to our room, with pretty much the same black glare she’d kept up the entire day. I studied her through the mirror of my vanity, keeping up the pretence of brushing my hair.

When Baz glanced at me I quickly looked away, unable to help the blush spreading across my face, once again cursing the fair skin my red hair came with.

Baz

She was brushing her hair at her vanity when I came back to our room, and it brought images of Bunce braiding her hair to mind. I couldn’t help glaring again, but I managed to not glare at her, for once. 

When I next glanced over at her, I was - shocked, to say the least, when she quickly, noticeably looked away, face turning a fetching shade of red.

I don’t know what came over me, what kind of daring Aunt Fiona had managed to remotely imbue me with, but I stalked over to her, spinning her and the stool she was sitting on around.

“What’s got you blushing like that, Snow?” I said, leaning over her, forcing her to lean back against the vanity. I was gratified to see the blush grow even more intense the closer I got.

“I, uh… we-well, I, eh -” Now, it might not be the accomplishment of the century, but I was still rather pleased I had reduced her to stuttering.

“Cat got your tongue, Snow?”

My enjoyment of the situation did turn rather quickly to surprise, however, when Simone, instead of saying something sassy back, launched herself at me. 

Our teeth clashed for a second before we both tilted our heads a little, and all of a sudden the kiss, already the best of my life, turned infinitely better. The way she moaned when I buried a hand in that long red hair of hers sent a tingle down my spine, and when she bit my lip I had a hell of a time not falling over.

When we broke the kiss, after what felt like an eternity, I was surprised to find myself kneeling on the stool, perched in her lap, her hands in a vice grip on my hips, the touch feeling like it should burn me but more a baptism by fire than anything. 

Closing my eyes and leaning my forehead against hers, I couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that,” I finally said after a long time.

“Can’t lie, I didn’t exactly see that coming, either,” she said, one hand leaving my hips in favour of stroking up and down my back. “I don’t regret it, however. I - well, I do love you, Baz, even if that’s a bit sudden.”

I couldn’t help but kiss her again, absolutely not for the last time.

#carry on countdown #coc 2019 #carry on countdown 2019 #snowbaz #femslash #type: text #mine #my writing #carry on fanfiction #fanfiction

[mageicalwishes]

Crying In My Prom Dress - Chapter 1

Read on AO3: here 

Summary: The Leaver's Ball marks the end of the school year. The end of their time at Watford. Baz has a confession to make before it's too late. But, will he ever pluck up the courage to tell Simon how he feels? Inspired by the song "Prom Dress" by Mxmtoon.

Chapter: 1/7

Words: 1537

Just to avoid confusion - This fic is set in an AU where none of the major events that take place within "Carry On" happened and takes place in their Eighth year at Watford, although Baz was still kidnapped by Numpties. No front seat for him.

Baz

It’s bad enough that I have to share a room with Snow given the ... circumstances. The last four years at Watford have practically been hell. Sharing a room with the person you want the most is like sharing a room with an open fire. He’s constantly drawing you in. And you’re constantly stepping too close. And you know it’s no good - that there is no good - that there’s absolutely nothing that can ever come of it. But you do it anyway. And then … Well. Then you burn. As it happens, I am severely burned. Charred, even. I’ve tried to stop it. I’ve tried everything. Everything just to make all of this go away. I tried fighting him (but every time he’d tackle me to the floor my brain still strayed to, shall we say, “devious” places). I still loved him, even though I spent my days desperately trying to convince him (and everyone else around us) that I didn’t. I tried “getting it out of my system” the summer after Fifth year (but that just provided me with a new array of distracting mental images my mind could wander to when he was lying barely a metre away from me). I still loved him. Last Summer, I desperately tried to find someone else. Anyone who could just take my mind off of Snow. But, that failed too (obviously). Nobody else could compare to Snow - How could they? They weren’t him. Of course I didn't want them - I wanted him. I still loved him. So, I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here right now. I’m not sure why I insist on torturing myself further. Sharing a room with him has been painful enough, but that’s mandatory. That’s all the Crucible’s fault. Following him when I know he’s going to meet Wellbelove, that’s … soul-crushing. And, that’s all my fault. Even for me this pathetic. Pining after him like bloody Romeo to Rosaline. Father would be so disappointed. The heir to the Grimm-Pitch estate, trailing after the Mage’s protégé like a love-sick puppy. It would bring him to tears. But here I am. They’ve stowed themselves away in a cosy, little storage room. And I’m sat (alone), hidden away on a balcony, watching them through the window. Like I said, pathetic.  

They’re practising their steps for the upcoming Leaver’s Ball. Simon Snow can’t dance. He’s stomping all over her pretty silk boots. She looks lovely today (as always) - all golden white hair and creamy pink skin. She’s opaque. Like milk. Like white glass. He looks - Well, he looks perfect (as always, he’s inflammably handsome). He’s still wearing his uniform, minus the tie. He’s loosened the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing the moles that are scattered all across his collarbones. I’d kiss them - If I could. I’d kiss every single mole on his stupid body. But I can’t. He’d never let me. His trousers are hugging him just right. It’s nearing the end of the school year so (with all that gorging himself on scones and roast beef) he’s filling them out deliciously. His bronze curls are delightfully tousled (he runs his hands through them at least one hundred times a day). And he’s flashing a delightfully charming grin, small crinkles forming beside his eyes. His eyes are an ordinary blue. You could say they’re nothing special … but that would be a lie. They’re captivating. Simon Snow is an artwork - beautiful, but untouchable. At least, untouchable to me. Not to her. Not to Wellbelove.

Simon takes a particularly bad step and she stumbles backwards (he always has been a clutz). He catches her, wrapping a strong arm around her waist and pulling her back against him. He’s smiling down at her, and she’s smiling back up at him. Repulsive. I wasn’t convinced about them as a couple (and not just because I’m hopelessly jealous of her). When I flirted with her in Fifth year (another desperate attempt to ensure Snow and the others didn’t suspect my feelings for him), she definitely reciprocated. She was certainly eager . But looking at them now … They’re shining together. They’re glowing every shade of White and Gold. It’s practically blinding. They’re a picture-perfect fairy tail - the pretty princess and her heroic prince charming. I'm the monstrous villain. Well, as long as the prince is happy, I suppose.

Then, a voice started me from my thoughts. I nearly whipped myself around at the sound - Thankfully, I caught myself before I did. I hadn’t realised I was no longer alone. How embarrassing. “He’ll never give her up, you know. Not without good reason,” they repeated.

“Hello, Bunce,” I answered, refusing to turn to look at her. I can’t tell if I’m blushing. It’s been a while since I’d fed, hopefully my cheeks are unable to betray me. Still, best not to risk it.

“You’re wasting your time. He thinks she’s his destiny - he can’t help himself. Believe me, I’ve tried talking some sense into them both.” She sounds tired. Snow’s poor long-suffering companion. I understand. Snow is certainly intelligent (although I’d never tell him that), but he can be painfully thick sometimes.

“What do you mean? Badmouthing Watford’s golden couple, Bunce. Tut Tut Tut,” I mock.

“They make each other miserable. Not always. Sometimes they - Sometimes it’s good. They’re just not right for each-other, though. I know it. She knows it too. I can see it in her eyes sometimes. It’s just, Simon isn’t quite there yet. He still thinks he's in love with her. I don't think he ever has been - not really”. That is … certainly not what I was expecting her to say.

“And why are you telling me all this?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Simon may be oblivious, but I’m not. I’ve seen the way you look at him.” Oh. Shit. She knows. Denial - that’s always served me well in the past.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, not quite managing to maintain my usual coolness.

“I think that you do, Baz. It’s okay. You can trust me. I’ve suspected for a while. I would never tell anyone - Not even him. Although, I think it would be in both of your best interests if I did.” I believe her. In spite of her more annoying personality traits, Bunce has always struck me as a fundamentally good person (she’s always been there for Simon when he needed her).

“Well as you said, he can’t help himself. Neither can I. I can, however, help the amount of damage my … “emotional affliction” does. I’m not going to tell him. I always thought - I thought I might, one day. But he doesn’t reciprocate. He can’t. He already has enough reasons to hate me. I’m not giving him another.”

“Boys. You can never just talk,” she sighs. “I love Simon, I do, but he’s oblivious, even about the way he feels. You don’t have to do anything, like I said your secret’s safe with me. But, if you did. Tell him, that is. I think you’d be surprised. I’ve never seen anybody as invested in somebody as Simon is in you. He can tell himself he’s trying to catch you “plotting” all he wants, but it goes way beyond that. He talks about you all the time - far more than he ever has about Agatha. I don't think you ever leave his mind.  When you weren’t here at the start of the year he practically broke down. He was constantly on the verge of going off the whole time you were missing. I could hardly breathe over all his magic. Even if he doesn’t realise it, even if you don’t, I think he does reciprocate. And, even if I’m somehow wrong (which I’m definitely not), he wouldn’t hate you for it. Honest,” she says. Oh. Okay. So, Bunce thinks I have a chance. Cool. Good. Great. Crowley. Stay calm, Basilton.

“Okay, Bunce. Whatever you say,” I reply, attempting to keep my voice as flat as possible. She sighs (again), and I hear her swing the door open behind me.

“I just want what is best for Simon. For you too, Baz. I know you don’t want to hurt him. I don’t think you ever have, not really. Neither of you are really happy as is. I just - I just want you to at least give yourselves the chance to be, before it’s too late.” And then, she was gone.

I can feel my heart stuttering within my chest. My mind is racing. Bunce thinks I have a chance with Snow. Bunce thinks Snow may … return my affections. Bunce wouldn’t lie. Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life. She could be wrong though. And even if she’s not, he’s not going to give up Agatha. Nobody in their right mind would, I mean look at her. Should I tell him? Would it ruin everything? I mean, Snow already hates my guts, I’m not sure there is really much left to ruin. But, I can’t. I’m a monster, and Snow’s - well Snow’s decidedly not. I dedicated half my time at this bloody school to being as cruel to him as I possibly could. He could never never love me back, not the way I love him.

#carry on #wayward son #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch