#you know why baz uses the word queer? because he comes from the kind of conservative upperclass environment THAT USES THE WORD QUEER

[tyrannuspitch]

okay this is my last post about people being annoying about the word queer i promise. but.

rip to that person i saw a few months ago gushing about baz pitch using the word queer because it was sooo great to see characters who didn’t feel the need for labels like there’s soooo much more than just gay and straight urgh. like. sorry my friend but in about ten pages you’re going to discover that that boy is a homosexual

#joking aside i am banging my head against a wall #how can u ppl not comprehend that SOMETIMES. QUEER PEOPLE. ARE GAY #those aren't contradictory!!! #you know why baz uses the word queer? because he comes from the kind of conservative upperclass environment THAT USES THE WORD QUEER #AS A SLUR #and when they use it. one of the main groups they are thinking of. IS GAY MEN #not the only one no. and yes hypervisibility vs invisibility etc we get it. but come ON. #your discourse does not matter to this boy who is being threatened with an arranged marriage in the 21st fucking century!!! #brainworms i tell u. brainworms.

[larkral]

Hello!! Thanks for the tags @hushed-chorus, @bookish-bogwitch, @cosmicalart, @j-nipper-95, @forabeatofadrum, @orange-peony, @ileadacharmedlife and @aroace-genderfluid-sheep! So fun to see what everyone is working on!

I've been doing some tests for audio for my @caught-on-tape-fest, which has been difficult because my children have been home sick almost every day this week. Anyway, got a first roll of a fic and learned a lot, like: I'm definitely not going to be trying a British accent (comes out half-Australian, I blame Bluey), I need a working doc so that I can highlight different characters dialogue in different colors to allow for different pacing and emphasis, and I need to talk slower. 

That said, I am excited and it's fun. Haven't yet done any editing but I have done that before and I feel pretty sure I'll be able to manage. 

Also this week I wrote some Simon's Two Mums and some of one of my CORB pieces. Sentences from both below!

My CORB piece, draft titled mechanic!Simon:

One of my foster families had three cars up on blocks in the backgarden. Kitty said she collected kids and Jules collected cars. It worked for them. Worked for me too. Kitty wasn't my biggest fan, but Jules didn't mind a quiet pair of eyes watching him, tools being passed his way when he reached for them. He didn't talk a lot either, but when he bought the Mini ('74) he patted the hood and said, "Happy Birthday, Simon."

Simon's two mums (draft titled normal!Simon even though he's reallllly not) also this is 8 sentences. Ah well:

Baz uses words like purview. I can barely get my lips around them. Why the crucible thought that he and I would be good as roommates, I don't know.  But I do like him. And he likes Penny. And Penny likes me. So it works out, even if it does kind of suck to be the in-between friend.  Not that Keris and Penny are better suited as roommates than Baz and me.

One thing that's helping me to work on these two pieces in tandem is that they're both stories where the WOM timeline doesn't happen the way it does in canon, so I get to be really generative in thinking about what the actual universe of CO is like, and what the social and political dynamics would be like if the events that happen canonically hadn't happened. Fun! Difficult! My jam.

Tag/hellos under the cut. :)

Tagging @stitchyqueer @thewholelemon @confused-bi-queer @raenestee @facewithoutheart @cutestkilla @sillyunicorn @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @basiltonbutliketheherb @asocialpessimist @aristocratic-otter @captain-aralias @petedavidsonscock @takitalks @artsyunderstudy @yeonjunenby @carryonvisinata @takenabackbytuesdays @martsonmars @nausikaaa @nightimedreamersghost @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ionlydrinkhotwater @shrekgogurt @palimpsessed @fatalfangirl​ @blackberrysummerblog​ @valeffelees @imagineacoolusername @whogaveyoupermission @wellbelesbian @rimeswithpurple

#simon's two mums #snowbaz #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #simon snow as a mechanic #adventures in podficcing #six sentence sunday

[martsonmars]

Hello friends! I'm having a super busy week (which is really unusual in this period of my life), so I had no time for new words. Which means, different kind of post.

I need to keep working on my COBB because I really want to have a regular posting schedule, but I have to avoid feeling stuck with it. I'm a WIP hopper, I need to follow inspiration and start new projects all the time, so feeling like I have to work on ONE fic and nothing else kills my creativity. So, I want to continue one of my other WIPs. But I have too many shorter projects that are equally close to being finished (which means... 25 to 50% drafted), so I'm asking for help to choose one to continue.

It's possible I'll ignore your suggestions in the end, but help me choose anyway! (Usually receiving suggestions when I can't decide between some options makes me realise that deep down I had already chosen, and I just needed someone to suggest another option to feel disappointed and be like ok but actually I wanted to do that other thing—)

Anyway. WIPs and tags under the cut!

1. pirate blouse

I started this fic to reply to an ask after one of those prompt things I reblog sometimes. It's half written, I think.

Plot: Simon is a stressed TA and Baz shows up to his class in a... provoking outfit. Simon loses it.

Quote: Nobody's paying attention to their insane TA going off on one of their mates. Good. I don't need a complaint for assault to drive my doctorate even farther away from my grasp.

I just need Grimm-Pitch to leave my classroom and come back wearing proper trousers before my overworked brain cells decide to go on permanent strike. (I'm not sure they haven't deserted me already.)

2. holiday

I haven't written much of this one, but I have the whole thing in mind. Just need to find a way to turn my ideas into words.

Plot: Friends to lovers. Simon goes on holiday with the Grimms. He and Baz have to share a bed in the same room as Malcolm and Daphne.

Quote I've already shared: When I wake up with my erection pressed against Baz's arse and his father snoring five feet away from us, I remember why I didn't want to come.

3. pine baz

I wrote half of this fic in a couple of hours and then didn't touch it for almost 2 months. Now that I've reread it I really want to continue it.

Plot: Baz is a dryad. Simon's a woodcutter. Imagine the rest.

Quote I've probably already shared: “Who are you?” the man asked, blue eyes squinting up at Basil's shadow.

“I am the pine.”

~~~

Simon didn't know many things, but he was pretty sure that pines weren't pretty men with long dark hair and pouty lips.

4. mosquito fic

This one is me channeling my hate for mosquito and mosquito-sponsored sleepless nights into a fic where the Mosquito Tragedy that ends better for Simon than it ever does for me.

Plot: Simon's haunted by a mosquito. Who might this mosquito be???

Quote: It looks like it's trying to connect his moles in constellations with its bites.

For fuck's sake.

See what this whole thing is doing to him? It's making him poetic. Making him describe his morbid relationship with a fucking bug like a fanfiction writer would.

I thought I had more WIPs to share but I realised I'm not in the mood for any of the others (mainly because they're all fics I barely started writing, so they're nowhere close to being done, unlike the others). I'll just leave the working titles, happy to say more about them in the comments if you ask:

- cooking show

- cat door

- simpard baby

- pasta trauma

- cheeseburger smut

@wellbelesbian @urban-sith @tea-brigade @sillyunicorn @mostlymaudlin @facewithoutheart @palimpsessed @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @forabeatofadrum @johnwgrey @fatalfangirl @prettylightsbigcity @whatevertheweather @jbrrring @confused-bi-queer @moodandmist @bookish-bogwitch @letraspal @dragoneggo @captain-aralias @takitalks @theotherhufflepuff @otherworldsivelivedin @excalisbury @shemakesmeforget @starwarned @cutestkilla @ileadacharmedlife @gekkoinapeartree @bazzybelle @bloodiedpixie @stardustasincocaine @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @angelsfalling16 @basiltonbutliketheherb @messofthejess @ivelovedhimthroughworse @nightimedreamersworld @artsyunderstudy @foolofabookwyrm-activated @ionlydrinkhotwater @yellobb @orange-peony

#wip wednesday #my writing

[adamarks]

If one more person says simon snow should lose his wings i’m gonna lose my goddamn mind: a meta

Alright you guys, I’ve had ENOUGH. Simon cannot lose his wings unless you want him to break up with Baz, and this is why.

Let’s start with Baz.

This analysis is obviously Simon-based, and yes i’ll get there, but first we need to look at the biggest key we’ve been given to what Simon’s wings could possibly mean subtextually and metaphorically for the story at large. That key is: Baz’s vampirism. 

Baz being a vampire is constantly compared to/mentioned in tandem with his queerness in Carry On. In his first chapters, what are the three most important traits that we learn about him? 

he’s a drama queen

he’s a vampire

he’s hopelessly in love with simon snow

If you boil his character down until he’s basically just a stick figure, that’s what he is: an over dramatic vampire in love with Simon Snow.

We’ve all read the books, we all know this, and we all know he’s much more than that. What of it?

What’s important is that Baz’s vampirism is treated almost the exact same as his homosexuality. 

Hiding it from everyone, being ashamed of it, knowing what you are but being terrified of it. His dad being “definitely more disappointed in my queerness than my undeadness.” 

I mean, holy shit, let’s look at this bit in Carry on from Chapter 51:

“I think if I got married, to a girl from a good family, my father wouldn’t even care that I’m queer. “

This scene really hits, because how many times have you wondered “What if I was straight? Maybe this thing wouldn’t be as bad?” “What if i was just a straight poc?” “What if I was only gay and not trans?” “What if I was only disabled and not gay on top of it?” What if, what if, what if. Would my life be easier? you wonder. Would I get hurt less? Would people treat me better?

If Carry On is about self-realization, then Wayward Son is about the struggle of self-acceptance. 

Baz going to Las Vegas and meeting Lamb probably seemed familiar for some of you people that are LGBT+. It’s how you feel when you’re from a small town and you go to a big city like New York or Orlando or LA for the first time and you see gay people all around you. Flamboyantly gay! Gay people holding hands! Gay people kissing! Trans people that don’t fit the gender norms! Older trans ladies just walking down the street!

It’s exciting, it’s exhilarating. Your baby-gay brain is so confused because no one’s giving them dirty looks. They don’t look nervous or ashamed. Is this allowed?

The party in the penthouse is glamorous and beautiful and alluring and none of the humans there are scared or look like they’re in real danger. It’s because they aren’t. None of those vampires are there to kill people. 

This is where Baz’s fear of his own nature comes in. Let’s hear it for all you homosexuals in the crowd that are/have been terrified of being predatory. Of turning the gender you’ve been told all of your life you’re not supposed to want into pieces of meat. You feel ashamed for wanting physical intimacy. You feel wrong for wanting emotional intimacy. 

Lamb is the older gay that you meet/learn about/watch on youtube or whatever that makes you learn that no, you’re not inherently evil. Lamb is the queer history, the queer movies, the queer people that you discover that make you learn that “no, i’m not bad. I’m not broken. I’m beautiful. I’m beautiful.” 

Baz thinking the sight of Lamb drinking that guy’s blood being alluring and beautiful is crucial to his arc. Baz needs to see that all of him is beautiful. 

So homosexuality = Baz being a vampire? How in the flying fuck does this have anything to do with Simon?

Remember, Baz is our key. His struggles have been happening since book one. Simon just gained his “creature” status at the end of Carry On. He’s new to this. Which means we’re new to the subtext. Which means: let’s dive on into the next big point.

Our Big Bisexual Boy

Whatever label you choose to use for Simon is up to you. As long as we all agree he likes more than one gender then it’s whatevs. I’m going to be using the word bisexual for this meta, though. 

We’re all well aware that Simon is Struggling with his bisexuality in this book. 

“I still haven’t sorted out whether I’m still attracted to women or whether I ever was, or whether I’m some kind of Baz-only-sexual. But the cleavage at this place is abundant, and I’m not mad about it.”

(taken from chapter 21) 

Like....... y’know. We know. It’s... we get it. 

The important part of that quote is that it’s at the Ren Faire. The Ren Faire is the first time Simon’s had his wings out in public since god-knows-when, if ever. This is also the first time he really considers kissing Baz in the book. Kissing Baz in Public.

Any of you that have been to Pride probably got a little bit of the warm fuzzies during this scene. The faire brought back such deep memories of my first pride it was a little bit emotional. I talked to random people, people ran around in rainbow outfits. There was body paint! Stupid hats! Weird dye jobs! The classic pride-flag-as-a-cape look! I talked to so many people and 

“Everyone here is so friendly.”

(also taken from chapter 21)

Everyone was so nice to me.

Baz feels right at home; Simon is all smiles. The only one not having a blast is Penny and she’s (I’m sorry, Penny) the token straight friend in these books. 

I don’t know how Rainbow did it, but she made me relive my first pride through Simon, and I’ll never not be grateful for that. 

“Today I’m someone else entirely. Today I’m just a bloke with fake red wings.”

The Pride/Ren Faire parallels were pretty obvious, but I wanna get a little further into the whole “wings = being bisexual” thing. 

We’ve established with Baz that being a magical creature or whatnot is Gay, but while Baz is fully magical, Simon’s “half-normal.” Kind of. It’s a weird situation there but half-normal works for the argument. 

“’Smells like dragon... but also smells like iron. Another abomination!’” 

(chapter 35)

Now the word “abomination” is really fucking unfortunate in this context, but biphobia exists so idk man. I’m gonna start talking in gay/straight terms and I absolutely know bisexuality isn’t half-gay half-straight but we’re talking in metaphors and i’ll tie it together at the end so just stick with me, okay?

He’s part dragon, part Normal (kind of). Simon’s not like Baz where he’s absolutely, 100% a vampire. He has traits of dragons and humans. This is why it’s so bad that he hates his wings half the time. They are part of him. They may not be “normal” and he may have to hide them, but he can’t just cut off the gay part. Our queerness doesn’t define us, but it’s a defining feature. 

Penny says she wouldn’t be her if she wasn’t a mage. Simon wouldn’t be Simon if he wasn’t bi. 

The mistake Simon and almost everyone else makes during this book is that they think of his wings as these separate entities. There is no gay part and straight part of Simon Snow. All of him is Simon. From the tips of his toes to the tops of his wings, all of him is Simon. He might’ve discovered this part of himself during a tragic point in his life, but that doesn’t mean it has to be something bad. It doesn’t have to be something tainted. 

Sometimes you discover things about yourself during the hardest moments of your life. When you’re already down in the dirt, beaten and bruised, sometimes a mirror is put in front of you and you realize something. You realize you’re trans. You realize you’re gay. And sometimes you resent those realizations because they came to you at the worst possible time. “This is just one more thing on my plate,” you think. 

This series is about reclaiming the things that where taken from you by the ones that hurt you. 

Simon’s going to have to learn to love his wings, because even though they remind him of something that hurts-- hurts more than anything-- they’re part of him. They are him, as much as the rest of his body is. Simon’s going to have to forgive himself, and learn to love himself for all that he is. 

Because all that he is is beautiful. 

We all know it; it’s time for him to understand that.

All right, bitches. Let’s get to the bit we all REALLY care about. this is the one that really fucks me up my dudes. Because it’s Brutal. But anyways here we go.

His wings are the Big Baz Love 

What are the two things that Simon’s  considering cutting off in this book?

“That’s what I’m going to say when I break up with Baz.”

“Dr. Wellbelove said he could remove the wings. And the tail. Whenever I’m ready.”

(Chapter 2, Epilogue)

Yikes!

My guys..... Simon and Baz don’t kiss unless Simon’s wings are out.

I truly do not understand how some of you are out here saying Simon’s gonna lose his wings I really don’t. It’s stressful. I’m stressed. Ms. Rainbow Rowell, you have me stressed. 

His Wings! Are! His Love!

On Love’s Light Wings!

Goatman dances his nasty little fingers all over the bridge that is Baz’s ass? Wings out, uses his tail to help kill the guy. Lamb is hitting on Baz too much? 

“’Spell my wings off.’”

(Chapter 45)

In the airport, when a lady is giving them the “don’t be gay” stink eye he immediately checks to make sure his tail is hidden. 

Baz can’t spell his wings off, guys. 

Baz can’t spell his wings away.

“’Snow needs you to cast your angel spell on him. I hid his wings for breakfast, but they’re still there.’“

(Chapter 19)

In Chapter 41, the biggest kiss scene we get, Simon wraps his wings around Baz to hold him. He’s embracing him in his love guys. Guys. 

Have you people noticed how i’m suddenly less articulate? It’s because i’m in crisis. Set me on fire I wouldn’t notice. I’ve been living with this terrible knowledge.

The first scene we finally see them kiss is after the scene at the Ren Faire when Simon’s wings are finally out and he finally got to fly.

“Simon catches up with me and traps me against the car. He’s kissing me before I see it coming.” 

Simon is so dtf in this scene Penny throws a water bottle at them, and it hits him in the wing. 

“’So hot,’ Simon Says. ‘Got to see you fight without picking a fight with you myself.’

Bunce throws a plastic bottle over my shoulder, and it smacks Simon in the wing.”

(Chapter 22)

She had to smack him right in the love for him to calm down, my dudes, my guys. Do you realize how hard it was for me to annotate this goddamn book with this knowledge? Every. Single. Time. Simon stretches a wing or flaps them around it’s about Baz. It gets to the point where you have to put the book down or you’re gonna explode. 

Simon’s wings are always out around Lamb. He’s jealous as hell and he hates that motherfucker’s guts. The only real injuries Simon sustains in this book are to his wings and they’re almost always when Baz gets hurt too. 

When did Simon get his wings? Only a day after he first kissed Baz.

Simon’s love for Baz is so big and so obnoxious he can’t hide it. His wings and tail have spikes, because that’s all Simon knows. He’s rough around the edges, he’s been hurt, he’s been used.

He’s never been in love before.

His love is spiky; it’s loud. It’s hotrod red and you can’t miss it when it’s out. Baz can’t see it, because Simon’s tucked it away. He hasn’t flown with it. He hasn’t wrapped it around Baz in so long. He doesn’t know how to handle a love this big, where to put it, when to unfurl it. 

Simon gets jealous. He gets scared. He’s insecure. He wants so dearly to finally give to someone instead of feeling like he’s just giving in. Like he’s still just taking from Baz.

What do you do with wings? 

How do you find somewhere safe to fly?

The Resolution.

I said earlier that if Carry On is a story of self-discovery, Wayward Son is a story of self-acceptance.

Simon has to love himself, and learn that his love for Baz is a good thing. As he accepts himself (and his dragon powers evolve go read my dragon simon meta it’s good.) he’s going to start to shine. 

This is a story being told to us with nothing but love. This is a story about a boy that’s his own worst enemy-- as all of us often are. It’s so scary to accept our wings. It’s so scary to accept our fangs. Especially when they’ve come out of such a hideous occurrence. 

We need to accept these dark times and acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, we were made more beautiful because of them. Maybe the light we give after we’ve been in darkness is more vibrant, because we know how scary the dark is. The things that happened to us were horrible, and hideous, and terrifying, but we aren’t. We’re different from how we were before, but we’re still beautiful. 

Simon Snow is going to accept himself.

Simon Snow is going to accept his past.

Simon Snow is going to finally, finally tell Baz he loves him.

And for the first time, Simon Snow is going to see that he’s beautiful.

If you’ve liked this meta you should also check out this one where i explain how they’re finally gonna get their relationship together. Also the one about the scarf

Special thank you to @singerofsimplesongs for listening to me howl and screech about this damn thing. 

Tagging some people that might be interested!

@neck-mole @watfordwallflower @carrybits @theflyingpeach @fight-surrender @shitty-posty-times @wisest-girl @slaying-fictional-dragons @gucciglitzy

#carry on #wayward son #any way the wind blows #rainbow rowell #simon snow #snowbaz #baz pitch #Penelope Bunce #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #tyrannus basilton pitch #wayward son spoilers #meta #wayward son meta #carry on meta #this will end in flames #agatha wellbelove

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Mages Don’t Meddle

Rating: M

Genre: Angst/Mild Fluff

Word count: 16091

Summary: In a world where magic users must fear each other, Baz Pitch, a British born hex hiding in the 19th century American southwest, is just trying to stay alive. But when he meets a fellow British hex, his world is turned upside down in the most awful, amazing ways possible. PLEASE READ FIRST AUTHOR'S NOTE!!!!

Read on AO3

AN: Alright some of you may know that my favourite book series of all time is The Hexslinger Series by Gemma Files. It’s a gory but brilliant horror/dark fantasy weird western trilogy about gay cowboy wizards fighting Aztec gods. (It's also where my AO3 username comes from). I've been writing this AU on and off for like two years now lol. So when I saw this event, I saw it as motivation to finally finish it. And I did! Idk how many people are gonna like this, considering the obscurity of the books. The mythos is a bit complicated so here are the basic rules of the Hexslinger world:

1. Magic users exist, called "hexes" or "hexslingers” by most English speakers. They’re commonly known of and feared by some humans because of their immense, usually unstable power. Their magic is usually called "hexation" and a common descriptor for anything to do with them is "hexacious." Being a hex can either be passed down from parent to child or appears randomly. Most are children of a hex man and a human woman as pregnancy for a hex woman can be very risky to mother and child, but it's still possible.

2. Hexes aren’t usually born having magic. Their powers manifest at some point later in their lives except in very rare circumstances. For women it usually appears after their first period, while for men it’s usually after some sort of grievous bodily harm, e.g getting hanged or beaten. Before manifestation, some hexes show no sign of magic at all, while others have hints like perfect aim or weirdly good luck. It depends on the person and their power level.

3. Hex magic varies between people based on personality, culture, family history, and power level/type. For example, an experienced Chinese born hex with refined power will have a very different kind of magic than a newly manifested American born hex with more chaotic power. (That’s literally just from the original books lol.) Even hexes similar in multiple aspects can be completely different in the way their magic is expressed.

4. The only universal trait between hexes is that they all have the urge to feed off each other’s magic. They’re like magic vampires (wink wink). If they get too close to each other, they have the immediate urge to absorb the other's power and kill them. It’s completely instinctual and very hard to resist. Hence why hexes can’t be around each other. Or, to use the common phrase from the universe, “mages don’t meddle.”Okay that's the basics. There's A LOT of other stuff but I think that's all you need to know for this fic imo.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: So there's some period typical racism scattered around due Baz being brown in the 19th century American south. It's not too harsh imo but I still want to warn people. I hope I handled it alright, considering I'm a white af Canadian Irish-Jew, but if I didn't I'm very sorry. There's also a bit of period typical homophobia at the start. The closest I get to slurs is the use of "red" and "Indian" in reference to Indigenous people, "queer" in a negative context, references to sand because Baz says he's Egyptian, and Baz being called "darker folk." I felt it would be disingenuous to not include bigotry of the past and pretend things would be all okay for a queer POC like Baz. Especially since Hexslinger itself has major themes of homophobia, racism, and not being accepted in the majority of society. A few mentions of suicide, self harm, and torture too in relation to hex powers emerging too, which is also major in Hexslinger. The series itself is pretty brutal and dirty with lots of bigotry, blood, guts, and death. So those elements have gotten in here. There is some flesh burning stuff but I don't think it's that graphic, feels pretty typical for Carry On imo. Hopefully this all works well/makes sense.

As always, big thanks to Raegan of @carryonmylovelies Now with that all out of the way, enjoy!

———————————————

I gingerly take a sip of my whiskey. It's a horrible rotgut shite, but there’s worse stuff out in the wild west. This Slipfoot Joe’s seems to be okay by my now very, very low standards for this area.

“Well well, if it ain’t a pretty red boy,” the man behind me croons. His voice makes evey inch of my skin crawl.

I let out a deep sigh. I’ve been expecting this, but I’m still not pleased. “Piss off, arsehole.”

“Oh! Didn’t know Indians could sound English!”

“I’m British Egyptian, you twit.”

The man leans on the bar, smiling wide. It’s easier to count the few teeth he has than guess how many he’s lost. “What brings your sandy ass to our great country?”

The Call. The unending Call that signals all of us to come here.

I take another long sip. “Your gorgeous face, obviously. How much do you charge? I’ve heard American men are cheaper here than in England.”

The man reels back scowling. “You think I’m some queer?!”

“Well, I assumed so. Considering you were just flirting with me, a man.”

He snarls, whipping out his pathetic little pistol. The barrel shakes nonstop. “You got some nerve, boy!”

I finish the whiskey and delicately place the glass rim first on the filthy bar. “And you’re a racist bastard. You don’t see me getting all pissy.”

The gunshot happens in slow motion for me. I don’t even need to turn. I simply hold one hand in front of me and let my magic pour from me like a dragon’s breath. It curls out in front of me, a circle of blacks and charcoal greys and burning scarlets. Every hex’s magic is different. Mine is like a constant roaring fire, always threatening to consume me.

The bullet hits the shield with a tinny clink. Racist Man is frozen with wide, terrified eyes. I turn to him, orange and red reflecting in my grey eyes.

“You- You’re... a hex?!” He splutters.

“Thought that was pretty bloody obvious. Now go, before I drink your blood.”

Racist Man and his buddy scamper out of the tavern. I let the force field dissipate, crackling and popping in the air like a dying campfire. Joe, the bartender and eponymous Slipfoot, sighs as he cleans another glass.

“You know,” Joe says, “I’ve met other hexes. They’re stupid reckless assholes but they ain’t ever drank blood. Just suck each other’s magic.”

I chuckle. “Well they don’t know that, do they?”

“No, lucky for you. What’s a Brit like you even doin’ here anyway?”

My mouth presses into a thin line. I envy him. He can't hear The Call from that damned Hex City. I heard it all the way in Washington, and before I knew it I was on a train southeast. The only reason I haven’t actually gone to the horrid place is sheer stubbornness.

“I’m a hex. Where else would I be going?”

Joe freezes. He stares at me with more concern than fear. “I’d be careful, son. Those hexes I met? One of them was Reverend Rook himself. He’s beyond bad news, ‘specially with that heathen goddess by his side.”

“I know.” I trace my finger on the old wood, trying to focus on that instead of the ringing in my head. “But what choice do I have?”

———————————————

1867, two years after America’s bloody civil war, and it seems they’re about to be plunged into a new one. Except it won’t be slavery versus abolition this time, but humans versus magic. 

The news has spread like wildfire. In the final days of the war, a confederate soldier and unofficial chaplain named “Reverend” Asher Rook was sentenced to hang for abandoning his regiment. But he survived, and the suffering of the ordeal caused his hex powers to emerge. Rumour has it one Bible verse from his lips can level an entire town. Rook decided to use his new powers to steal and murder his way through the west, aided by his ruthless gunslinging lieutenant (and rumoured lover) Chess Pargeter.

He should’ve been just another hex outlaw for those American Pinkertons to take down. But somehow, a mere month ago, Rook made a pact with an Aztec goddess. And together they’ve created New Azteclan, or Hex City to the common man. According to the magical homing signal I hear, that every hex hears, it’s a place where hexes can lose their insatiable urge to feed off each other’s magic. We’ll no longer have to be loners by nature, picked off one by one by humanity. We could be together. We could be safe.

But at what cost? Nothing in life comes without a cost. I know that too well. My magic cost me my home, my family, and a good part of my sanity. I’d do anything to not be a danger to others anymore. And the possibility is right there. All I need to do is go further south and cross the border into Mexico to reach Hex City. But once I do that, there’s no going back. The temptation of the Call will be too strong. And whatever price The Reverend wants, he’ll get it from me.

I sit at the fire, chewing on some absolutely horrific jerky. I’m trying to focus on the flames instead of the voice in my head. I’m not sure whose it is. Maybe Rook’s, maybe his witch goddess’. It doesn’t have a discernible tone, just sort of an indistinct everyman sound, or a thousand voices speaking the same thing. Either way, it’s very annoying.

Come, it whispers. Come seek out Ixchel, the Mother of Hanged Men. Come stand before Her priest-king, to offer up your service. Come to build the First City of the Sixth World- the world of wonder, the world of power. Come, and join New Azteclan.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” I shout into emptiness, slamming the side of my head with my fist.

“I haven’t said anything yet,” someone replies weakly.

I bolt up. My magic roars to life inside me, a fireball forming in the palm of my hand. “Who said that?!”

The man slowly steps out of the darkness. He must be no older than myself, with his young, round freckled face. He has curly bronze hair, capped by an old second hand cowboy hat. His brown leather coat, plaid shirt, riding boots, and jeans are all filthy with desert dirt. A horse with saddle bags stands behind him. His blue eyes are wide and nervous. I notice a smell on him. Like green fire and smoke, with a strong scent of something brown and sweet. He smells like something I would gladly eat.

He’s a hex.

“Don’t you dare come any closer, you prick,” I say between gritted teeth. “I won’t hesitate to burn you to a crisp.”

The other boy shakes his head. “I’m not here to drain you. I...I just wanted to ask for some help.” He sounds British like me, but more rough and nervous, stumbling over his words.

“Yeah, right. Do I look that gullible? ‘Mages don’t meddle.’ We’d all drain each other dry if we were given the chance.”

He sighs heavily. “Well, of course I want to by instinct, but I’m not going to. I was just wondering if you had any food. All of mine got stolen by some angry humans.”

I consider just turning him away, or draining his magic and leaving his dried out corpse for the vultures. But he looks so desperate. How long has this young man been out here alone? My aunt had always warned me to be wary of all other hexes. We’re a bloodthirsty species, Basil. Never trust another hex, ever. Not even me. But I’m not my aunt.

I sit down again. “Fine. You can have some jerky. Just don’t come too close alright? I’d like to keep my magic and soul where they are, please.”

The man smiles (he has a nice smile) and sits opposite me at the fire. I throw a bag of jerky, and he catches in one hand. He shoves it in his mouth like a ravenous animal.

“So,” I say, “what’s your name?”

“Simon Snow,” he rep;ies, mouth still half full. “Your’s?”

“Baz Pitch.” Simon chuckles a bit, and I frown. “What’s so funny?

“Well, Baz Pitch is a pretty ridiculous name.”

“No more ridiculous than Simon Snow,” I snap. “What, were you named by circus performers?”

“Maybe. Not sure, actually.” Snow looks at the fire, but it feels like he’s looking right through it, his gaze very far away.

“Why’s that?”

Simon shakes his head. “Hey, are you going to Hex City?”

I huff, blowing some loose, dirty hair out of my eyes. I’m too tired to stop him from changing the subject. “I don’t know. Are you?

He shrugs. “Maybe. So far I am. The stories and Call do make it sound so wonderful.”

I scoff loudly. “Of course they do. Rook wants people to come. Then we’ll get there and be sacrificed to his bloodthirsty goddess. That’s probably what happened to Pargeter. No one’s heard from him lately, according to the locals.”

“But we’ll lose the hunger! What if the Reverend just wants us to be safe? Y’know, as a kindness to his own people.”

“No one does anything out of kindness, Snow. Least of all hexes.”

“You gave me food out of kindness, didn’t you?”

I glare at him over the flames. He shrugs with a faint smile. Fuck. He has a really nice smile.

 “I’m going to sleep,” I mutter. “But I’m putting a shield around me. Touch it and you’ll be burned alive. So don’t get any ideas about taking my magic.”

Simon throws his hands up in innocence. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I lay down on my pallet, throwing up my force field. The crackle and hiss of magic around me distracts from the beautiful mage no more than seven feet from me. Whom I’m not sure I want to kiss or kill. Maybe both.

———————————————

I wake when the sun's centre in the sky. I’m breathing, so this Simon Snow hasn’t drained me dry. That’s good, I guess. 

I sit up bleary eyed. Snow is passed out on his own cot, drooling profusely with his mouth wide open (mouth breather). He’s put up his own shield, of course, (at least he’s somewhat sensible). It sort of looks like an electrical explosion, white bolts constantly combusting around him in bubble form. He smells so powerful. It’s taking all of my willpower to not hurt him. To not submit to my basic hex desires.

I take my sweet time to pack my things and douse the fire pit, secretly hoping Simon will wake up before I run out of excuses. Luckily, with a very loud snort, Snow bolts upwards. There’s terror in his eyes, and his breath is uneven and shallow. I know that look. I’m no stranger to nightmares myself.

“A good morning to you, Snow,” I say.

Simon lets out a long breath, waving a hand to dissolve his shield. “You didn’t kill me.”

“And you didn’t kill me. What a miracle.”

“I’ll say. Are you leaving?”

“Obviously.”

“Where to?”

I sigh heavily. “Well, my map says, there’s a town southeast from here. I haven’t been there before but it probably isn’t too bad. I was going to hide there for at least a bit.”

Simon picks at his nail beds, even though they’re already ragged and bloody. “Can I...can I come with you? I haven’t been around anyone in so long, y’know. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to”

I look at him with the most neutral gaze I can muster. “Are you going to kill me?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t killed you yet, have I?”

“There’s still time.”

Simon stands up, brushing the dust off his pants. “Alright, then I’ll make myself very clear. Baz, I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to fight you at all, alright?”

I must admit that I’ve been lonely these few months in the desert. Hell, I’ve been lonely for the past few years. I’ve actually missed the company of others. But it’s not like humans or hexes want to be around me. Except for this one, it seems. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. If we don’t kill each other first that is.

“Alright, fine. Just don’t try anything or I’ll burn you from the inside out.”

Simon keeps smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

We mount our horses and ride off. I try to keep my eyes ahead instead of on Snow.

———————————————

“I can’t believe the food here,” Snow says. “It’s so much more spicy than in the North.”

“We are closer to Mexico, Snow,” I reply. I’m trying to figure out our route, while also listening to Snow when he’s more than six feet away. The hunger is manageable from this distance. Mostly.

“Well, yeah, but it’s so insane! Why can’t the north people get some spice from here? It would make their chicken more tolerable. London street food was awful but at least it had some flavour!”

That makes me snort out a laugh no matter how much I try not to. Snow grins at me, and his face is literal sunshine. Why must he be so perfect? It’s not fair. “London street food? You mean fish and chips? Those aren’t half bad, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Snow’s tawny face gets a little pink. He rubs the back of his slightly sunburnt neck. “Y-Yeah, they weren’t too bad. Just...other stuff was terrible...”

“Like what?” It’s not late at night now. I’m less inclined to let his dodging go. Call me crazy, but I’d like to know about the man I’m travelling with.

“Um...” He looks down at his horse’s neck. “I-I lived on the London streets, literally, until I was old enough to work for room and board. Finding anyone who would house a hex though, that was a challenge.”

His laugh is tinny and hollow. My heart, or what dark horrible mass we hexes have in place of one, twists at the words. I wish I was surprised. His story is all too familiar.

“You don’t need to be ashamed,” I say firmly. “We all have our own rough pasts. It’s practically required for hexes, in my eyes.”

Snow doesn’t look up, but his (pretty) plain blue eyes flick over to me. “Really?”

I nod. “Yes, of course. Hexes are usually shunned and harmed. Finding one who hasn’t been in a dire situation is more rare.”

“Have you met a lot of hexes?”

“Some. Mostly, I’ve heard stories. Far too many are like your’s.”

“Is your’s?”

My grip on the reins is so tight my knuckles are going pale. Memories rush through my head no matter how much I want to stop them. The darkness, the pain, the fire, then the stench of burnt human flesh, all capped off by years of trying to survive on my own.

“Unfortunately, ye-”

“What the fuck?!”

Simon’s screech is ungodly in volume and tone. His horse lets out a similarly panicked bray. She bucks up, but can’t get very high with the red vines tangled around her legs.

“Oh fuck,” I hiss. I try to pull back my own horse, but his legs are similarly wrapped up. The vines circle up and around us. I kick and stamp them with all my might. The blood red flowers look like the gaping mouths of monsters.

“What the fuck are these things?!” Snow bellows. He tries to rear his horse back, but nearly throws himself backwards off his saddle instead. “Fucking shite!”

“Don’t do that, Snow, it won’t help!”

“Then what should I do?!” 

“Just stay still!”

Thankfully, Snow does as I say. Not thankfully, I’m not sure what to do. I know that human blood gets rid of the Weeds, but even if I count as human in this regard, you need a relatively large amount of it. So unless I want to pass out, I’ll need to think of something else. But what else can curb evil bloodthirsty Aztec plants?

“Baz!” Snow’s horse pancis the more the weeds wrap around her, which makes Snow panic in turn. He looks at me with desperate wide eyes. “Baz, do something!”

Oh, fuck it. I’ll solve this the way I solve my other problems.

I reach deep within myself, down to the flames that burn in what’s hopefully my soul, or at least what hexes have instead. I grab that power and let it out through my arm. Fire roars to life in the palm of my hand, and I unleash the full force of it on the Weeds. A tidal wave of blackened-red flames engulf the plants.

“Jesus Christ!” Simon shouts. The plants don’t burn per se, I’m not sure they even can. But they still shrink away from us. I keep pushing more magic out until they Weeds a good distance away. 

“Run,” I say, “now!”

Snow and I both wrench our horses 180 degrees and run like the wind. We ride fast and far with no destination, but we keep each other in sight. Only when my pulse is no longer hammering in my ears do I start to slow down. Snow follows, and eventually we stop near a large tree. All four of us are breathing hard.

“Bloody hell,” Snow says. “W-What the fuck were those?”

“Red Plague Weeds,” I reply, dismounting my horse. “They’ve been popping up all around here. No one knows where they come from, but we’re all pretty sure they have something to do with Rook and his witch goddess. Just like every other bizarre thing nowadays.”

“How come I haven’t seen them before in the towns?”

“Because the way to get rid of the Weeds permanently is blood, Snow.”

Snow’s eyes go wide with horror. “Blood? Any blood?”

I sadly shake my head. “No, only fresh human blood. I’ve heard a bowl full collected from the townsfolk is good enough. I don’t even know if hex blood counts. No one’s ever tried, as far as I know. We’re extremely lucky we got away.”

“So I gathered,” Snow sighs. “Now what? We’ve gone a good way backwards now, if I had to guess.”

“Agreed. We’ll have to try and move around the Weeds. If we’re lucky, the town will still be reachable.”

“No one has ever called hexes lucky.”

We both laugh a little. Sometimes laughter is the only way to deal with our horrible existences. I pull the waterskin out of my bag and take a deep, long drink. “Let’s stay here for a moment, though. That blast took a lot out of me.”

“Y-Yeah, that makes sense. Um, I’ll just...”

He turns his horse to the side, trotting away from me. My stomach drops out. Where’s he going? Am I going to be alone again? I’ve only been with Snow for one day. That’s nothing compared to the last two years I’ve been on my own. But now I can’t imagine going back to that crushing, never ending loneliness.

“Heading out, Snow?” I keep my tone neutral, holding back the desperate tremor that threatens to bleed out. “Suppose I’ll see you around, then.”

Snow whips his head around. If I were a more hopeful person, I’d say he looks even more panicked than when we were tangled in the Weeds. “W-What? No, I was just gonna go a little further away...”

“Do I smell that bad?” I probably do. Hygiene is not a priority in these parts.

“No! The opposite, actually...” Snow looks to the side, a little red on his face. “You used a lot of magic before. I can still smell some of it. I, uh, want to keep my promise...”

Oh. Right. I should count myself lucky that he didn’t drain me the minute we stopped. “Yes, yes, of course, makes perfect sense.”

“Unless...you want me to go...”

I gulp down the massive lump in my throat. “Do you want to go, Snow?”

Snow scratches his neck. He points his thumb to the side. “I’ll be waiting over there, until we’ve both cooled down. Alright?”

I would never admit how much relief that brings me. “Alright. We’ll set off again in an hour or so.”

“Okay.” Snow trots over to a good distance away. His brown, sweet smell still lingers in the air, but it fades just enough for me to rest properly. I sit back against the tree, drinking a good portion of my waterskin. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Snow doing the same. I try to not watch him. But it’s very, very hard.

———————————————

Nightfall hits before we reach the town. Snow can’t ride very fast, and I’m still more than a bit drained. So once again, I have to sit opposite the man who will most likely kill me soon.

He fidgets endlessly, picking at his nails and sleeve. It’s infuriating. He gnaws on the jerky like a crazed cat or something. I huff and shake my head. Snow looks up at me.

“What?” he says through a bite.

“Do you ever stop moving? We’ve been sitting here for over an hour and there hasn’t been a single moment of stillness from you.”

Snow snorts. “I don’t see how that affects you.”

“It’s annoying.”

He snorts again, but there’s a small smile now too. “Maybe this is the real reason hexes don’t interact. We're all arseholes.”

“That is hardly a hex thing, Snow. I’ve known humans and hexes alike that I can’t tolerate.”

“Am I one of them?

I hope my face doesn’t flush too hard. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

He chuckles quietly and goes back to eating his jerky, with far less fidgeting this time thankfully. We sit in silence for a while. I keep sneaking looks at him, then tearing my gaze away every time. The firelight makes Snow’s tawny skin almost glow and his bronze hair sparkle gold. He’s a constellation of moles and freckles. He’s a gorgeous mess. Just looking at him, I can almost forget that we’re supposed to be enemies.

“What part of England are you from anyway?” Snow asks through a mouthful of dried out meat.

“Hampshire. Though if you asked the people here, they’d say I’m from Buckingham bloody Palace.”

Snow throws his head back laughing. It’s a ridiculous, wonderful sound. “Damn true! I’ve lived on the streets of London for the past ten years and an American asked me if I’m related to the bloody queen! They have no idea about accent differences. They think every Brit is royalty.”

I freeze. Snow’s laughs slowly subside. He must notice the utter panic in my eyes. “You lived on the streets of London for a decade? That long?”

He pulls in, curling his thin body in on itself. This Simon is a hex like me, a terrifying being filled with unimaginable power, yet right now, he looks so...small. “Well, not the whole time. It’s been on and off. I found some places to live for a bit but they never lasted. Thank God for magic. Or thank the Devil, if the humans are right about us.”

He chuckles nervously. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, trying to hide the way his laugh makes me face heat up even more. “I guess so. It’s taken care of me since-”

There’s a crack. It’s small, far off, almost indistinguishable from the regular sounds of the desert, but it’s there. My aunt always said I have the ears of a bat. I swing my head around.

“What is it?” Snow says.

“Hush! I think I heard something.”

Slowly, I stand up, crouched over with my fists clenched. My magic sizzles and sparks inside me, begging to be used. I see Snow stand too at the edge of my vision.

“Die hex scum!”

The man launches himself out of the darkness, jagged knife in hand. He knocks me flat down to the ground. All the breath is forced out of me as my back hits the sand.

“Fuck!” I wheeze.

I push at him with both arms, thankfully keeping my pretty face out of his slashing range. He writhes and struggles like a rabid wolf. His dirty crazed smile, missing most of his teeth, looms over me. I recognise him.

“You,” I growl. “Did you really follow me all the way here from Slipfoot’s, you pig?!”

“Die!” He says that like it means absolutely anything, like I haven’t heard it a hundred times before.

Racist Man has no technique. He just screeches and flails with his knife. Aunt Fiona’s words come to my mind immediately. “Every self respecting hex needs to know how to defend himself, Basil.” She said just before pinning me to the ground in one move. I hook my leg around his and flip him onto his back. He gasps and lets out a rattling cough. I hover over him, knee on his chest, pinning his knife hand to the ground.

“You don’t deserve to live, you sand demon.” He spits at me, splashing against my cheek. I flick it off with ease.

“Such an original opinion.” I feel the fire blazing in my gut, threatening to consume myself and everything around me. “I should scorch off all your skin.”

“Course you would. All you hexes, just filthy murderers. No wonder y’all are fleeing to Rook’s heathen paradise. Your kind don’t belong around civilized folks.”

I growl again. First he despises my skin colour, then he thinks he knows anything about hexation. This bastard, so stupid and ignorant. We’re only monsters because we have to be. Because men like him come at us with knives and guns and nooses. There’s no holding the fire back. My hand heats up around his wrist. He screeches as his skin sizzles under my fingers. He drops the knife, but I don't stop. All my rage pushes out through my hand and onto his increasingly scorched skin.

“Get off me!”

I turn to see Simon, struggling against another man. His fingers spark and sputter uselessly as he pounds against the guy with a hand around his throat.

“Better save your man over there,” Racist Man hisses.

I give him one last good death stare. I see him shiver just slightly. At least he has some good sense. “Run fast and far. If you come near us again, so help me God I’ll melt through your entire brain.”

The look of terror in his eyes is enough of an answer. I jump off him and run towards Snow.

“Oi! Off him, now!” I roar.

The other man turns to look at me. He has the same crazed look as his friend. “Or what, you piece of devil shit?!”

“Or this.”

I turn to the fire. With only one hand outstretched, my magic wraps around it, and pushes my power into the very core. The flames shoot nine feet upwards, illuminating the vast dark in blinding light. I turn back to the terrified human. With one swing of my arm, the pillar slams into him. He’s sent flying in a shower of flames and skids on the ground, tossing up a cloud of dustin his wake. I start to march towards him. But Snow throws up his arm to stop me.

“Let me,” he growls.

The tone of his voice stops me in my tracks. Simon stomps towards him, his entire hand now covered in tiny sparks like fireworks. His assaulter sits up, panting heavily.

“You better run now,” Snow says.

He sneers. “Don’t tell me-”

“GO!”

Snow’s magic explodes like a fucking bomb. It’s a bolt of violent and powerful energy that hits the assailant square in the chest. He flies back even farther. I stumble from the sheer force of it. The magic disperses as quickly as it appeared. Snow is panting, bronze curls still staticy with stray sparks. The human scrambles and runs away into the darkness.

We’re left there, breathing hard in the darkness, the embers of the now dead fire our only light. Simon tries to pull out the crackling electricity still clinging to his hair. It curls around his fingers and won’t dissipate no matter how much he shakes his hand out. Finally, I find my voice again.

“That was...”

“Awful?” Snow mumbles. “Yeah, I know. Half the time my magic doesn’t work, the other half it explodes. Pretty fucking annoying.”

I turn to look at him properly, still trying to dust off the little sparks. “No, it was incredible. I’ve never seen magic that powerful, or beautiful.”

Oh fuck, why did I say that? I’m going to explode myself any second. Simon freezes, then turns to me. His lovely plain eyes are soft. Half of his mouth pulls up into a smile. My pulse is pounding in my ears. “N-No one’s ever called it beautiful before. And...no one’s tried to save me either.”

He starts to reach out to me with his spark kissed digits. I see the little bolts pulling towards me like I’m a magnet. My own magic flares to surface, reaching back towards him. Tiny flames from my fingers curl around the lightning. And a part of me, that horrible instinctual part, desperately wants to grab his hand and add his beautiful, terrifying energy to my own until his body is nothing but an empty husk.

I take a large step away, hands behind my back. Simon does the same. His eyes are wide with terror now. We both know how close we came to giving into temptation.

“We should go to bed,” I mutter.

Snow nods furiously. I speed walk to my side of the dead fire. We both lay down and pull the blankets to our reddening ears. The only sound for ages is the desert wind whistling through the cacti. Until Snow decides to speak up again, God help me.

“Baz?”

“What, Snow?” I snap. I can’t talk to him anymore, it’s too damn painful.

“Have...Have you ever actually fully drained anyone?”

Oh. I wasn’t expecting that. The question hits me in my heart. All that comes to mind is my aunt’s face as I saw her for the first time in weeks. Her happiness turned to utter horror in seconds. The memory still aches deep inside me. I can almost feel that horrible hunger when I first manifested. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. “No. But I’ve come close. You?”

Snow pauses too. I can hear his shaky breathing clearly. “I had a hex friend back in London. Penelope. She was really good at magic, like you, so she tried to help me. We could only see each other for an hour a day for safety’s sake, and it worked for awhile. But one time, my magic got so out of control that I came this close to draining her.” He makes a loud sniffing noise. I hate imagining the tears I know are rolling down his face. “She told me it wasn’t my fault but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to hurt her. Next day I got on a boat to America. That was almost a year ago. I’ve been alone ever since, and it’s awful.”

“Is that why you want to go to Hex City?”

“Yeah. I mean, I just want to be able to have some choice, you know? Not make choices because of this power I never asked for. Don’t you feel like that?”

I think about my mother, who lost her life because of what we are. Or my six weeks of torture by that madman. Or how I had to run away from my family in fear of what I’d accidentally do to them.

“Yes,” I whisper, closing my eyes, “all the damn time.”

———————————————

We ride leisurely under the blistering sun. The desert has melted into more of a hot, grassy plain. Surprisingly, the climate and terrain actually gets less tortuous the further south you go in this awful state. I’ve only gone this far south once before. The Call somehow gets even stronger here. It threatens to fill every nook and cranny of my brain, but I beat it back. No disgraced Confederate chaplain or Aztec witch woman gets to decide what I do.

Snow is mumbling to himself about it being too hot. My head is whirring with a terrible, awful idea, but it won’t go away. My eyes keep drifting towards his beautiful face, and my mind keeps thinking of his beautiful magic. I got only a taste of the endless, consuming feeling of it, and it was exhilarating. If only he could control it.

I groan. “Snow, stop your horse.”

He looks at me confused, but does as I say. “What is it?”

“Get off. I’m going to help you with your magic.”

His eyes bug out of his skull. “What?! Why?”

“Because as incredible as your magic can be, I’d rather not have you explode when you sleep ten feet away from me.” 

It’s a convincing lie. Honestly, I want him to be able to protect himself. I don’t know exactly how long it will take to get to the south, or what could happen before then. Simon might’ve been killed if I wasn’t there. And I don’t know how long I will be with him.

I swing off my horse and Snow follows. We walk out into the empty plateau. He shuffles his feet nervously, chewing at his nails.

“Stay here,” I say.

I walk out and place my old empty flask on a cactus (it’s rusting anyway). Snow looks at it confused. I gesture to the metal bottle, then put my hands behind my back. “Hit that with a blast but avoid the cactus.

“O-Okay...” I watch his throat as he gulps. God, I want to touch that throat, I want to touch everywhere. But I’ll kill him if I do. It makes me hate my magic even more.

Simon raises his hand and takes aim. Small sparks dance between his fingers. One by one, they begin to increase. A small ball of lightning collects in his palm. Snow curls his fingers in, but they seem to be struggling. The ball starts to grow larger and Snow clenches harder. With little to no warning, a lightning bolt shoots out and hits the side of the flask. A blackened mark is left in its wake, but that’s nothing compared to the cactus. A massive chunk has been blown out of the top. It’s charred remains lay strewn on the gras.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Sorry, I was losing control, I had to let it go. Would’ve been much worse if I didn’t.”

“That’s alright, Snow. You technically did hit the flask.”

Snow scoffs, running a hand through his beautiful, sweaty hair. “Sure, I guess...”

I pluck the flask from the half destroyed desert fauna. Another horrible idea is coming to my mind, and I just might be mad enough to do it. “Maybe you need a greater motivator for staying in control.”

“Huh?”

I place the flask on my hand and hold my arm out to the side. “Hit the flask, but not me.”

Snow goes wide eyed again and inhales sharply like he’s been kicked. “A-Are you serious?! You just saw what I did to that cactus, right?”

“Well, you’re going to have to be accurate, unless you want me to end up like said cactus”

He pulls at his curls anxiously. The tiniest of parks fly off the ends. “I don’t know, Baz. I don’t want to hurt you...”

I try to ignore my rapidly beating heart. It’s been so annoying this past week, trying to get what it can’t have. I just flash a smirk at him. “Well, I believe that you won’t. Care to prove me right?”

A red colour spreads across his face. Part of me hopes that’s not just the sun affecting his pale, freckled complexion. “Alright, I’ll try.”

He rubs his hands together. His skin simmers with magic once again. It smells intoxicatingly good. Snow holds his right hand out, palm flat. The electricity builds on the surface. He keeps his hand clenched, but the energy threatens to spill over his fingers. I resist the urge to run in as fast as I can. I didn’t lie, I do trust him. But living on my own for almost three years has given me quite the self preservation instinct.

Sweat prickles Snow’s brow. He uses his opposite arm to keep the other one steady. “C’mon, Simon,” I whisper. “You can do it.”

The jagged white bolt shoots from his skin, far less formless than the last one. It zigs and zags, but in the end hits the flask straight on. The bottle explodes in a shower of jagged metal. I throw up a makeshift shield just in time. When I look at Snow, he’s flat on his ass, panting hard.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“‘Holy shit’ is right,” I respond with a chuckle.

He looks at me with a wide grin. It shines brighter than the midday sun. “I did it! That’s the most controlled my magic has ever been! Thank you, Baz.”

I nod. “You’re welcome, Snow. My aunt always said danger is a great motivator to learn. Especially when it comes to magic.”

Snow lays down on the grass, panting hard. It seems he’s not going to get up any time soon. “Your aunt, was she the one that taught you about magic?”

I kick at a piece of rusted shrapnel, my back to the resting Snow. “Yes, before it manifested, obviously. She wanted me to be prepared just in case. Her whole side of the family has a history of magic. It only appears every few generations or so. We both drew the short ends of the bloodline straw I guess.”

“You’re lucky with that, y’know. I never had anyone to teach me properly. Penny tried, but we never got far enough to make a difference. When I first got magic, this guy called the Mage offered to help. But it turned out he just wanted to drain me. I killed him by accident when he tried. I really didn’t mean to hurt hum, but he wouldn’t stop...”

I turn to him. There’s far too much pain in his eyes. “You had every right to defend yourself. Don’t feel bad.”

He lifts his head up. His smile is sort of sad, but it’s still gorgeous. “Thanks, Baz.”

I smile back as best I can. “You’re most welcome, Snow.” I place my hands in my pockets, desperately clenching my fists in hopes to keep my emotions at bay. “Unfortunately, I’m out of flasks. But we do have an oversupply of fauna. Want to try and not destroy a cactus this time?”

“Okay.” Snow nods, breathing steadily. “Okay, I’ll try.”

Snow takes his stance across from another unfortunate cactus. I watch him and give advice, but slowly have to back away as Snow’s sweet scent permeates the air. I try not to imagine being close to Snow, not having to fear him, him not having to fear me. Oh, what a life that could be.

———————————————

After another week of dodging the Red Weed, we finally get to somewhere. Covent Gardens, a town I suppose is named after the London borough. It’s sizable enough to have a slightly good inn; as in none of the panels are falling off and the sign is missing only a single letter. That’s practically a palace in these parts. I walk in with gusto, making the shutters rattle, Simon following behind me with his head.

Everyone looks at us. I’m not sure how obvious our hexation is, but I suppose we look enough like trouble. Plus my skin tone isn’t an asset here. Or anywhere, honestly. So I sneer and most turned away.

“They’re afraid of us,” Simon mumbles.

“As they should be,” I reply deadpan. I go straight to the barkeep, a bulky white man with truly horrific mutton chops. “I need two rooms.”

The man crosses his unnaturally large arms. “We don’t serve... people like you.”

I grip the bar lip, nails digging into the half rotted wood. “Like me how? Hexes or brown people?”

He sneers at me. “Neither.”

The fire blazes in my eyes. Wood blackens under my skin. “Now listen here, you stupid bastard, you better rent us a room or-”

“Now, now, Basilton,” a familiar voice says, “no need to be so rude. I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

“Hello, Nicodemus.”

Nico moves to stand next to me. His suit is cheap, the stitches fraying at the seams. He’s still got that sort of menacing look, but he looks tired too.

“Fancy seeing you here, Pitch. How’s your aunt?” He smiles, showing off his missing eye teeth. It makes me want to punch him in his stupid face.

“Why would you care, Petty? You’re the one who left her after everything she did for you.”

He hangs his head back with a groan. “Still defending your family’s honour, I see. Ain’t my fault I wanted to realise my full potential.”

“What, by getting your teeth pulled out so you could get magic? Even when my aunt warned you what a curse being a hex was? You’re still an arrogant idiot then.”

Nicodemus growls and grabs my wrist. His magic reaches out to clash with my own. It’s slick like oil, wrapping around my fire like a snake. But there’s a roughness to it. A sort of mangy, wild energy that I remember all too well from the hex duel with my aunt. Now, I can smell the acrid tang of it too. It leaves a sour taste in the back of my throat. I’m not surprised his magic is as disgusting as he is.

“Looks like you went through some shit too, Basilton,” he hisses. “You’ve got the same fire as dear old Fi. What, the guilt of letting your mum die finally get to you? Try to end it all? Too bad, you just became the monster she never wanted you to be instead.”

His power gnashes at mine, trying to rip it apart and eat it. But Nicodemus has made a fatal assumption; that he’s more powerful than me. I push back against him hard. The fire rushes through my every vein. I revel in the way Nico’s eyes go wide. My hand shoots up to his throat and I shove him down so hard his back bends against the wooden bar.

“You bastard,” I growl. “After all these years you still don’t know how to keep your bloody mouth shut.” I hold his throat even tighter. His eyes bug out of his skull. “Maybe I should shut it permanently.”

I open the gates within, and his magic begins to pour into me. It’s the world’s greatest adrenaline rush. I’m invincible, powerful, a bloody god. Nico gasps and tries to push me away. But I’m still stronger. He could never stop me.

“Baz!” Snow shouts. “Stop it!”

I turn to him with burning eyes. Everything I see is cloudy, like a smoke screen or rippling water. “Why?!”

“Because,” his voice is desperate, and maybe even caring, “we shouldn’t be the monsters they think we are. Just look at them, Baz!”

I still have enough sense to hear what he says. The patrons cower in fear, eyes wide with terror as they look at me. It’s not an expression anyone wants to be subjected to, or cause. And though I hate him, Nicodemus is right. My mother never wanted me to be this. Another terrible, murderous, evil hex.

With all my strength and good sense, I find the will to let Nicodemus’ neck go. His power rushes back into him with a sputtering gasp. I glare at him as I pull away, fingers still trailing with flames.

“Leave,” I say flatly. “Now.”

Nicodemus runs faster than I’ve ever seen a man run before. I take a few deep breaths. It takes a moment for my magic to balance out. It still yearns for Nicodemus’ power, but I beat it back into submission. I won’t let the hunger control me. Then I walk towards the now terrified barkeep.

“Rooms still not available?” He shakes his head frantically. “Good.” I slap down some American money. “Two rooms, please. Also throw in some whiskey. I need a drink after all that.”

The man picks two keys out of a box, then a bottle and glasses from the shelf. He shoves them both forward on the bar and takes two large steps back. I snatch them up with a tip of my ridiculous cowboy hat.

“Cheers, mate.”

Snow and I take a table in a corner. No one dares to look at us. I pour drinks for both of us and shove his glass to the other side of the table. We’re as far apart as we can be but it’s still risky. My power is still hungry. And Simon still smells delicious. But I won’t hurt him. I can’t.

“So,” Simon says, vowel drawn out, “who was that?”

I throw back the whiskey. It’s sour and burns my throat, but it's better than Slipfoot’s at least. “His name is Nicodemus Petty. He and my aunt Fiona were friends growing up. They bonded over their mutual family history of hexation. But when my aunt and his sister, Ebb, manifested magic as teenagers, Nico was jealous. Fiona and Ebb both tried to tell him that hex magic was far more of a curse than a blessing, but he never listened. He wanted the power. When I was about nine, he finally succeeded in activating his own latent magic.”

“By having two of his teeth ripped out...”

“Mhm. First thing he did was stumble all bloody mouthed to my aunt’s flat.” I clench the glass so hard I nearly break it. “The bastard attacked her by surprise, and tried to steal her magic. He almost killed her, but Fiona got a lucky shot and threw him out the window.” I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “As you can guess, I was there. It wasn’t pretty.”

“I can imagine.” He pulls in, picking at his nails nervously. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking...w-what was he talking about? With your mum?”

I pour myself another helpful shot of whiskey. I want to drown my brain in the stuff, honestly. I’ve never talked about my mum, it’s too painful, like ripping out a fingernail. But Snow has shown so much of himself to me. It seems unfair to hide. “My aunt and I aren’t the only hexes in our family.”

His eyes go wide as the revelation hits him, “Your mum is a hex too?”

I nod slowly, then drink the alcohol in one gulp. The warmth tingles in my veins and loosens my tongue. I stare at the glass, watching the light refract through it’s bends. “She was, but my father is human. They loved each other enough to not be scared, I guess. They never meant to have children. I was an accident, but my mother wanted me in spite of the risks. My father said she cried with happiness when she saw I was a boy. She thought if she kept me safe, I’d never become a full hex.” I flick a paint chip off the table with more force than necessary. “Then she died protecting me, doing what she promised.”

“How? Was it another hex?”

“Even worse, scared humans.” 

Snow’s face falls even more. He takes a long sip from his own drink. “So they tried to kill her?”

“They tried to kill all of us. Someone heard of my mother’s hexation, and they rallied a group together to fight our family. It wasn’t a real fight though. The cowards snuck in and tried to stab us. My mother killed almost all of them quickly” My fists clench so tight it hurts. “The last one nearly got me, but my mother stepped in front. He burned to ash just after he stabbed her through the throat.”

“Oh. Not even a hex could come back from that kind of wound...”

“I know,” I say between gritted teeth. “I know that very well, Snow.” I delicately place the glass down with a strained hand. “I...I tried to stop the bleeding but there was nothing I could do. I had no magic then. Even so, I doubt my powers could’ve helped.” A little flame pops up in my hand with barely a thought. Making fire is more natural than breathing for me, after all. I watch the scarlet snake dance between my fingers. “My family’s abilities have always been better at destruction.”

Simon takes another long sip, polishing off his drink. “I don’t know what my family’s like, but I hope they’re not like me. This power...it’s too much for anyone to have. I’d give it up in a heartbeat.”

“We all would, Snow. That’s what the humans don’t get. Most hexes are just as scared of themselves as humans are.” I pour my third drink. It’s been awhile since I’ve drank so much in one sitting, but if I’m going to get sozzled, tonight is a good time. “But that’s not up to us. We’re born like this. Nothing we can do but try to survive.”

“Believe me, I know that. All I’ve ever done is survive. In the orphanage, on the streets, here in America.” He lets out a small, sad laugh. “Hexation is how I ended up on the street, actually.” Snow looks directly down at the table. “When I was 11, I, uh, had a dream that I was exploding. When I woke up, the entire orphanage had been blown to pieces. Luckily no one was hurt, but the matron couldn’t very well keep a hex among other children.”

“So she thought sending you to roam among other humans was safer?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think she cared as long as I was far away from her.”

I scoff, swinging the glass between two fingers. “Sounds about usual for humans. What made you manifest? A particularly bad paddling from the matron?”

Snow chews on his bottom lip. His fingers drum the wood slowly. “I, uh, actually didn’t have to suffer. I’m one of those rare cases of sudden manifestation, apparently. That’s what Penny called it anyway. She said it was rare but possible.”

My grip on the glass gets even tighter. A sudden jealous rage consumes my mind. So Snow just exploded one day at eleven. That’s awful, of course, I’ll never deny that. But all I can think of is the coffin. The endless night of being trapped in that box, waiting for a relief that wouldn’t come, until I finally broke and became the last thing I ever wanted to be. I went through absolute hell. Of course I assumed Snow had to, like all other male hexes. But he didn’t. He’s never had the acute kind of torture I did. It’s not fair.

“Excuse me,” I say more harshly than I mean to, “I’m tired. I think I’ll turn in.”

Snow’s pretty plain eyes go wide. “O-Oh...okay. Good night, then.”

“Night.” I snatch the bottle up and leave the key for his room. Then I stomp up the stairs with irrational anger still burning me up. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t get past it. Male hexes get their magic through suffering. It’s a well known fact. How could Snow be like me without the same kind of pain? How could he ever fully understand me the way I thought he could?

The second my room door is closed, I drink down the last of the whiskey bottle. I’ve tried to avoid alcohol over the past few years. It would be far too easy for me to drink away the pain, the memories, the horrible guilt. Eventually, I’d drown myself in a bottle. That’s not a way I want to go. But one night of indulgence will be fine.

I wobble towards my bed, shedding my outer layers as I go. I collapse face first onto the old mattress. Whiskey clouds my mind. And when I finally pass out, all I see is empty darkness. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than the nightmares.

———————————————

“...safe?”

“Out cold...”

The voices stay patchy as I slip in and out of consciousness. I try to force my eyes fully open, but the pounding in my head is too much. Indistinguishable figures move on the edges of my blurry vision. There’s little to no light. It must still be night, maybe only a couple hours since I passed out.

“Is..right thing?”

“Hex...Rook and Pargeter...dangerous...we...safe.”

“Fine.”

Something grabs both my wrists and my ankles. I try to struggle but I must still be too drunk. I can’t get my limbs to move save for some squirming. I try to summon my magic, but my mind can’t concentrate. It’s no use. Bloody hell, I’m trapped.

“Night night, hex,” a horrible voice says. Something soft is pressed hard against my face. I can’t take in air, I can’t breathe, I can’t fucking breathe. It’s like the coffin. No, I can’t do this again. I try to thrash harder and scream but it’s still no use.

Oh Lord, I’m going to die here. I wonder if I’ll see my mother on the other side. I wonder if I even have a soul to go to the other side. And I wonder how if Snow is okay. Christ, my last conversation with him ended in anger. If I had known, I would’ve said everything I’ve wanted to say this past week. But the first thing would be ‘I’m sorry.’

I’m sorry, Snow, for everything I said and thought. And I’m sorry for leaving you alone.

“Hey! Get off him, you bastards!” That voice is familiar even in my half drunken state. Thank whatever gods are listening that he’s okay.

“It’s the other one!” one of my assailants shouts. “Wasn’t Garth supposed to take care of him?!”

“That damn idjit fucked up!”

I hear the telltale signs of punches and kicks thrown about. One of the hands on me pulls off. All this excitement has thankfully sobered me up some. I kick some stupid bastard right in the stomach.

“Fuck!” they wheeze. The other humans are wise and let go of my wrist. I’m on my feet in a second.

“Bloody humans,” I growl out, still slurring slightly. “You can’t even let me fucking sleep?!”

The burly barkeep scowls at me. My would be murder weapon is still in his hand. “Eat shit, you demon.”

I scowl right back at him. “Oh, you want a demon? I’ll give you a fucking demon, love.”

The fire blazes up in me, all shining black and scarlet, and I make little effort to contain it. I let the flames fly out and encase the man almost completely. He screeches as his skin bubbles and burns under my powers.

“Stop it!” a woman yells. She comes at me with a knife raised. A whip of fire forms in my hand instantly. With one crack, it wraps around her wrist. She screams in the exact same way and lets her weapon clatter on the floor. She goes to her knees, clutching her blackened, blistered skin.

“You bastard,” she cries. “How could you?!”

“How could I!?” Even more fire plays over my hands. “I could ask you the same thing, human.”

“We’re trying to protect ourselves, monster!”

In that moment, in her eyes, I see every human who’s hurt me. The people who mocked me, who killed my mother, who turned me into this. All sense leaves my mind in an instant. “I’m a monster only because of you!”

With one wave of my hand, she’s thrown against the wall hard enough to make it shake. I spin around to see a man trying to crack Snow’s skull open with a butcher’s cleaver. One well aimed blast sends him flying as well. Another casts two aside. They don’t move much afterwards, but I find myself caring little. Let them die like my mother did.

“Baz, stop it!” Snow shouts. I ignore him as I send the last assailant against the wall, listening to their screams as I burn their chest. “Baz!”

“Fuck off, Snow!” I roar. “I- Ack!”

Pain rips through my shoulder. I clutch it and my hand becomes wet with what I assume must be blood. I fall forward. My nose cracks against the floor. I scream in pain and flames roar out of me in a massive plume They hit everything, including my shooter and the walls of the room. I can feel the whole space burning around us.

“Baz!” Snow’s voice is beyond panicked. I hear his footsteps rush toward me. His hands hover over me but won’t touch. He can’t touch me.

“Get out, Simon,” I rasp , turning my head to the side to look at him. He’s covered in bruises and ash. Yet he’s still so beautiful. “Run before more of them come.”

“Shut up, arsehole! I haven’t turned my back on you yet, and I’m not going to start now!”

If the world weren’t literally on fire right now, I’d find that touching. I close my eyes. At least my dying image will be of him. “Don’t be an idiot, Snow.” Surprisingly, the bastard fucking laughs. My eyes snap open again. The bloody back of his hand is pressed against his mouth as he giggles. “What the fuck is funny about this?”

“You,” he laughs, “called me Simon before.”

My face heats up, and it’s not from the fire. “No I didn’t.”

“We’re fucking dying and you can’t admit you used my first name?”

“I’m dying. You’re being an idiot and not running away like you should!”

“You’re too stubborn to die, Baz, and we both know it.” He jumps to his feet. “Get up, we’re getting out of here.”

“Snow-”

“Or are you too much of a yellow belly to get up and try?”

Oh, this bastard. In only two weeks, he’s learned me too well. I scowl at his stupid pretty face as I push myself up on my good arm. At the same time, thundering footsteps can be heard from the stairwell.

“That route is out of the question,” I say. “Where are we to go, Snow?”

“This way.” He holds his hand and in a mere two seconds, the opposite wall is blown to pieces in a rain of spark. “Now let’s go!”

“We’re on the bloody second floor!”

Snow runs towards the gaping hole and throws himself out. I rush to the edge, blood pounding in my ear. No, Snow cannot die, I can’t let him die. But to my utter shock and awe, Snow is floating his way down to the ground. He stops and starts and still hits the ground in an uncoordinated roll, but he’s okay.

“Oh, Snow, you brilliant moron,” I whisper.

“They’re probably still in there!” someone shouts from the hallway. I take a few steps back, breathe deep, and run off the splintered edge just as the humans burst through the door.

Instead of sending my fire outwards like usual, I keep it within me. I will my body to rise high like flames from a candle. My legs move slowly like I’m running in the air. Fuck, this is actually working. Slowly, I let my flame flick and die down, lowering myself along with it. I reach the ground with my own thud but stay on my feet. Snow grins at me. In all this horror, that is the greatest thing to see.

“Let’s get the horses and get out of here, Snow.”

“Agreed, Pitch.”

We sprint to the stables and thankfully find our steeds unharmed. I count ourselves lucky that our attackers didn’t consider them demonic too. Mounting is difficult with my left arm fucked up, but let it never be said that a human bullet could stop Basilton Pitch. I hold the reins with one hand as I spur him into a dash.

The wind whistles in my ears. Snow and I run even faster than we did from the Red Weed. Our kind is always good at running. It’s our natural state.

———————————————

Snow and I ride until it’s nearly dawn. The sky turns purple then crimson with the rising sun in front of us. When I see orange, my horse finally starts to tire out. Snow’s does the same. We slow down then stop.

“Think we’re far enough away?” Snow asks, breath short and strained.

“Yeah,” I reply, sounding the same. “I think they would’ve caught us by now if they were still after us.”

“Good point, good point.” Snow leans forward, putting his forehead on his horse’s neck. “God, I’m fucking knackered. I barely slept.”

“Me too. We should both sleep.”

“What if someone comes after us?”

“Point. Sleep in shifts?”

Snow nods. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.” I slowly dismount my horse, but get my footing wrong and start to fall. I grab the reins with my left arm and practically scream in pain.

“Baz!” Snow rushes towards me, but stops when I raise my good arm.

“Don’t...” I pant, “don’t come any closer. I’m injured, Snow, and my self control is severely weakened. So unless you wish for death now after just barely escaping it, back away.”

“Oh, yeah, right...” Snow backs far away just as he should, but my heart still aches. “What are we going to do about your shoulder?”

“I can fix it, but I’m going to need your belt”

Snow’s brows shot upwards. “My belt? What for?”

“Just throw it to me, Snow, for Christ’s sake.”

Thank God he doesn’t ask another stupid question. He just unbuckles the belt and does what I ask. I try to not let my hands shake as I fold the belt in half. The last time I did this was three years ago, when I sat in a London alleyway after a drunkard broke my leg, a mere four days after fleeing my home for good.

“Baz, what are you-”

“Snow,” I say firmly, “I need you to do me a favour.”

“Okay...?”

I sit on the ground, belt held tightly in my hand. “I need you to stay right there no matter what. Don’t move, don’t try to help. The best way you can help is to stay fucking still.”

“What the fuck is-”

“Promise me you won’t move, Simon.” I look him right in his blue eyes, my mouth a thin, serious line. “Promise me.”

Snow gives me a once over, then thankfully nods. “Okay, I promise.”

“Good.” I put the belt between my teeth. When I check on Snow, he looks beyond panicked. “If it makes it easier,” I say clumsily between the leather, “you don’t have to watch.”

“Baz-”

I slap my right hand over my left shoulder, and it feels like I’m burning from the inside out. My magic scorches my body as it wraps around my injury. The buck shot is pulled through my muscles and skin, ripping and tearing as they go, and I can feel every bit of it. I can also feel as my tissue and bone stretches to knit back together piece by agonizing piece. It’s an indescribable kind of pain. It’s what I imagine hell must feel like. I scream, I can’t help it, but luckily the belt is muffling as well preventing me from biting off a chunk of my tongue. Snow gasps in horror but he doesn’t move. He keeps his promises. I knew he would. He’s a far better man than me.

The burning fades as the skin finally seals shut. I cautiously move my hand, shaking off the shrapnel and gooey viscera that trails between my fingers. God, it's a nasty scab, mangled and uneven and horrifically inflamed. I can only hope the scar won’t be too bad. The one on my calf has faded overtime.

“Are you-”

“Not yet,” I say, cutting off a frightened looking Simon. “This one won’t take as long though.”

I touch my nose, feeling for where the breaks are. I squeeze my eyes shut, and with a horribly painful crack, I move it mostly back into place. I let out a short yell, but just pant and seethe as the bone and cartilage knit back together. I try to wipe the bloody snot from my hand but it's no use. Disgusting, but better than a broken nose. I feel around to make sure things are okay. Well, the tip is a bit crooked, but I can live with that. Right now, I’m thankful to be alive at all.

“Okay,” I sigh, finally taking the teeth mark covered belt out of my mouth, “now I’m done.”

“What the fuck was that?” Snow’s voice is somewhere between fascination and absolute horror. In short, a proper reaction.

“Something my aunt taught me. Hexes are essentially manipulators of energy and matter. And what are bodies but living energy and matter? With practice, you can fix any part of yourself.”

“But isn’t it painful?”

“Was that not obvious?” I snap. But Snow’s genuinely worried face softens my demeanor. “Yes, it’s excruciating. Hence why I try not to use the technique as much as I can.” I massage my still aching shoulder. “Today it was unavoidable, unfortunately.”

Simon runs a nervous hand through his dirty hair. “Fuck...”

I cough out a small laugh. “Yes, that sums it up pretty well.”

He laughs too, just as shaky and sad. “Sums up the whole night.”

The two of us keep chuckling softly in the wee hours of the morning. The ascending sun hurts my tired eyes. Using so much magic has taken everything out of me. I let out a long, deep yawn.

“You sleep first,” Snow says. “I’ll keep watch.”

“No, no, I can-”

“Baz.” He sounds firm, but also tired, and maybe even a little fond. I’m probably imagining that last one though. “Go to bed. I’ll wake you up in about eight hours.”

If I weren’t sleep deprived, magically drained, and recovering from grievous injuries, I would protest more. But Snow is damn lucky today. I simply sigh and stand up to get my cot from my saddlebags. I count our lucky stars we didn’t bring in too many of our supplies to the inn. Maybe God hasn’t completely abandoned us heathen monsters.

“I don’t have the energy to put up my shield,” I say, hoping my tone conveys enough.

“Okay,” Snow replies, “I’ll stay away, don’t worry. I keep my promises.”

My pulse flutters involuntarily. A smile creeps across my face no matter how hard I try to stop it. “I know you do, Simon.”

Snow gifts me one of his sunshine smiles. That’s the last thing I see before turning over and letting myself rest.

———————————————

Snow lets me sleep longer than eight hours. I’d be more mad if I wasn’t so exhausted. In return, I let him oversleep too. We’re both passed out by the time it’s dark again. Even hexes with all our inhumanity need to rest sometimes. Snow and I are lucky we get the chance this time.

In the morning, I reluctantly go to the next closest town. We did leave some of our things behind sadly, including most of our clothes. I’m damn well not going to keep roaming around the south of Texas in my bloody socks, and neither will Snow. I get us some new jackets, boots, and hats, ignoring the strange looks I get from the lily white shopkeeper. 

I grab us some more of that disgusting jerky too. If only good food could keep in these horrific conditions. When I reach the counter, the shopkeeper frowns at the things I lay out.

“You can pay for all this?” she asks. I scowl deeply. I’m too tired for this shit.

“Are people like me not allowed to have money here?” I snap.

“Ya can now, but in my experience, y’all darker folk are better at stealing my stock than paying.”

Bloody hell, I’m too tired for this racist shite. I slam two bills on the counter. “There. Hope I didn’t dirty these up too much for you.”

She glares at me hard. As she reaches for the money, I deliberately brush my finger on hers, and she yelps loudly. The edge of her index is red and inflamed. An undeniable burn mark, but far too small for anyone to believe it came from an evil, bloodthirsty hexslinger.

“Oh dear,” I say deadpan. “Your register must have gotten in the sun. Do be more careful.” I shovel the supplies in my bag as she looks at me wide eyed. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

I can feel her scared eyes on my back as I leave. I get on my horse and ride out fast. No reason to stay in this shithole any longer. And I need to get back to Snow, where I belong.

———————————————

“Everything okay in town?” Snow asks.

I toss the bundle of clothes at him, along with a bag of jerky. “No one attacked me, if that’s what you mean. I didn’t get made for a hex. But I did get some flack for my skin tone.”

Snow’s face falls a bit. There’s something far too close to pity in his eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t, Snow. You’re in no place to apologize for some racist American bastards, it’s not your responsibility. Sorry from you means nothing.”

“But-”

“Would you accept an apology from me on behalf of all the rich men who have treated you like trash before?” Snow’s gaping mouth slowly closes. “Exactly. Now get those on. They’re slightly less dirty than our current garments.”

Snow nods and does what I say. I unbutton off my bloodstained shirt and wince as the tacky fabric peels off my skin. The scab has gotten a little better. That’s something I suppose. My eyes slowly move over to Snow without realising it. I steal a glimpse of his broad, bare back, golden like the rest of him. There are some jagged pink scars but they take nothing away how brightly he shines. I look away before I’m too tempted by what I can’t have.

“Much better,” Snow sighs as he slips on the new boots. “I’m surprised my feet haven’t been ripped to shreds yet.”

“Me too. I’m glad though, I didn’t want to do any more healing.”

“I don’t want you to either, fuck.” I hate how his concern makes me feel so good inside. “I’ll start setting up the fire. It’s going to get dark again soon.”

“By all means, Snow, do all the work. I won’t stop you.”

Snow snorts out a laugh, giving me a cheeky smile I can still see at this distance. Christ, I’m on fire, and for once it’s not from my magic. It’s so much better. I have to look away again before I do something ridiculous and deadly.

By the time the sun is down, Snow has made a wonderful small fire for the two of us. We both warm our hands from opposite sides. I don’t need to do it too much. My magic has almost fully replenished, for better or worse. And I’m so hungry that I actually enjoy the extremely salty bison jerky. Bloody hell, I’m turning into an American.

“Where are we going to go next?” Snow asks, mouth still full. “I’m guessing we should avoid any more towns.”

“Agreed. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not jump out of another building.”

“We certainly agree there. Christ, I was worried I was going to die.”

“Me too, Snow, me too.” I nervously fiddle with the string on my cloth bag. The words are coming out, and I can’t stop them. “I’m sorry, Snow.”

His brow adorably furrows. “Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for the way I acted that night, before I went to bed. I was very rude to you and I deeply apologize.”

“Oh...okay. Thanks.” He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I-I was confused. Did I do something bad?”

“No, Snow,” I sigh, “you did nothing wrong. It was all me being stupid.”

“Okay...”

I sigh again. God, I can’t dance around it anymore. I have to tell him. After putting up with me for this long, he deserves to know.

“I was angry and...somewhat jealous of you.”

His eyes get very big. “Jealous? Of me?!”

“Yes, in a way. Because...you didn’t have to go through the same kind of suffering I did when I manifested. Which isn’t fair, because you lived on the streets while I grew up in a bloody mansion. It’s just not the same suffering I had, and I was angry I had to go through it when you didn't. Which is absolutely ridiculous, and I’m sorry I pushed that on you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking...what happened?”

I stare at him for a long moment over the fire. He holds my gaze, eyes round with worry and care. It hurts me in the most exquisite way. “It’s not a pretty story, Snow.”

His mouth pulls into a sad, slight smile. “Weren’t you the one who said that all hexes live through hardship, and we have nothing to be ashamed of?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Using my words against me, a tactic of a true devious hex.”

He shrugs, still wearing that little smile. “What can I say? I can live up to our reputation sometimes.” Snow’s face falls again. “So what happened?”

With a deep sigh, rubbing my forehead, I start the horrid tale.

“My family always knew there was a chance I could be a hex,” I say. “But since my aunt couldn’t sense any magic on me pre manifestation, we assumed that I wasn’t too powerful, and manifestation could be avoided if we were careful. So I lived in the aforementioned secluded mansion all my life and I was never allowed to leave the grounds. All my time was spent reading, doing school work, or learning about hexation from my aunt, just in case. Everything in my life revolved around my mere potential to be a hex. I could never do or see anything. I felt like a prisoner. And when I was 18, I had enough.

“One evening, I snuck out of my room and went into the nearby town. I just wanted to see what was outside my home. But I was a naive sheltered kid. Of course I got lost on my way there and went into an area I never should have. Someone had knocked me out cold, and next thing I knew, I was in a cramped, dark box.”

“A box? What do you mean a box?”

I clench my fists tight until the shaking stops, then slowly let go. “It was a coffin, Snow. I had been trapped inside a coffin.”

I can almost feel the way Snow’s stomach must drop out at those words. I know, mine did the same when I realised where I was that night. “W-Why?!”

“It was hard to hear him through said coffin, but I got the main idea. He came from some old witch hunter family but had never caught an actual hex, until me. He’d heard the stories about my mother and had been secretly spying on me for months. When I escaped, he took his chance to kidnap me.”

“So he took you just to taunt you from outside a coffin?”

“I wish that was all he did,” I grumble. “He told me that the coffin was a test. There was a chance the hexation had skipped me over. If I was a hex, being stuck in the coffin would make me manifest, then he could kill me in good conscience. If I wasn’t and didn’t manifest, well, as he put it; ‘there are always casualties in the war for righteousness, boy.’”

Snow’s jaw drops to the grassy ground. “So even if you were human, he would’ve killed you anyway?”

“Mhm, mad bastard.” 

“How long did he keep you there before you escaped? A few days?”

I take long, steady breaths, beating back the old fear that creeps up my throat like bile. I can almost still smell that unique rotten scent from the coffin. I’ll never forget it. I never can.

“Snow,” I say slowly, “I was in that coffin for six weeks.”

And I thought he looked horrified before. Snow drops his jerky bag, hands shaking. I want to grab them, hold them still, comfort him in whatever way I can. The urge is almost stronger than the Call.

“S-Six weeks?! How are you still alive?”

“Thank the witch hunter,” I grumble. “He drilled very small air holes in the lid, and gave me enough food and water to keep me alive but starving. I think, hex or not, he wanted me to suffer because I was my mother’s son. A hex’s child was just as guilty of sin in his eyes.” I rub the bridge of my nose. It aches with the pain of my past. “At the time, I had no idea how long I was in there. It was just one endless night of torture. I begged and pleaded with the hunter to let me go, but he only laughed and called me pathetic hex scum. After six weeks, well, he finally got what he wanted.”

“You manifested.”

“Almost as violently as you did.” I trace the lines of my hand, the skin rough from my fire. I remember my mother’s hands being the same. “The details are blurry, but I remember enough. It started as just a tingling in my gut, but soon it became a burn. And then it spread as quickly as a forest fire.”

“Is it always fire with you?” The corner of Snow’s lip quirks up. The bit of teasing lilt in his voice makes me feel a bit lighter. I can't help but smile back a little.

“Usually, yes. It's always run very strong in my family.” I bounce a flame between my fingers. The movement is strangely calming to me. “I quickly learned I was no different. Before I knew it, I let out a massive ring of fire in every direction. It blew the coffin apart, of course, and turned my captor into a charcoal husk.”

Snow scoffs, a surprisingly vicious expression on his face. “Better than he deserved.”

“Agreed. I have no idea what happened to his body. I left almost immediately, though I wasn’t fully conscious. Six weeks in the coffin had deprived me of most of my mental faculties. Luckily, he kept me not far from home, and I could wander back on pure muscle memory. But going home turned out to be a terrible idea.” I grab the small fire and snuff it out in one go. But my fist stays clenched. “My aunt had been staying there while everyone searched for me. The second I walked through the front door, I could easily smell her. She was overjoyed to see me, until she smelled me too. And as I said, most of my mental faculties were gone.”

“So you attacked her on instinct.”

I chuckle sadly. “Quick study there, Snow. I didn’t even know what I was doing. I was just so bloody hungry all of sudden. I can’t even describe it.”

“You don't need to describe it to me, Baz.” He brings his knees under his chin. “I’ve felt hex hunger too. It’s...awful when you’re in the middle of it.”

“And when you’re not, you try to drown it out or distract yourself. But deep down, you know one day you’ll give up and listen. Then it will take over.”

Snow nods, looking at me in the eye. I’ve seen so much profound sadness in a person’s face. “And you’ll hurt someone, no matter how much you’ll regret it later.”

If I have a soul, it’s aching horribly. How could fate be so cruel as to give me Snow? So wonderfully brave and kind to a fault, and who actually understands what my life is like. The perfect man. And someday soon, he’s going to kill me. There’s no doubt I’ll be the one to die. I won’t kill him, not ever. I’d let him take everything from me before I’d kill him.

“Did you hurt your aunt?”

Thankfully, I can shake my head to that. “No, not at all. She was an experienced magic user, while I was a starving, half crazed newly minted hex. She took me down in seconds. When I woke up again, I was cleaned up and in my room. It took a second to regain my bearings, but I soon remembered what had happened...what I had become. There wasn’t any debate in my mind. Within an hour, I had packed my most practical clothes along with any small valuables I could pawn. Then I ran away and never looked back.”

“Which is how you ended up in America.”

“What better way to protect my family from me than by putting an ocean between us? At first, I stayed in an empty little corner of the American frontier. I just wanted to live out my lonely hex existence as long as possible. I didn’t expect the Call or this looming hex war.”

“No one did,” Simon sighs. “Hexes working together has never been possible before. Who could’ve imagined some American preacher would team up with an Aztec goddess to do just that?”

“Fair point. But now he’s made our existences much harder in a way. Look what those humans tried to do to us at the inn. They were even more scared because of Rook”

“Yeah...”

I groan, pushing my face into my hands, rubbing it up and down. “I never asked to be like this. I tried my hardest to avoid being like this. Then that choice was ripped away from me by some madman. Now I’m trapped between murderous humans or a bloodthirsty witch goddess. Why am I here? Why do I have to be here?!”

“Baz-”

“I don’t want this,” I choke out through my building sobs. “I want to see my family again. I just want to go home!”

I breathe hard and fast, holding back tears with all my strength. No, I refuse to cry. I swore to never cry again after the coffin, because I wasn't sure I could survive falling apart again. Yet here I am. I thought I had shed every tear I have there. I’m so pathetic.

“It’s okay,” Simon says. His voice is far louder than before. “Whatever you’re feeling is okay. It’s...it’s okay if you’re not.”

Slowly, cautiously, I lower my hands, blinking away the tears that had collected. I inhale sharply. Snow is less than two feet away from me. I can count the moles on his face, see the golden highlights in his bronze. But worse, his unbelievably delicious scent fills every cavity of my nose.

“You really shouldn’t sit so close, Snow,” I whisper. My eyes fall down and become completely fixed on Simon’s plush lips.

“I know,” he says under his breath, “but I don’t care.”

He touches my hand, and I feel his magic run through me. That explosive sensation pulses through my veins so hard it almost makes me gasp. The instinctual part of my brain goes fucking mad. It wants me to grab his throat and drain every drop of his magic, his essence, his very soul. My breathing gets shallow and laboured.

“Simon...” I say.

And then he kisses me.

It’s cautious and shy. His lips barely brush against mine, but I feel it everywhere else, especially in the way our powers rise to meet each other. The magic collides, but doesn’t clash. They meld and twist together at our points of contact, desperately needing to connect.

Snow opens his mouth, turning the kiss into one of pure heat and hunger. I gladly do the same. He grabs either side of my face and shoves his tongue down my throat. I grip his collar and push back against him. My entire body is filled with endless energy. I’m a star going supernova. And I want to explode with Simon. My nails scratch viciously across his neck. He clenches his fist in my hair, pressing our faces closer. I shudder as Simon bites hard on my bottom lip. I’m wrapped in cold heat, wrapped up in him. I feel so alive. It feels so right. But it’s wrong.

With all the strength I have, I shove Snow off me. We both fall back on the ground, breaking our closed circuit of feeding on each other simultaneously. Simon scrambles further away panting. I’m similarly out of breath. Both our lips trail white smoke, like they’ve been singed by ice. My magic readjusts after being sucked away and added to all at the same time. A bit of Snow’s explosive energy still sits in me, swirling around like a miniature star. We just stare at each other wide eyed for a long time.

“Shit,” Simon whispers.

I sigh heavily, running a shaky hand through my hair. “Well said.”

“We nearly killed each other.”

“Mages don’t meddle, Snow. We both know that.”

Simon groans, clutching his hair in his fists. “I know, I know. I almost killed Penny last time and I swore it would never happen again. But look at me now. Of course I fuck up.” I can see tears forming under his eyes. “What’s the point of being an all powerful hex if it means being alone forever?! I can blow up a building with my mind but I can’t even bloody kiss you! It’s not fair!”

I pick at my shirt sleeve with shaking fingers. “Maybe God is punishing us.”

“We didn’t ask to be like this, Baz!”

“That doesn’t change what we are, Simon! We’re freaks of nature, cannibalistic monsters!” I nearly rip through the fabric of my shirt. I'm so angry and so fucking tired. “Maybe we truly are devil spawn or something, like all the humans say. Maybe they’re right to be scared of all of us...”

I turn away from him, just staring at the fire. The sting of the smoke keeps me from sinking too low into my self loathing. Snow moves in my peripheral. We sit side by side. My skin prickles as he hovers his hand over mine. It takes every bit of my will to not try and drain him again.

“There’s somewhere we can go where we aren’t 'Devil spawn,'” he says.

I tense up. “Simon, that’s risky. It could all be a farce.”

“I don’t care if you think it’s just a farce, Baz! It’s still a chance. For you and me, for us.” He lightly brushes one of my fingers. I have to rip my hand away before I hurt him again. His pretty eyes are filled with pain. “See? Wouldn’t you like to stop doing that? Isn’t it worth the risk?”

I’ve been running for most of my life. I ran from my mother's legacy for as long as I could. I ran from my family when I feared my own hunger. And I could run now, from Simon and the fear of killing him. But I’d also be abandoning the chance for some sort of happy life. It may not be perfect, but it would be far more than my ancestors ever had before. Can I sacrifice that for fear?

“I’m tired, Snow,” I say weakly. “We should both get some rest.”

“But Baz-”

“Let me sleep on it, alright? Please?”

Snow takes in a deep breath, and lets out a long sigh. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

I want to kiss him so badly right now. Just grab his gorgeous, sunshine face and kiss him goodnight. Since I can’t, I smile as genuinely as I can at him. It’s not easy for me, but I mean it with him. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Snow stares at me for a long moment. But slowly, a smile creeps across his face too. The fondness threatens to melt me, “Goodnight, Baz.”

We keep our eyes locked for as long as we can. When I finally lay down, putting my crackling shield around me, the image of Snow’s wonderful face relaxes me into sleep.

———————————————

I bang my fists against the wood over and over, ignoring my already numerous splinters.

“Help!” I yell. “Someone help me! Please, get me out of here!”

All my pleas fall on deaf ears, as usual. No matter what I do, no matter how loud I scream. I’m stuck in this damned coffin. I scratch at it until my fingernails tear from their beds. Blood drips into my mouth, leaving an iron taste in the back of my scream sore throat.

“I’m not a fucking hex! I just want to go home!” I sob so hard I nearly choke on my own breath. “Just let me go home.”

My aching arms finally fall. I curl in on myself as much as I can within my confines. I close my eyes, but there’s little to no difference in the endless pitch black. Tears run hot down my face. They leave small trails in the dirt that’s accumulated over...however long I’ve been here. I don’t know anymore. Time is meaningless where there’s no sunrise or sunset. Life is meaningless in here.

“Baz?”

His voice is far away, but it still rings clear. My eyes slide open. “Simon?”

“Oh lord. Hang on, Baz! I'll get you out!”

I can only hear as Snow desperately tugs at the coffin lid. It should be impossible, the thing is nailed shut, but somehow Snow rips it open. The light is dim yet still hurts my eyes. I can't help but hiss at the pain.

“It’s okay, Baz,” he says in that unbelievably soft tone.

His hand reaches to me through the blinding light. Slowly, I reach back. And when I hold it, I know I’m supposed to be in pain, but I’m not. Instead, I’m just calm, happy, safe. Snow slowly pulls me out. His arms snake around my back, holding me up. He looks me over, taking in my decrepit, decayed state from ages in that damn box. And miraculously, he smiles. Even like this, he looks at me with such care.

“You’re alright now, Baz. I’m here.” He cups my face. “I’m here for you.”

Emotions clog up my throat and tears run down my cheek, but this time they’re for a good reason. I put my own shaking hand on his golden face. He’s so warm. “Yes, you are. And I’m here for you too, Simon.”

He’s still grinning as I lean forward, pressing my lips to his. But this time there’s no fear I’ll kill him. There’s just the utter joy of being with the one who understands me best, the one I want the most.

Oh, how I want this.

———————————————

I blink awake slowly. The morning sun is just rising over the horizon, turning the grassy landscape violet. I sit up and see the now familiar body on the other side of the fire. Snow sleeps in a knot, arms and legs pulled in. The furrow in his brow says he’s in the middle of a nightmare too. Though mine wasn’t one by the end. Not when he was there.

My mind is made up.

Once again, I’m packing my things lowly, waiting for Snow to wake. Luckily, he stirs while I’m only halfway through tying up the cot. He rubs the sleep from his eyes in such a terribly adorable way.

“Morning,” I say.

“Morning,” he yawns. “Are we going now? Or...are you?”

My heart seizes, but only for a moment. He’s right to be concerned. The fact that we’ve travelled together for two weeks without killing each other is a miracle among hexes. After last night’s close call, a sensible man would leave and never return. I was once a sensible human man. But I’m a deranged, bloodthirsty hex now. Why not act like one?

“You should get up and start packing, Snow. If we’re going to make it to the Mexican border before nightfall, we’ll have to ride fast.”

His eyes go rounder than a full moon. “You mean...”

I pull the pack tie tight. “We’re going to Hex City.”

“What changed your mind?

I sigh heavily, then walk over to him. I stay at a safe distance of course but Snow’s magic pulls me to him, my body begging me to take it. Instead, I simply hold out my hand to him. Snow stares for a moment but does catch on. He offers his own to me. Once again, our magics reach out to each other, wisps of fire and lightning twining together. It sends a faint whisper of that explosive adrenaline through my veins. So incredible and so wrong.

I snap my hand away, fists clenched hard. “Because of that. If I were a more selfless person, I would simply leave, but unfortunately I’m not. Are you?” Snow looks me over. His eyes pierce me in a way no one’s ever has before. He slowly shakes his head. “Exactly. I may be scared of Rook and his goddess, but I’m more scared of hurting you. There’s only one place where I won't.”

“Hex City.” He chews on the corner of his bottom lip. “What if you’re right though, and Rook’s price is too high?” 

“Then at least we’ll pay it knowing we tried to have a real life, instead of running like we’ve always had to.” I stand straight with my head held high. No matter the fear, I’m sure of this. “I think we’ve both suffered long enough, Simon.”

The way Snow’s face relaxes means the world to me. I love seeing that, seeing what he looks like without the heavy burden of hexation on his shoulders. Maybe I’ll be able to see that more in Hex City.

“It’ll probably be nice there,” he says. “I mean, a city made for hexes by hexes is going to be weird, but I bet it’ll look amazing in it’s own way.”

I chuckle and nod. “Agreed. Buildings and roads made by magic will certainly be interesting.”

“Penny would probably want to study them.” He sighs, but there’s a lightness to. “Maybe Penny will come one day, and I could see her again.”

“Maybe. I would love to meet her. I might be able to see my aunt again one day, too. I could introduce you to her.”

He beams so bright at me I fear I’ll get sunburnt. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Me too, Snow. So let’s get going.”

We finish packing very quickly. Snow gets on his horse as clumsy as he usually does. I snort at the way his American cowboy hat nearly falls off his head. The death glare he gives me has little impact, what with the way he’s grinning. He hasn’t stopped grinning almost since he woke up. I can’t blame him. I have trouble controlling my smile either.

“Ready?” he asks. As if he even has to. I’ve made my choice, and I’m sticking to it.

“Ready,” I say. “Let’s go.”

Snow and I both send our horses into gallops. We soar across the grassy plain, the Texas sun illuminating our way. The impending hex war still looms over us. But I will fight until my last breath to keep any happiness Simon and I can find.

I can almost see our future. Soon, we’ll reach the terrifying and wonderful Hex City. Rook will ask for his price, and we’ll pay, because it’ll mean a freedom we've never known before. We’ll be able to hold hands, kiss whenever we want, sleep in the same bed, simply be around each other with no fear of our hexacious hunger. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed of even a few months ago.

For once, I’m going to run towards something good, instead of away from the darkness inside me. I cannot wait.

———————————————

AN: And that's all folks! I hope people enjoyed that, even if y'all have never read Hexslinger. If you wanna read the books, I highly recommend them, tho be warned they require trigger warnings for all the stuff here and more. Almost anything that usually needs a trigger warning is in those books. I'm okay with reading it, but I also completely understand others not liking that shit.

In the positives, it's an extremely interesting and complex series dealing with survival, discrimination, identity, the pain that can come with love, and the unlikely bonds formed between people. The world building is amazing and the magic system is super cool. What I love the most are the characters, who are all very interesting and complex. No one is 100% good or evil, they're just people trying to find ways to achieve their goals or simply live. What actions they take are up for moral debate, but a lot of the time they're at least understandable. There's a lot of period typical bigotry, and it's much more vicious than what I wrote here, but what I love is that there a lot of diverse characters who say "fuck that" and fight back against the shit they get. You've got queer, Indigenous, black, latinx, Chinese, and Jewish main characters in a wild west story who are all well rounded and interesting. That's pretty awesome imo.

Okay enough gushing about Hexslinger lol. Hope this story was good. No guarantee when my next fic will be out. Work and school are killer. Until then, see you later!

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #hexslinger #hexslinger au #period typical homophobia #period typical racism #blood tw #mild body horror tw #canon typical vioence #mysnowbazfic #carry on through the ages #cotta 2020

[mageicalwishes]

Read on AO3: Here

Rating: Teen & Up

Chapter: 1/? (More chapters to come a little later in Dec + Early Jan!) 

Summary: A loose crossover between Carry On and parts of I'll Give You The Sun. "He’s haloed under the streetlights, and I’m trying not to stare. But, it’s hard. His face is celestial - The sunshine of his soul peeking through his features. I want to say more, just so that he doesn’t leave. Our houses are right there but, I feel so ... multicoloured."

Carry On Countdown, Day 10 - Crossover @carryon-countdown​

Tags: Fluff, Getting Together, Meet-Cute, Social Anxiety, Crossover, Pining Baz, Artist Baz, Space Enthusiast Simon, Star Gazing, Anxious Thoughts,  Carry On Countdown 2020 Day 10

Words: 2,145

Baz

I need to stop thinking about grey, slippery roads and black shrouds. About the purple under my Father’s dull eyes, and the red of my Aunt’s anger. I need to stop thinking about me - About my life. My head is too loud. Too noxious. I need someone else to take my mind for a while. I need to see. To paint. And so, I search for a subject. 

Dragging my binoculars across the bleak, colourless houses, I search, desperately, for even a glimpse of a hue. But the colours are slipping from the world again. They always do when I’m trapped in my head.

And then I see them - The movers - so far from colourless that I’m dizzied. They’re great work horses, both of them - One chestnut, and one palomino - Hulking a grandfather clock up the house-next-door’s stairs. I’m zooming in, before I have time to reconsider - Into the stretch of navy against the flex of their arms, the rose flush of their foreheads, the tan swath of smooth stomach revealed each time they lift their arms. And then ... Shit. 

I drop the binoculars onto the floor, my body following swiftly behind them. Because, on the roof of the house, there’s a boy pointing a telescope directly at me. Fucking Hell. How long has he even been there?

I risk a glance over the top of my windowsill. He’s wearing a tatty purple jumper, and there’s a mess of bronze curls tangled atop his head. Even without the binoculars, I can see that he’s grinning at me. Is he laughing at me, already? Does he know what I was doing? That I was watching the movers? Does he think that I’m ...? He must. Why else would I be ogling them. God. I feel the dread pinching at my throat, and try to tether my mind, so that it doesn’t get away from me again. Maybe he’s just a smiley person. Maybe he thinks I was looking at his clock. That’s equally as plausible, surely? And, I mean, he has a telescope. Dickheads don’t tend to have telescopes, do they?

Tugging at the ends of my hair, I stand. When he sees me he waves, but before I have a chance to reciprocate, he’s reaching into his pocket, drawing his arms backwards, and lobbing something straight at me. (Maybe he is a dickhead, after all). 

On reflex, I stick out my hand. The unknown object slapping hard against my skin, as I close my fingers around it. 

“Nice catch!” He yells. His voice deep and bright, with a definite Northern tinge. I decide that I like it. It suits him. 

But, I don’t know what to say back. So, I don’t. Instead, I examine his potentially dangerous ‘gift’ - Spinning the rock around in the palm of my hand. It’s small (About the size of a pound coin) and covered in irregular lightening-like cracks. What am I supposed to do with it? Do I throw it back? Why did he even throw it at me, in the first place? I don’t know, but I slip it into my back pocket for safe-keeping, anyway. 

When I look back at him, hoping for some kind of explanation, he’s turned himself back towards the sky. Too focused on looking through his telescope to notice me. Which, to be honest, is odd. I mean, it’s daytime. What could he possibly be looking at? 

Even though I’m curious, I don’t stick around to find out. I’m worryingly off-kilter, and I need to rebalance. I hadn’t prepared myself for meeting a new person. I wasn’t ready. And so, I run to the place that I know best, to recuperate - The Art Institute. Where I can carry out further recon on the studio. 

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

It was a good, productive sketch session. Nobody caught me peeping through the window, and I was able to get a few decent body references down. But … I don’t feel my usual post-art calm. My mind is still racing (Although, with a different genre of thought than earlier). 

Every over time I have visited, the models have been women. Posing demurely, with a bowl of fruit or silks. Arms placed, to partially protect their modesty. I’m used to that. I’m prepared for that. But today … it was a bloke. 

I don’t have a problem with that (Not really). There’s nothing wrong with blokes. And there’s nothing wrong with naked blokes, either. I’m mature enough to handle that. A body is a body. A sketch is a sketch. And I’m an artist first, queer person second. I just … hadn’t expected it. And I don’t like to be caught off guard. So, I’m feeling slightly rattled. I just need to get home, and get back to normality. To safe things - Like a beach scene, or a self-portrait. Familiar things. No more surprises.

And yet, a few steps into my walk back home, I see the guy from the roof leaning against a nearby tree, the same lopsided-grin aimed over at me. I blink, confirming his existence, and then he’s talking. Stood, barely 3 metres in front of me, in the dirt. 

“How was class?” 

He says it like it isn’t the strangest thing in the world that he’s here, with me, where he really has no reason to be. Like it isn’t only just slightly beaten in its absurdity by me, sketching propped-up on a wall outside, rather than inside, the studio. Like we aren’t complete strangers (Because, no matter how much he may be smiling at me, we don’t even know each other's names yet).

‘Yeah, sorry, I kinda’ followed you. I wanted to check out the woods, but I wasn’t sure of the way. So … I just tagged along. Figured you wouldn’t mind. Don’t worry though, I wasn’t watching you the whole time. I was busy with my own stuff.” 

He points to an open suitcase filled to the brim with ... rocks? As if that’s normal. 

“My meteorite bag’s all packed.”

I nod like that explains something, but it really doesn’t. Meteorites? I thought those were in the sky, not on the ground. And what does that even mean? He just carries around pieces of infinity. For what?

I look at him more closely, studying his face for any sign of disingenuity. For any sign that he’s just having me on. But I find nothing. Nothing … bad, anyway. Just a deep dimple accompanying his crooked smile, and miles of tawny skin, speckled with moles. He exists in shades of orange and gold. He’s the sun. And I can’t look away.

“Stare much?” 

I drop my gaze, embarrassed - Staring down at his scuffed Nikes, as my neck prickles with heat. I don’t talk. What am I even supposed to say to that? Yes? 

“Well ... you’re probably just used to it from staring at that bloke for so long. You know … for your drawing.” I look up - Grey meeting blue. He’s eyeing my pad curiously. “He was naked?” He breathes in as he says it, like the words stole his oxygen. It makes my stomach plummet, but I try to keep my face calm. I think about him watching me, watching the movers. How he watched me, watching the model. He must know. And ... I don’t know how I feel about that, just yet. 

He looks down at my pad again. I don’t understand why. Does he want me to show him the drawings of the model bloke? It seems like he does. And some disturbed part of me wants to. But I doubt it. ‘Hey stranger, wanna’ see how I draw dicks?’ said no sane person ever. My stomach twists tight, and I’m out of control - My brain hazy amongst the moment’s tension.

“Look, man,” he sighs, half-smiling as he scrubs at the back of his neck. “I legit’ have no idea how to get home. I tried, but I just ended up back here. I’ve been waiting for you to lead the way. You don’t mind do you?”

I don’t think I mind. Do I? I don’t know. I shake my head, anyway, and point him in the right direction. 

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

It’s a long way home, and we walk the majority of it in silence (Well, near-silence. The bumping of his suitcase creating a constant accompaniment to our steps). I try and resist the urge to look back at him. The urge to ask him all of my ‘Why?’s - Why did you follow me? Why are you still following me? Why are you collecting meteorites? Why were you looking at the stars in daylight? Why were you looking at me in the daylight? It would only make me more muddled. So, rather than relent, I take out my invisible brushes and start to paint behind my eyes. 

And, after a while, I feel myself settling back into my skin. The dancing trees and setting sun relaxing me, in spite of the moment’s unsteadiness. Or ... maybe it was him. He’s an alarmingly relaxed person (I mean, I don’t know anybody else who would just follow a stranger around, with zero self-consciousness), so it wouldn’t surprise me if he had some sort of ‘Realm of Calm’ thing going on around him. 

When we emerge from the woods, returning to our familiar concrete-laden pavements, he spins around and jumps in front of me. Ecstatic. 

“Holy shit! That is like ... the longest I’ve ever gone without talking in my life! I was holding my breath just trying to keep the words in. How do you even do that? Are you always like this?”

He’s a mile a minute, and I’m lagging behind.

“Like what?”

And then he’s laughing at me. I can tell that he’s a person who laughs a lot, from the way he lets it take him over so easily - His whole being lightening up, as the sides of his eyes crinkle, joyfully. But it’s alright, I don’t mind. It’s not a mean laugh. It just makes me feel a little bit fizzy inside (In a good way. I think). 

“Dude! Are you kidding? You do know those are the first words you’ve said all day, right?”

I didn’t, actually. But I don’t tell him that. He’d probably just think that I’m more strange than he, no doubt, already does. 

He’s properly cracking up now (Although, I don’t know what, exactly, I did that was quite so funny). “And then you’re all just like ‘What?’”. </p>

He makes an absolutely atrocious attempt at imitating my accent (Which leaves him sounding like some kind of drunken Prince Charles impersonator), and before I can stop it, I’m laughing outright, alongside him. Both of us hunched-over cackling, wholeheartedly, probably looking more than a little mad. 

Once we’ve calmed down, he starts staring at my pad again. Jesus Christ. I really wish he wouldn’t. I’m not going to show him my sketches. Not even if he begs. I’d never survive the embarrassment.

“So ... lemme’ guess. You do most of your talking in there?” He points down at my pad, and I feel the tips of my ears flood scarlet. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” My voice comes out mumbled and gruff. I didn’t mean for it to. He probably thinks I did it on purpose, though. 

He’s haloed under the streetlights, and I’m trying not to stare. But, it’s hard. His face is celestial - The sunshine of his soul peeking through his features. I want to say more, just so that he doesn’t leave. Our houses are right there but, I feel so ... multicoloured.

“I paint in my head sometimes,” I blurt. Dumb. So unbelievably dumb. “That’s why I was so quiet, I was painting.”

“Oh that’s cool. Saves paper, I suppose. Better for the trees, and that.” Stalling. He’s stalling. I’ve made it weird. I always make it weird. “So ... were you painting anything specific?”

“You.” Oh, fucking hell! I’ve ruined it - I’ve smeared on that last glob of un-erasable acrylic and ruined the painting. I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t even mean to say it, it just ... popped out. And now he’s stood, gawping, eyes wide and face flushed. I’ve embarrassed him. I’ve gone and dumped all my greedy keenness on him, completely uninvited, and now he’s drowning in it.

Everything feels tight. The air, suddenly too humid to swallow. I’m gasping - Waves of breath crashing, loudly, in my ears. Panic. I’m panicking. I need to - I have to go.

So, for the second time today, I run. Spinning on my heels and darting back towards my house, without as much as a ‘Goodbye”. Away from him. Away from humiliation. Back to my room, where I pull the blinds shut and open up my pad - Briskly skipping over today’s work. A blank page. A fresh start. I really am no good at talking the normal way.

#carry on #carry on countdown #coc 2020 #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #my fic #my writing

[otherpeoplesheartachept-2]

Undercover

Carry On Countdown Day 25

Pairing: Snowbaz

Length: 1555 words

Genre: angst?, pinning?

AN: aka the one where Baz (once again) pins Simon against the wall asking what the fuck is up. aaka the one where Simon possesses Dev just as Baz decides to come out. 

-

I blink into the room, sitting on the floor with Baz and Nial. This must be Nial’s room. Before I can take in any more of my surroundings Baz says,

“I’m gay,” like it isn’t a big deal. (Even though it clearly is. How could it not be?!) Nial matches his calm energy, with a smile and a pat on the shoulder. “And…” He continues more hesitant (what else could there be??) “I- I think I’m in love with Simon Snow.” He swallows.

A look of confusion and slight disgust crosses Nial’s face. (what What WHAT WHAT!) 

“No,” He shakes his head and breathes in. “I know I’m in love with Snow.” He says, gray eyes closed. “I’m tired of not being honest with myself, and you guys.” It’s obvious this is a very vulnerable moment for Baz (One I should NOT BE A PART OF).

Oh shit. Oh shit! Penny said Dev should still be able to see (and act) in his own body, I’m just borrowing his perspective but, what if the spell went wrong? What if I messed up Baz’s coming out. Oh SHIT I was not supposed to know he’s gay. And in love...

WITH. ME.

I need to go. I don’t know how to get out of Dev’s head but Penny said she’d pull me out. I need to be pulled out right now. 

Nial makes some joke about plotting against me in vain but I’m too busy thinking “RIGHT NOW” as loud as I can. I have no idea if Penny will be able to get that. 

She was right. Penny is always right. This was a terrible idea. I just wanted to see what he was plotting. Not- not this!! I’ve ruined everything. 

By now Nial and Baz are looking at me (Dev) because he (I) hasn’t said anything yet. That’s bad, right? I have to think of something supportive and nice and Dev-like to say. A billion alarm bells are going off in my head. My mouth flops open like a dead fish but no supportive words fall out. Shitshitshit. 

“Uh-” I feel myself ripped from Dev’s body. Finally. Hopefully Dev, fully in control of himself, will say something nice to Baz. Merlin, I thoroughly cocked this one up. My head pounds and rings and then I’m opening my eyes, Penny sitting crisscross in front of me. 

“What happened? Did it work? Could you see, hear, talk?” When I don’t say anything she snaps her fingers in front of my inevitably shocked face. “Details, I need details about how the spell worked, Simon.” 

I try to clear my mind of Baz’s confessions and focus on what the spell actually did. “I um-’ I run a hand across my face and up into my curls “I could see and hear and I think I could talk but I didn’t have a chance.” 

Her face lights up with this information. Despite warning me against invading Baz’s privacy and Dev’s autonomy (I’m not even sure what that word means), she’s very invested in how this spell works. Penny’s furiously scribbling notes on a pad. “Interesting. I was hoping you could see and hear, but speaking through another person is amazing! Could you move Dev’s body?” 

“No. I don’t know. I didn’t really try.” I say. I forgot about testing the limits and abilities of the spell as soon as I got there. 

Penny rambles on about the spell but I can’t stop thinking about what Baz said. What I did. I know Penny warned me about this, but he’s evil! And plotting and I needed to know what exactly. I thought my life was in danger. But, it looks like I’m not in danger, and I’ve definitely invaded Baz’s privacy. Great Snakes, what am I supposed to do about this?

I try to be nicer to Baz. I mean, he’s in love with me(??) For the first day or two I thought maybe it was part of his plot but, he couldn’t know that I was going to possess Dev and even if he did, he couldn’t have known when. 

So, he was telling the truth. Basilton Pitch doesn’t hate me. 

He likes me. 

He… loves me. 

I stop picking fights with Baz. It feels excessively cruel. I don’t follow him to the catacombs, I even smile at him sometimes. I try not to let on that I look at him differently now, that I know something new now, but I can’t keep my eyes off of him. 

My every waking moment is filled with thoughts of Baz and what he said. I go through a flurry of emotions but I’m surprised to find disgust isn’t one of them. Then I worry it’s some perverted ego boost when I discover I kind of like the thought. I mean, it’s definitely gross to like the idea of your enemy liking you if you hate them, right? 

I notice he tries to antagonize me more, but I can’t engage. I’ve never been good at comebacks with Baz, but I don’t even get as angry when he insults me. My magic doesn’t rise as high, and I think he hates it. But I know he doesn’t mean most of what he says. Or maybe he does but he still doesn’t hate me. I can’t figure out why he says he does if he doesn’t. But I’m sure that me finding positivity in knowing he doesn’t is some kind of fucked up. 

I’m stuck with that until one day I start thinking about my feelings towards Baz and not just what he said. I mean, I don’t really hate him. Maybe I never have. He’s a total posh wanker, but he’s also smart, and bloody attractive, and shit. What if I like Baz?

-

“What is wrong with you?” He snarls, pushing me against the dorm room wall about a week later. I panic, but figure it’s probably best to come clean at this point. 

“I know.” Is all I say. His face drops but he continues to hold confidence in his body. 

“Know what, Snow?” I’m not sure how to answer. I really really shouldn’t know anything. He doesn’t want me to know. 

I look past his shoulder as I say, “That you- um- you’re gay.” He steps back from me and pulls his shirt sleeve down. “Which is totally fine! I mea-”

“How did you find out?” He asks flatly.

“Well, I temporarily inhabited Dev’s body.” My voice going higher with each word like a question. I can’t look him in the eyes and it seems he can’t look at me either. 

“When? What exactly did you hear?” He says like this isn’t a big deal. (It is, I know for a fact it is.)

“I uh, I heard the thing about me if that’s what you mean...” I can hear the guilt seeping in my voice. I stare at my shoes.  “And it’s cool, I’m not like grossed out or uh anything. I don’t want you to like feel bad, it just didn’t feel r-right fighting with you, knowing what I know. I shouldn’t know, I know, I- I’m really sorry, Baz.”

He scoffs but I could swear his eyes are watering. “I don’t need your fucking pity, Snow,” he spits with venom, arms crossed. “And I certainly don’t need your fucking mercy. Now The Chosen One feels bad for his evil, lovesick roommate, better go easy on him.” He lets out a harsh laugh. “It’s okay, Snow, my poor queer heart can still handle a few blows.” His infuriating eyebrow raises.

“Baz.” I’m not fully sure why, but I feel sad for him. Sad he has to pretend this isn’t hurting him. “It’s not like that! I- I like it better when we aren’t fighting. I’ve liked this whole week, of almost friendly existence. I- I think I’d like more…” I say before I can even think. But it’s true. I know it’s true. I like Baz, I fancy him. 

He looks like he’s about to fall apart and I wish more than anything I could stop making him feel like this. “You know I can’t.” He says lowly, dangerously. 

“Look.” I tug on my hair, desperate to make this okay, to explain myself. “I don’t care about the Old Families, or the war. And I know it’s probably not fair to you to say all this, knowing you feel more than I do right now. But, can’t we try? Can’t you give me a chance?”

“Simon.” He says it like a warning. Like a snake rattling its tail. I step close to him and gently place my palm on his cheek. He flinches from it, then leans into my warmth. “You’re-”

“I’m attracted to you Baz.” I say. Something flashes in his eyes. I lean in for a small, sweet kiss, trying to convey what I’m saying is true. “And-” I pull back “-If you can forgive me, I want to like you even more.”

He tentatively reaches a cold hand up to my face. Baz looks scared and vulnerable. The most vulnerable I’ve ever seen him. Slowly, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips. 

It might take a while for us to figure this out but I like it so much more than fighting.

#carry on countdown #carry on countdown 2019 #coc #coc 2019 #coc2019 #carry on #carry on fanfic #carry on fic #carry on fanfiction #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #snowbaz fanfic #snowbaz fanfiction #simon snow #simon #baz #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #basilton pitch #undercover #1k fic #watford school of magicks #rainbow rowell

[diningpageantry]

Like A Rom-Com

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16917009

Word Count: 9363

Summary: Baz Pitch doesn't think he'll ever get to love Simon Snow the way he wants to. A trope-filled weekend proves otherwise.

Carry On Countdown Day 14: Cliché

Of all places I thought I'd ever find myself, sitting on a train beside Simon Snow on a Thursday night is not exactly at the top of my list

There's plenty of more seemingly plausible situations I could be in. For example, a ditch, or in the middle of Mumbai without my mobile and only one shoe. Or, better yet, the goddamn moon. But, no, I’m in a seat beside him, our three-days worth of overnight bags tucked up into the slots above us as we sit in complete and utter silence.

I didn't even get the window seat. He took it first, and despite my protests, he told me to “Suck it”, then sat there.

I'm starting to wonder why I got myself into this. Why I asked Simon Snow of all people to do this. We aren't even fond of each other’s presence (well, on the surface; dare I admit further). Yet, with all our past squabbling aside, here we are. About to spend a whole convention under a façade of a relationship purely as a ploy for money. Theoretically, I should feel disgusted over my actions, but instead I’m a tad proud of how easy it was to get Snow to cave and help me. All it took was telling him the event would include a free banquet, then suddenly he was all there for it.

“I don't see why you wanted me to come, though,” he'd brought up on the platform, wearing his dark green bomber jacket. “I mean, of all other student leaders, you really thought of me?”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes and turning my head towards the wind. “Don't flatter your capabilities, Snow. You're simply a pretty face to look at, andyou're incredibly sociable.”

“Sociable, am I?” he grinned, nudging me with his elbow, making my head snap towards him and throwing him a somewhat convincing look of disgust.

“To those who don't find you undyingly insufferable, sadly, yes.”

I'm surprised at how hard it is to really insult him. Sure, we’re at each other's throats all the time during charity events and whatnot. Supposed to promote positivity and show up as the student leaders of the school, but I may have once tripped him and sent him flying into a plate of cocktail shrimp (give it to him to somehow make that charming, though). Once, he took the piss to ask me how I got to my positions of power by just buying everyone else off the council.

I'll give it to him, people like him. That's why I've got him sitting beside me on this rattling train instead of anyone else on campus, but he seems to dismiss any mere hint of hard work. It must sound foreign to him, to have to work towards a place of respect.

People fear me. They always have. But I don't get here out of fear, I get here out of work built from furthering that fear into respect. Goddamn full time job.

“So,” he pipes up, yanking his earbud out as his head swivels to face me. “What do I have to do exactly ?”

“Look pretty. Smile and nod, make people care about us. At least, during the banquet and the aftermath. Feel free to be as aloof as you usually are for the rest of the conference--sleep in the hotel room, for all I care.”

He twists the cords to the earbuds, eyes casting downwards before rising back up to me. “What conference is it, again?”

I can't help but roll my eyes at him. It isn't like I explained twice already. “Social Awareness and Activism.”

He nods, letting it process before his face contorts into a frown. “Hey, wait! Why wasn't I invited, then?”

“Because” I begin, not even giving him the satisfaction of my gaze as I stare ahead. “You're student council. I lead the Gender and Sexualities Association and lest you forget, I run the Diversities office.”

He lets that one slide, because he knows he definitely doesn't have me beat in this one. Student Council pricks usually have such an air of superiority over us. Arseholes.

“That's why you asked me to be your fake date…” he says, absolutely more to himself, but still making me scoff as loudly as I physically can.

“Dear god, please tell me you did not just now figure out I'm gay,” I mumble, my head falling into my hand as my fingers pinch my bridge. My head turns to a completely oblivious Snow shrugging at me. “What, a closet full of florals and the rainbow pin on my satchel never gave it away?”

“I… I don't like to assume…” he shrugs, looking back out the window before turning back to me quickly. “It's all fine, by the way!”

“Wow, I'm absolutely delighted that you give me your blessing to be queer,” I monotone, staring at him. It does matter, though. Just a bit, but it does.

That properly shuts him up.

The rest of the ride starts off awkward, but eventually he falls asleep, arms crossed over his chest as his mouth gapes open. He breathes with his mouth, like some dog.

In all honesty, I wish I wasn't in love with him. It's so ridiculously unfortunate that it came to this mess being the one I long after. Granted, he's ridiculously handsome in that nearly crossline between rugged and ‘Perfect Man’ way. He obviously forgets to shave regularly, but his stubble comes out a soft blonde (like right now). He's got knick scars over his hands, injury marks from years of use, and lasting muscles to prove it. His hair always seems a mess, but in the most innocent of ways. It always seems so soft, so thick.

He's one of those straight guys you hate to love. The kind that you had a class or two with, but never spoke to; the kind you see on campus with his girlfriend at his arm. Or, used to. Heard that's history.

I steal a long look at him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. I hope it's history.

Maybe this will be like one of those cliché rom-coms where he warms up to me over a weekend of exposure and suddenly, he figures out he's loved me too this entire time, he just wasn't ready to come to terms with it.

With a groan, his head turns in his sleep and faces towards the window. With that, his neck shows on full display, revealing that little mole, right below his ear, that I've had on mind since I noticed it. I map it out with my eyes, cheeks flushing in the slightest as my mind runs over what I'd do if I just had the opportunity…

The train screeches to a stop, pulling into the last station from ours.

Brilliant.

My hand rests against Snow's forearm, resisting the urge to curl around his bicep as I give him a jostle. “Snow,” I start gently before clearing my throat and saying “Snow” clearly. He jerks aware, eyes flying open and glancing around before landing on my face. I feel him relax underneath me. I'm still holding his arm.

“Nearly there?” he groans groggily, eyes drooping closed again.

“Sort of,” I say without my usual bite, stretching my arms. “maybe 10 minutes more, 15.”

He just gives me a nod, eyes running over the cabin as he yawns. “Do we have anything to do tonight?”

I shake my head as I pack away my (untouched) book. “No.” I punctuate it with the snap of my satchel pocket. “We check into the hotel, and I have to check in with the coordinator. I have a half an hour introduction, then I'm free.”

“I could go to the introduction with you,” he offers, no hints of hesitation in his voice. Throws me off a bit.

“You don't need to.” I don't tell him no. I don't have to. I don't want to.

“I want to,” he says bluntly, throwing me for a fucking curveball. I gape at him shamelessly for a second before he finishes it (with a little delay), “I mean, it'll make our couple play a lot more believable, right?”

Sure. That. “You're not wrong,” I relent, standing as the wheels squeal against the harsh metal. I steady myself against a seat as the train pulls into the station, reaching for the bags and settling them down wordlessly. Simon takes his cue and grabs his own, following me as I wheel it off towards the exit.

“We'll need to get a cab,” I say, awkwardly patting for my phone as we follow the exit signs within the station. “Hotel's not far, it's just that I'm not too keen on a half an hour walk right now.”

Leave it to Snow to flag a cab in less than three minutes. All it takes is for him to flash his gorgeous smile and one comes to a halt right in front of us.

After tossing our bags in the boot, I glance up to see Snow, holding the door with gentlemanly grace and an unmistakably friendly grin. “Come on, then,” he urges, trying to wave me inside.

Leave it to Snow to make my heart skip a beat.

The ride there is awfully brief, but I tip the driver generously, sliding out and hurriedly drawing our belongings out before taking a silent second to myself. This is fine. Everything will be fine.

Everything would be fine if Snow stopped staring at me as if I were bonkers.

“What?” I snap, crinkling my nose in his direction.

“I… it’s just…” he stutters back, eyes shooting wide as he searches for an answer. “you look… like you're thinking about something. That's all.”

I tame my expression back, inhaling sharply before pushing past with my suitcase dragging behind me. “Piss off.” That's all I really manage, a halfhearted ‘piss off’.

For the first time today, I feel like this truly might’ve been a mistake.

The inside lobby’s quite nice; reminds me a little too much of my dining room at home, with the chandelier and all, but it's welcoming.

“Double room under Pitch,” I tell the concierge, fingers drumming rhythmically against the marble countertop. My eyes drift, looking up and around but never forward. Not until the typing stops and I’m greeted with a friendly grin as the room key cards slide across towards me.

“You're room 1124, continental breakfast runs from 6-10, and your checkout time is Sunday at noon. Any questions?”

“No,” I say quickly, pocketing the cards and nodding my head as I thank her before making a b-line towards the elevators. Luckily, Snow seems to know when to shut up.

Unluckily, maybe I should've spoken up earlier.

“A double bed,” I breathe, staring at the single queen sized bed against the wall. “Not… a double room…”

I feel Snow’s eyes turn towards me from over my shoulder as I flush a deep red, groaning and running a hand through my hair to push it back (despite the fact that I slick it).

“I… can sleep on the couch?”

“For three nights? Nonsense; you’ll kill your back, then I’ll have to listen to you complain the whole trip back.”

“Then what do you suppose we do?”

Shit. Maybe I am getting my terrible rom-com. “The beds large enough to share…”

I watch as he steps into the room, his bag dropping beside the dresser as his hand smooths against the sheet. “Suppose I'm fine with that, so long as you are too?”

Fine? With sharing the bed with most likely the most attractive man I’ve ever met? “It's bearable.”

With a nod, he stands back up and stretches. “I take the left side,” he calls out, strolling in front of me and into the bathroom, closing himself inside and leaving me motionless at the doorway. This cannot be happening. I refuse to believe that this, this very event is occurring. If it wasn’t strange enough to be going on a trip and acting in a fake relationship with Snow, it’s even worse that I’m sharing a bed with him.

I feel like it’s only a second between when he closes the door before stepping back out. As he comes back into view, he’s wiping his hands on a hand towel and looking at me like I grew a second head. “What’re you still doing there?” he asks, frowning a tad. I want to wipe the look clean off his face.

“I’m… nothing. Thinking.”

He grins at me with all his teeth, like a fucking sunbeam. “Well, stop that. Don’t you have an introductory session to get to?”

I snap out of my daze, blinking rapidly before settling my belongings inside. “Are you sure you want to come?” I ask, fixing my hair in the mirror as I send side-eyed glances at him. “You don’t have to…”

“I think it’d be best if I do.” He stretches in the middle of the room, cracking his back before jumping (why do straight men do that?)

I can’t help but roll my eyes and grab my key card, thumb running over the back as I send bored glances at him. “Can we leave yet?”

He nods, bounding out the door in front of me and bouncing down the hall.

As we exit the elevator, I feel something press against my lower back. At a glance, I realize that it’s Snow’s hand, settling against my shirt and giving off the clear implication that there is something definitely between us. Clever, but heartstopping.

He keeps it there as I sign in, following me to the conference room and settling in the seat beside me with his arm resting delicately around my shoulders. It’s nearly too overwhelming; the proximity, the publicness. I’d assumed, when I invited him, that it’d simply be a one-night show we’d put on. Go through dinner, act cordial enough to seem like we’re a plausible couple, then remain in a state of disdain and turbulence until we both graduate and proceed to never see each other again.

I had not considered, though, that he’d go above and beyond in this ‘fake relationship’ business. Especially not to the point where he is now with a hand settled against the back of my head, threading in between strands of my hair. I send him a look, eyebrows knit together as I try to read whatever’s on his face.

It’s like his handwriting; unreadable.

Another thing I had not considered, though, was the possibility that Penelope Bunce would be at this event too.

I don’t think Simon thought so either, because the moment we both spot her, his hand yanks out of my hair and he sits bolt upright. As if he was caught with his tongue down my throat (I’m allowed to have fantasies).

She’s rushing over, face riddled with confusion and a tad amount of amusement. Her mouth opens to say something as she stops, hands on her hips, but Simon’s already cutting her off.

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” he calls innocently, eyes wide and puppy-like, almost like Bunce is his mother or something.

“Of course I’m here; I told you I was going to a conference this weekend, Simon.” Her eyes flick between us before she laughs. “Holy fuck, how did Inot see this? Si, you could’ve just told me you two--”

“What? N--” he stops himself, flinching in his spot before shooting up to stand. “Let’s, uh, find somewhere else to talk.”

The expressions coming from Bunce’s face are priceless, especially the way she gapes as she’s pulled away, head turned towards me as I wave goodbye.

Snow looks like he’s had the shit beaten out of him when he gets back.

Not physically, but he definitely looks shaken while Bunce just looks a bit pleased with herself. In all honesty, she could easily take over the world and destroy it in under a week, if she wanted to. Instead, she’s off getting her English degree with a minor in Women’s Studies. Fascinating.

She sits herself on the other side of me, leaving Simon to settle against my arm after she laid it out on him. “So, Basilton,” she hums, “clever idea, really.” She curls a hand around the cuff of my sleeve and yanks, pulling me down so only I’m in earshot as she glares daggers at me. “But if you so much as hurt Simon, I will make sure that you’ll never find your precious styling products anywhere in this town again.”

I truly hate to admit that I actually gasp at that. As in an audible, full on gasp. Like some pathetic fucking twink that I refuse to be labelled purely as. “I’ll buy it online then, Bunce.” She’s still downright terrifying, though.

She just grins and turns her head forward, mumbling something about it being an interesting weekend as the speaker comes on. Slowly, I feel Snow's arm snake back around my shoulders, simply resting on my neck this time. Over time, his thumb starts absentmindedly stroking the skin it's resting on, but it doesn't go further from there. Although undeniably comforting, the looks he’s getting from Bunce are, mildly put, unsettling.

Thank fuck it's over before I know it. There's a cheesy joke about travel exhaustion before the round of applause fills the crowd. My head slowly turns to face Snow’s, heart racing as his fingertips trail my hairline. “Let's head back to the room? I think there's room service…” And Bunce is nerving me out.

Retracting his hand, he stretches and nods. “Sounds good.” He practically leaps to his feet, throwing a smile at Bunce and cheerful giving a goodnight hug as I stand at my leisure.

As we make our get-away, I can feel her eyeing us up from behind. It feels like I’m a guilty party; like I've got some ulterior motives. Honestly, Iwish I was suave enough to have them. If I could just plan a weekend away with Snow in the expectation of him falling in love with me, then I'd just retire my education and turn to a life of magic, because I'd have to have him under a spell to make that work.

On the way to the elevator, though, Snow makes a tug at my sleeve, stopping me in my tracks. Raising my brows, my mouth starts to form a “What?”, but gets cut off before it even starts.

“I'm not too tired, if you want to go sit down…?”

I look sideways at him, blinking and letting myself process it. “Get dinner. You want to get dinner?”

“Well… yeah? We're here, and there's a place in the hotel.”

From a moment's glance, there’s nobody in sight (nor earshot, for that matter) here to witness it, so I’m not really sure why he's asking me to get dinner with him rather than stuffing away in the room where we can avoid each other on our phones. In fact, it'd be significantly easier for him to tell me to fuck off and go eat dinner by himself. But, no. He's asking me to sit down with him.

“Fine, but let's not take forever.”

A drink or two (or three) later, I don't care about time anymore. There's only two things I care about; Simon Snow's foot touching my leg, and Simon Snow himself.

He polishes off his drink (I can't remember, 2nd or 3rd), wetting his lips as he runs a hand through his curls. “What’d you think about soulmates?”

It's an innocent enough question. After all, what do I think about about soulmates? The question’s easy enough to answer, and the way his face has been pink and smile grows even looser makes me wonder which response I wanna give him. Reasonable-brained Baz would probably say something protective and flat enough to drive away any admissions of feelings..

I'm not quite Reasonable-Baz right now, though. “I think it's a thing,” I mumble into my glass, sipping slowly and meeting his eye as it settles back onto the table. It’s the cosmopolitan speaking through me. “Not like… something stupid, like everyone’s off to be destined to love someone because they're star-matched or whatever the fuck. No red string of fate. It’s just… people matching. And they always match. Not perfect, but complements to each other.”

He's staring at me like I've said something profound, but I’m not entirely sure what came out as coherent and what else came out as an intoxicated slur.

“So…” My elbows rest against the table in terrible etiquette, chin settling on my palms. “Your go.”

“I… I was… well… that string thing. I'd heard it, and I think it’s somethin’ like that, yeah?” His knee bumps back into mine, shooting tingling down my leg. “Like you've got a pull to your soulmate.”

“A pull?”

He nods as he waves for another drink, eating off the last of my chips. I think he’s bound to polish them off.

“Like it’s in your gut. It yanks you forward, more and more, until you get that meeting it wants.”

Is it a joke? Who knows if it's a joke, but shit, I laugh at it anyway. “W'don't live in a fantasy world, Snow. Wish we did, but it's not Harry Potter.”

Snow pouts in somewhat an endearing way, studying my face as he shoves another few chips into his mouth. The server drops off another drink, to which Simon draws his attention to as if it's the most lovely thing he's ever seen in his life. I wish he'd look at me like that.

His face lazily lifts, smile keeping as he stares across at me. “I… think you're a Hufflepuff.”

“Dear God, Snow, you're smashed. Stop talking.”

“Noooo!” he complains, hand reaching out and resting over mine. “You're friendly under all that mean boy bullshit!”

Someone at a nearby table throws a glare at us, and suddenly I remember we're not quite alone.

Without much thought, I turn my hand over and slowly drag my fingers down Snow's palm. He shivers against me. “I'm a Ravenclaw. The test said so,” I murmur, my voice dropping to the privacy of just him and I.

I choose to believe his blush is in my imagination.

He takes a long drink, fingers dragging back before threading forward and interlocking between mine. “‘M Gryffindor.”

“No shit,” I laugh, suddenly becoming aware of how we're sitting. Leaned forward, heads much closer than they were before. The scent of hard cider and fried chips waft off him. I hate to admit that it makes my heart race faster.

After minutes of what's most likely just an odd closeness, I find myself stopping whatever this is. With a wave to the waiter, they stop by and run our room key through.

Snow's hand keeps against mine, his eyes locked on me and starting to sag with drunken tiredness.

He stays like that, all the way up to our floor.

The chime of the elevator makes me bump his shoulder, urging him out into the hall. “Come on, Simon.”

He jerks himself upright, blinking back to somewhat coherence before following me to the room. I swipe us in, letting him dislodge from my side as he throws himself onto the bed fully dressed.

After a run to the bathroom, changing into my flannel bottoms and a tee, it hits me that Snow's probably planning to pass out like this.

“Hey,” I whisper, practically pushed up to his side. He lifts his head, squinting at me curiously. It takes a second to realize his eyes pinpointed to my lips. “Don't you need to change?”

Sleepily, he closes his eyes again and shrugs, head falling towards mine. His forehead brushes against me.

“M’ fine,” he whispers, “‘m sleepy…”

In this moment, it'd be so easy to just reach out and touch his hair. I can feel it now, tickling against my hairline as he curls up into himself.

“Can… you get my shoes?” he slurs, feet wiggling.

I think I really love him.

I love him so much that I'm unlacing his Converse, sat up at the end of the bed and settling them aside. My hand steals a brush against his calf, mind not completely working as I tug it a little.

He gasps somewhat under his breath. “Y'can take off my clothes, if you want…”

I more than fucking want to.

I'm respectful, of course, but fucking hell, I want this man to rip me to shreds.

I don't let on, though. Respectfully, my eyes advert as I take my time to help him undress, ignoring the frankly obnoxious amount that I’m blushing.

“Thanks,” Snow mumbles as he yanks up the sweats I'd handed to him. “M a bit trashed.”

“A bit?”

He giggles. He sounds like sunshine feels. “Maybe a bit more than a bit.”  An arm lazily throws across the bed and pats. “Lay down. Sleep.”

Somewhere in him, he must be a fucking genie, because I'm following his commands.

One of my hands moves down and drags the blankets on top of us, the hand resting in the middle of our empty space.

It's so odd to hear him breathe. To witness him live so openly and so close.

I want all of it.

I want this forever.

My body, though, doesn't. I don't remember falling asleep, but waking up feels like a bitch.

The room's loud. Why is the room so loud?

Oh, fuck, that's my alarm.

I slide it off, tiredly rubbing my eyes and dragging myself upright. Beside me, Snow's groaning and covering his face with an elbow. “‘S too bright,” he complains, turning away from the light.

It's sort of endearing to watch him like this. Although, honestly, it'd be more endearing if my head wasn't thumping.

After rifling through my bag for far too long, I grab out some pain relievers and swallow them with a cupped handful of tap water. Not ideal, granted, but helpful.

After painfully getting through my morning routine, I stand at the end of the bed in a full day's outfit with crossed arms and a pointed glare. With a clearing of my throat, Snow jolts awake and lowers his arm to look at me. “The fuck you want?”

“I'd much like to actually get breakfast, and if you'd wish to join me for some seminars, I'd recommend getting up now.”

“Y'had me at breakfast.” Scrubbing his face, his legs swing over the side of the bed and kick a little. “Do I have to dress like a tit?”

“And wearing a hoodie with jeans every day of your life doesn't make you a tit?”

He just huffs in response.

It isn't hard to get him to breakfast, but it's a bit difficult to get him out of it. Eventually, though, he relents (while stuffing three napkin-wrapped muffins into his hoodie).

The seminars aren't exactly enthralling; everything discussed is relatively baseline. I have a tendency to educate myself without an outside source, but there is one major benefit to attending them. Snow's hand has not left my hair in the past hour and a half. Well, that’s when he’s not eating the food he’s snuck in. I want to call him a pig, but at the same time, he offers me half the muffin and I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.

I'm relatively sure that I've been purring when he rubs the back of my head. I don't know this for sure, but fucking hell, it feels like I most likely have been.

Even when we do move, he settles his hand on my lower back, sending my nerve ablaze. It's a tad self-indulgent, but I feel myself drift closer to him as we walk, subtly placing my hand onto his shoulder and rubbing back and forth slowly. Every movement makes my heart race a bit more than I think I’ll ever admit.

They provide lunch, and Snow ends up eating half of mine as we discuss what we just listened to.

“So people don’t just know not to be dicks to each other?” he says through a mouthful of sandwich, not bothering to swallow before he goes off.

“Some people don’t know, no.”

“Well that’s bullshit and I don’t like it.”

My cheeks tease a smile, warming to a mild blush. “Well, I feel like I’m obligated to agree on the premise.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, taking a few more bites before managing to chew thoughtfully and swallow before speaking again. “Was your mum as outspoken about this stuff?”

It throws me a bit off guard, making me nearly drop the apple in my hand. “How do you know about my mother?”

“I… well... um…”

“Spit it out, Snow.”

“I went to your speech last year.” The words tumble out of him, nearly jumbling in the process. “The one where you talked about inclusivity on campus and all that shit--not shit! Just, you know, stuff. And well, you’d mentioned your mum was the first non-white president of the uni and I was just wondering if she was as vocal as you are. That’s all.”

While he’s talking, my heart starts swelling. For starters, he actually went to my speech (which just saying he did doesn’t fully make sense as to why he went), but he was also listening to it. It just sounds unbelievable.

My weight shifts. “Yes, she was,” I begin, dropping in volume and sounding softer than the typical voice I use with him. “She was always honest and so, so bold. She’d give speeches fairly regularly, too. It’s a shame I never really got to see her in action, thought.”

As I speak, I nervously fiddle with the empty sugar packet from my coffee and wait for him to do something, anything to make this easier.

That something, apparently, is his hand reaching out to grab mine (which doesn’t really make it easier on me, since it makes my heart explode into a swarm to fluttering butterflies).

“I’m sorry you never got that chance,” he says ever-so-softly, sweeping my hand over and resting ours together, palm-to-palm. I’m afraid he can read my pulse. “If it makes you feel any better, I never met my mum. Or my da, for that matter.”

“Oh.” Orphaned. That... sort of makes sense.

He just nods to that, shrugging his neverendingly complicated I’m-Doing-This-Instead-Of-Talking shrug. It makes me want to sneer.

I don’t, though. I hold myself back, pulling my lips back into my mouth and biting to keep them shut.

I don’t suffer in silence too long, as everyone else around us starts wrapping up and heading off to the next seminar. We both catch a gaze at Bunce as she converses with a table of students, seeming enthralled with her discussion. It’s easy to tell that Snow’s a bit disappointed, but I squeeze his hand in subtle reassurance that he’s not a backup (I don’t mention that she saw us holding hands while coming in, therefore avoided us).

The rest of the day is just as much as a bore as the start, and we don’t bother with a big dinner like the night before, either. Instead, we both silently retire back to the room and I phone for some takeout while we put on the telly. Flipping through channels provide a true bore of a time, though, so ultimately we just end up talking again.

And talking. And talking.

And break for dinner, and talking, and talking.

A few days ago, I wouldn’t image we’d have so much to talk about, but now he’s laughing at a story I’ve got about a teacher we both happened to have, just for separate classes. He’s got such a brilliant laugh; it’s one of those kinds that tosses his head back and fills the room with a deep, mirthful wave. It amazes me how much he’s relaxed, sprawled back in a tee and his jeans, which are now without his belt. Makes my heart race just watching him be happy and makes my head spin even more with just knowing that it’s in my presence alone. I wish I could bottle it and it keep it in my pocket for harder days.

Before we know it, it’s half past one and we can barely keep our eyes open. But, nonetheless, we sleepily mumbling back and forths with heavily blinking eyes and soft smiles. Thank god he changed himself into pajamas tonight, and I did so while he was taking a brief shower a few hours ago. Now we’re simply laying here, albeit incredibly closer than we were the last night. I can nearly touch him; if only I extended a hand out, I could brush it against his ankle, since he’s got his legs pulled in.

We speak between yawns, not really having much in particular to talk about in depth without

In the pale moonlight shining through the drawn curtains, I can see the outline of Simon’s head slowly lifting from his pillow, propping up at his elbow. “You know,” he says, “I don’t know if I’m straight or not.” He’s stretching back out now, feet brushing mine as they extend downwards on the bed.

I smile mostly because I know he can’t really see me in the shadow of his own head. “Why do you say that, Snow?”

“Well, I’ve never snogged a bloke.”

“You think that’s the qualifying factor to make you queer?”

“Not make me queer, but I wonder if snogging a bloke would make me realize something in one way or another.”

I shouldn’t be answering. “Well, why don’t you try?” It comes out as a whisper, eyes searching his nearly unreadable shadowed face.

His shoulders shift, the fabric of his tee straining at his side. “I dunno,” he says hushedly back, sounding closer than before. Even through the weight of my tired eyes, I can tell he’s getting closer now. “Why don’t I?”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, I freeze. My limbs go all tingly and numb as my mind races to various ends. Is he trying to say he wants to snog me? It’s probably some sick joke to make me flustered and maybe a little turned on (which thankfully he probably doesn’t know, since I’m on my side/stomach and my legs are laying a bit oddly to press my hips to the bed). Or, maybe, he’s just losing his mind.

As he draws closer, I can barely feel myself breathe. It’s his breath that’s clear as day. “Can I kiss you, Baz?” he utters, eyes lowering to my lips. I want to catch his with mine.

I want something that's been offered, and I’ll take it even if it’s a joke.

So, despite all reservations, I nod anyway.

He takes a full moment’s pause, head looming closer before brushing his lips against mine.

Heart pounding out of my chest and mind reeling, I kiss him back completely on impulse (or, rather, poor impulse). Every part of my body feels like it’s simultaneously in an ice bath and set on fire, but he’s snogging me back and doing this nice thing with his chin that I really want him to do again and fucking hell, is it hot in here? Or freezing? Perhaps both?

He draws back after a minute or so, face barely moving inches away from mine as his body shifts closer. The sheets between us gather, pinching like my gut as his knee raises up and brushed against my outer thigh. There’s seconds of silence within the movements between us, his hand slowly raising up and brushing some hair off my check before settling there. I reach out unsurely, hand resting on his chest as his head lies closer and lifts to look up at me. His heart’s racing out of control, a horse loose off it’s track.

This time, he doesn’t ask. His nose brushes against mine, causing my breath to hitch in a way it’s never gone before, and he takes that as the proper sign to kiss me again.

Thank fuck he does.

We kiss for what feels like hours, his hand eventually running back to my hair and holding the spot he’d had it in earlier today. Mine travels down a bit, pushing away his shirt and resting against his side.

We kiss our lips chapped and tire ourselves out, and even then some. Even as I struggle to stay awake and he’s let back to yawn a few times, we still keep chasing back for exhaustedly excited presses of lips and teases of tongue.

Eventually, though, he’s smiling so tiredly against me that his head falls back and eyes stay shut as he breathes out an “‘M passing out.”

I can’t manage a word right now. I don’t quite know anything about words anymore, except for the very real fact that they’re slipping my tongue.

So, instead, I nod my head and study his face. Just enough of it’s lit, showing the grin on his cheeks as he falls asleep without saying another word.

He keeps pressed to me, though. His hand’s still in my hair, and the leg that was previously thrown over mine is now where it was when we ended; between my thighs.

That’s how we wake up, too.

Except, this time, when my alarm goes off, he’s the one to answer it.

I watch as he swipes it off, looking down at me with a flushed, guilty face as I squint up to him.

It doesn’t last, though, because he seems to answer it with a shove of his lips against mine.

We snog for maybe ten minutes before he pulls himself back with a panicked face. At first, I think he’s about to go absolutely bonkers on me and say some ridiculous shit to break my heart, but instead says the most Simon Snow thing I think anyone could ever say. “Shit, when’s breakfast ending?”

I gawk at him, squinting before saying “10” with a gravely, sleep-filled voice. I don’t even bother to clear it away. “My alarm sets for eight, there’s time.”

He looks absolutely disgusted at that notion. “I can’t eat breakfast in an hour; that’s practically stuffing and running.”

Honest to god, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone get up as fast as he is now.

To cover my probably clear disappointment (and, well, semi I’ve got going), I scoff and roll my eyes as him as he shuffles his body into jeans. “You’re like a bloody Hobbit, Snow. Can’t stop eating.”

He grins at me, grabbing a pair of my trousers from my suitcase and throwing them at my head. “Come on, slowpoke.”

And just like that, it’s not spoken of.

Not through breakfast. Not through the time in between the morning seminars. Not through lunch, either.

He does the same things as the day before; his hand plays with my hair and we hold onto each other while shifting places, but it feels so different today. Every time he touches me, my mind goes completely blank as my heart beats out of control. As if it weren’t bad enough when he did it before, it’s even worse now that we’ve done that .

Whatever that was, anyway.

Fucking hell, what was that? We snogged until we get too tired to even keep awake, and then some.

If I had half a mind, I’d say we woke up in an alternate timeline where we actually are boyfriends, since he’s doing everything he would be doing if he truly was mine. Except, right now, I have no clue as to why this is all happening. He isn’t treating the situation as odd either, which is what throws me off entirely. He’s still chatting about anything and everything else; he’s laughing with my jokes and he’s frowning when I say something sharp, but there’s a new twinkle in his eye whenever I make a biting commentary. It’s the sort of look you give a cat when they’re being an arsehole.

When we finish the afternoon seminars and get dismissed to prepare for the banquet, I find myself jolting at the sudden wrap of his arm around my middle. He starts to draw back at first, but I quickly press my hand to his and keep it against my hip, not daring to look him in the eyes as I press the going up button for the elevator firmly.

The ride’s unnervingly silent, especially with the fiddling of Snow’s hand against my belt loops. He makes my heart pound without much, driving me absolutely mad at each of his subtle movements.

Back in the room, he lets the door slowly swing shut as I go to grab our suits from where they’re hanging in the dresser. The moment it’s clicked shut, though, I find the everliving chaotic energy of his presence right behind me and closing in.

Gently, a kiss falls to my shoulder blade. I shiver unintentionally.

“How long have we got?”

For once, I’m the one choked for words. “W-well, we should be down there by six, and it’s nearly three right now. I was planning on showering before it starts, and probably doing my hair properly, and--”

He’s turning me around as I ramble, hands settling on my hips before shutting me up with a kiss.

He’s good at that. Not just the kissing thing, but the making me stop thinking thing, too.

I give in completely, legs basically turning to jelly as I duck down. I feel him lower back to his feet (as he was originally on his tiptoes to plant the kiss to me), hands keeping tightly to my hips.

I let him untuck my shirt and press to the skin, rounding his hands around my back and tugging me closer towards him.

At this rate, I’d say fuck the dinner. Fuck anything else about everything. I don’t care that we haven’t talked about this, I don’t care about the veryreal possibility that Snow’s using me to experiment his sexuality on in full disregard to my feelings, I don’t care that this could all be a ploy to make me seem weak. I want this to never stop.

It has to, though. I know it has to.

I firmly plant my hands to his shoulders, keeping him still as I pull away. “I really do need to shower.”

For a split second, I’m half convinced he’s going to ask to join (to which I wouldn’t say no, obviously), but I’m fairly sure he decides that’s a poor idea, too.

So, instead, he relents with a nod of his head and a searing peck of his lips to my cheek. It makes me blush like mad.

I spend my entire shower rushing to get out, scrubbing my hair and losing myself in the thought of what’s to happen after this ends. I’m fairly certain that this isn’t going to leave this hotel, but it’s nice to even fantasize the thought of him in my bed, stripped down to his boxers and laughing like he did last night.

Not fucking me, although that’d be a nice follow-up, but just laughing. Sharing a good moment, just him and I, and not letting ourselves fall back into our old habits.

It’s such a weird wet dream to have; to want him to be happy. Most people think about getting plowed in the back of their car or snogging somone senseless against a wall, but with Simon, I just want to see him smile. (Disclaimer, I’ve gone through the motions of wanting him to take me in every situation and position possible, but I was a different man. That was pre-snog Baz).

I go through a routine of blow drying and styling my hair, brushing my teeth again and making myself as aesthetically proper as I can be before stepping out of the room and immediately getting the wind knocked from my lungs.

Snow’s standing in the middle of the room, looking himself up and down in the body mirror dressed up in the suit I’d bought for him.

It’s not perfectly tailored; it’s slightly too tight in the middle, and his shoulders are a bit too unexpectedly broad, but it looks really fucking good on him.

I’ve got to bite my lip from gasping.

“Looks proper,” I let myself say, heart skipping a beat as his head snaps up towards me and grows to a quick grin. As I pass by to grab my own suit, I’m floored by a quick peck on my cheek and a cheeky smile.

He’s going to be the death of me.

I grab my clothes and change in the bathroom, dropping the towel and carefully pulling on layer after layer.

I tie my shoes outside of the room, trying to forget that of course, Snow’s ‘fancy shoes’ are decades old Docs that look like they could very easily be Fi’s.

“Ready?” I ask, making sure I’ve got my cell and room key in my pockets.

He nods, arm looping around mine wordlessly before he drags us out.

Dinner’s… dinner. The food’s pretty good, and Snow and I make easy conversation with the people at the table (as in, Snow starts it with something friendly, then shuts up for most of it as I say intellectual shit and he just rubs my thigh under the table for some unknown, mind boggling reason). We drink a good amount of wine, we laugh, and talk some more.

Then continue to talk around once it ends, mingling within the crowd.

Snow works like a bloody charm. He strikes up cheerful conversations with them, then we all talk for a bit before they hand me a business card with a happy shake of my hand or a clasp on my shoulder.

Soon enough, there’s plenty of people wanting to sponsor events and fundraisers, ranging from donating to involvement. On top of that, there’s countless people coming up to us and ending our conversations with “You make such a cute couple.”

Each time, Snow ends it with an “I know”, arm tugging me closer.

I’m a bit tipsy, so I just lean into him and grin my face off (it feels weird to smile so openly).

After an hour or so, it starts to die down. The attendees are ignored by the workers cleaning the tables, so I slip away from Snow for a second as he chats with an enthusiastic woman, telling him I’m off to the loo. In reality, I’m just sneaking a couple bottles of wine and holding them as subtly as possible in my suit jacket (which is, for note, not subtle at all).

Snow’s alone when I’m done, so I just grab his hand, stuff a bottle into it, and whisper “Run”.

We both break it to make our getaway, nodding to people as we start to quickly head off to our room. Nobody notices us, or more realistically, cares to stop two sort-of drunk early 20s blokes running off with somewhat okay bottles of wine.

In the elevator, we exchange wide eyed grins before bursting into laughter that quickly draws tears from our eyes and makes our stomachs ache from strain. We’re laughing the whole way back to the room, too, and leaning on each other for support as I search for the door key.

It buzzes us through, letting us stumble inside and set the stolen bottles on the coffee table.

After resting mine after his, I feel his hand sweep under my suit jacket and yank me close that way. We’re still laughing, my face planting into his hair and savoring my sweet moment’s luxury.

“Pop them open,” I whisper into him, pressed up close. “I wanna make a toast.”

He giggles and nods compliantly, letting go of me and pouting at the corked tops before rooting around in his backpack for a minute.

As he’s doing whatever it is that he is, I’m untying my shoes and half-throwing them across the room towards my bag, untying my tie and letting it hang around my neck as my jacket finds itself on the floor, too.

I hear a pop as my eyes shut, and soon enough Snow’s looming over me with two opened bottles of white wine.

I take one, scooting to the side and turing my knees onto the bed as I grin at him. He tries to raise his brows in a mock and mimic of me, but it instead looks like he’s shocked (I want to kiss the look off his face).

“A toast,” I begin, giggling before fully raising it to him. “To successfully finessing a room full of rich arses to give the gays some money.”

He smile widely to that, cheeks creasing as he raises his bottle and gently knocks it into mine. “To taking money.”

We both down about half the bottle before I end up in his lap, having him play with my hair as I recite as much of Hamlet as I can remember (given I was in a production when I was 16). He’s silent, this big grin stretched across his face as I glaze over chunks of scenes with “And fuck Claudius” or “and Hamlet, who was fucking hot in the movie”. I break between scenes and take a gulp of my wine, as compares to Snow who sips his throughout.

Easy to say, by the end of the play, we’re both completely plastered.

Our mostly empty bottles end up on our nightstands as I dive my face into his stomach and nuzzle shamelessly. Any ounce of dignity that I’d once held is absolutely gone now, filled instead with unequivocal adoration.

He clearly doesn’t mind, though, because I can feel the chuckle as I grin into him, and the tug of his hand in my hair sends me to sit upright as the room spins around me. I laugh, because I can’t stop myself.

Even as I’m wrinkling my nose to snort, Snow’s leaning closer and quickly steal a kiss from my lips.

Everything stops. My heart’s soaring, and I’m opening my eyes. “We’re drunk,” I remind, mostly slurring as I lurch forward.

I know that doesn’t fully apply.

“Do you want me to stop?” he breath’s hot on my face, smelling entirely of alcohol and the chocolate cake he’d had for dessert.

I should say no, I should say no.

“Just don’t go below the belt,” I whisper, because I’m the weakest man on Earth, and I’m the one leading the kiss this time.

It’s a little strange, since every time we’ve kissed so far, it’s been with his initiative.

Frankly, I was worried that he’d think I was taking advantage of him as a gay guy. But, now with all the alcohol in my bloodstream and how soft he looks bathed in the glowing yellow lamp-light of the room, I push away all inhibitions for the sake of one last night of having him hold me like that.

I lead fully this time, feeling his hand take hold of the ends of my tie, yanking me closer as I kiss him with everything I’ve got in me.

With every bit I give him, he gives me double that.

His hands find themselves at my shirt buttons, slowly pushing each one out of the hole as I’m finding out what kind of sounds I can elicit from biting his lip.

Eventually, we find ourselves laying back on the bed, the light now off and shirts both pushed off of our shoulders. I’m still in my suit trousers, and he’s just in his boxers and dress socks, still snogging the life from me. I think we’re sobering up, but frankly, I’m too scared to figure that out. The truth would make it too real.

For the first time, I dare to take my lips away from his mouth and leaving him whining beside me before I test the waters of neck kisses, scattering them around.

A tug of my hair tells me it’s more than okay.

It’s so tempting to go further. With each pull of my hair and groan rumbling from his chest, I’m struggling to stop myself from peeking under that waistband.

I don’t, though.

I force myself back up, back to his lips, and stay there. Stay in this moment that makes me believe that it’ll last.

“Baz,” he mumbles into my mouth. It feels so distant that, at first, it feels like I’m imagining it.

Then he says it again.

“Baz.” It’s more firm this time, sending me back and staring at him with wide, nervous eyes. He laughs, though, and reaches out to rub his hand against my cheek. “I just gotta take a piss, fucking hell.”

I melt into it, closing my eyes and nodding slightly as I exhale.

He presses a last kiss to my face, this time, to my forehead, before stretching and heading off to pee.

And that’s the last thing I remember before waking up, wearing the trousers I was last night and basically the same position he’d left me in bed in, but now he’s back and laying right across from me. We’re not fully pressed together, like last night, but his hands are holding mine, and his face is close enough to lean my neck out and kiss.

I’d say, by the way the light’s shining, it’s about half an hour before my morning alarm is set to go off.

I’m not quite sure where this leaves us. By sometime later this afternoon, we don’t really have to interact again for a while. We can, realistically, avoid each other as we usually do. Therefore, I’m drinking him in as much as I can in this moment. The way his hair falls against the pillow, the way his lip hangs open, the way his chest rises and falls. I take in as much as I can, knowing that I could very well not get it again.

With the eventual clamor of my morning alarm, Snow’s eyes scrunch as he groans. I leave our space together, hitting it off before joining him again and meeting his eyes. I don’t care about my headache now, I just want to hold him one last time.

As I latch myself to him, though, he cuddles up to me properly and kisses my hair, whispering something I would’ve never thought in a million years that I’d actually hear. “Good morning, darling.”

I shoot back, frowning for once. I can’t live like this. We can’t leave like this.

“What are we doing?” I insist, setting my jaw and studying his seemingly innocent face.

“I… what do you…”

“You’ve been snogging me for days, and you wake up and call me darling as if it’s one of my obscure fucking fantasies, and it’s not fair. I can’t live on uncertainties, and I’m scared to fucking death that you’re just going to pull some sick joke when we get back to campus and say ‘Great afternoon, goodbye’, and you’ll be gone.” Snow reaches out to me, but I flinch instead. He pulls away. “Tell me what game you’re playing at.”

“There’s no game!” he snaps at first, then realizes the bite to his voice before lowering it and mumbling. “There’s… there’s no game, Baz. I like you.”

That wasn’t really an outcome I’d fully prepared for. “You what?”

“I… I fancy you, Baz. I have for some time now. Fuck all, I’ve been talking to you all weekend, and I hate talking. I thought you were smart. I thought you’d noticed beyond all the snogging.”

He’s got me stunned.

“Hadn’t thought about that.”

“Of course you haven’t,” he mumbles, pouting at me.

This time, I do kiss his expression away.

He leans into it, hand finding mine again and tracing my palm slowly. I love it when he does that.

As he lets back to catch a breath, I eye him up curiously. “What does this mean for us?” I whisper. “Are we something now?”

“We can be. I want us to be.”

“Will… you say what that ‘us’ would be? Say it properly, for me.”

“Why?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Even without looking at him, there’s a smile in his voice. “Baz Pitch, will you be my boyfriend?”

#coc 2018 #carry on #fanfiction #fanfic #ficlet #mine #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #simon #baz #okay im so sorry i just really needed to get this posted #it's so unedited adsflksjdaf #it's probably trash im so aware of this i just needed it out thre #but hhhhh please take it #the point is it's all cliches of fanfics #thrown into one #so yeah #hhhh

[jessethejoyful]

the real super secret chapter

okay here’s the art school au blurb with the link and the whole thing

this isn’t an epilogue so much as it’s a continuing blurb, which I hope to do more of, within the bounds of that fic. I hope to do some featuring penny and agatha as well :)

read it here on ao3

words: 2,040

SIMON

I genuinely don’t know how I let Baz talk me into this. Maybe it’s just because I’m weak. Weak when it comes to him, absolutely. And I’ve never been good at saying no to anyone.

When he asked me, I was actually flattered. He’s always shy with me, especially about this, and I thought it’d be a nice way to maybe make us more comfortable around each other.

“It won’t take that long,” he’d said, looking sheepish as he sat across from me at our table in Penny’s bakery. We were waiting for her to get off, so we could go see a gallery a town over for an artist that she loves. “It might be a little awkward, but I think you’d enjoy it in the long run. Maybe. I understand if you don’t want to though -”

“Baz,” I’d said, cutting him off and reaching across the table to grab his hand. “I’d love to. Just tell me when, and I’ll be there.” He’d smiled, and everything was grand.

So that’s how I find myself, a few days later, completely nude, hunched over in a chair in Baz’s sitting room. I can feel my legs starting to shake, and the crick in my neck is already so sharp I’m worried I’ll never be able to straighten it again. There’s a very bright lamp shining up at me from the floor, which I can’t imagine looks very good but Baz had seemed satisfied when he’d placed it.

He’s a few feet away, perched stiffly on his stool and his hand brushing in quick, constrained strokes across a canvas. It had taken him nearly an hour just to sketch everything in, and we’re already pushing into two.

Every time I try to say something, he shushes me. I want to snap that I can talk without moving the rest of me, but I’m not trying to pick a fight. I’m just antsy. He’s got music playing over his speakers, soft indie music that I don’t know very well, and I’m brimming with pointless chatter. I want to focus a little less on my aching limbs, or the fact that I’m posing naked for my posh painter boyfriend, who’s only been my boyfriend for two months.

It’s been great, don’t get me wrong. He’s pretty fucking singular, and if I’m being honest, I’m a little obsessed with him. I think he knows it. But he eats it right up, smug git that he is. And I think he’s a little obsessed with me too, so it kind of balances out.

His aunt randomly showed up to visit at the end of December, just out of the blue, no warning. He’d decided to stay here with me for Christmas, instead of returning to his family’s manor (that’s what he called it - Pitch manor. I think he’s richer than I realized, considering his career choice), and his family was apparently none too happy about it. So Fiona just appeared, banging on his door on Boxing Day and demanding he visit with her.

As it turned out, he hadn’t actually told his family why he was staying, just told them he wouldn’t be home. Fiona lamented this to me after we were introduced (me as “Simon, my friend from school,”), really laying it on thick (“So ungrateful! We’re his family! What would my poor late sister say?!” - fun way to discover his mother’s dead), but Baz just rolled his eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, Fiona,” he said, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch from me and crossing his legs. I tried to make it look like we hadn’t just been curled up there together, kicking the blankets off and folding my legs beneath me. “Can you blame me for not wanting to deal with Malcolm and Daphne? They’re exhausting at the best of times, and I just didn’t feel like it. Alright?”

Fiona’s eyes moved slowly to me, and I immediately felt a thrill of fear go up my spine, which was ridiculous, but she’s kind of scary, with this mad white streak of hair tucked into her ponytail and a nose bridge piercing. “Oh, no,” she said, smirking and sitting back in her seat, “I can’t blame you at all. Not one bit.”

Baz didn’t seem bothered, unshakeable as he is, but I was quaking. I also didn’t know if his family knew he was gay. Fiona seemed cool, but Baz is cagey at the best of times, and we’d only been together officially for about a week at that point.

“So, Mr. Snow,” Fiona began.

“Just call him Simon,” Baz snapped at the same time that I said, “Yes ma’am!?” He glared at me like it was my fault his aunt looked like she could murder me with her pinky finger.

“Simon,” she simpered, waving a hand in the air and still smirking, and I thought sneers might be hereditary. “What’s your concentration in, Simon?”

I honestly couldn’t tell if she was mocking me or not, but when I glanced at Baz, he gestured at her tiredly and nodded. “Well - my degree’s in digital animation, specifically 2-D. I do a lot of cartoons otherwise, comics and stuff, but I’m planning to work in animation after uni.” She actually seemed pretty interested and asked me some more about my work, and told me she’d love to see something of mine sometime. I agreed happily, and I could tell Baz was kind of impressed we were getting along so well.

She’d brought a Christmas gift with her (a new mug, this one printed with the words ‘Don’t touch me, peasant’ on the side, which I thought was actually fitting), and told me she would’ve brought me something if she’d realized Baz’s new friend was so chill. Baz actually had a gift for her too, a couple of old vinyls wrapped really nicely, and she seemed pretty excited (It took me a while to decide whether or not Baz actually likes his aunt - I finally determined that he does, but it seems like his family doesn’t really know how to express any emotion other than disgust or cruel amusement).

When Fiona finally left, with a few parting jokes and another heavily sarcastic friend comment, Baz slumped down on his couch and groaned very loudly. I dropped down beside him, grinning, and kissed the side of his jaw because I hadn’t touched him once during the hour or so Fiona had been there.

“I take it you didn’t tell your family about me,” I said drily, and he looked at me sideways.

“My family knows I’m queer,” he said slowly, squeezing my hand tightly like he needed an anchor, “but my father isn’t exactly the most accepting. Fiona is, and so is Daphne, for the most part, but I find it easier to just… not bring it up.”

I rested my head against his shoulder, and he leaned his head against mine, and we sat like that for a bit. “I think Fiona figured us out,” I said after a while, and he snorted.

“She’s a Pitch, unfortunately, so she’s sharper than I’d like. All of my mother’s family is.” I nearly started in on him about his mother, curious about what had happened to her, but I decided that was a discussion for another time.

Now, leaning over in my chair, I let out a small whimper as a sudden twinge of pain goes up my arm. The sound startles Baz, who jerks his hand away from the canvas and blinks at me.

“Are you alright, Simon?” he asks, leaning forward on his stool. His eyes flick to the clock, then widen. “Jesus fuck, we’ve been here nearly two hours - you need a break, come on.”

“I can move?”

“Christ, yes, I’m not trying to kill you.” I slowly push myself upright and try not to groan as I let my sore muscles stretch. Baz watches me for a moment, then seems to remember I’m naked and looks away, blushing to the tips of his ears.

He’d been like this earlier, telling me to strip down but staring at his phone until I was seated. He told me to sit leaning over my legs with my elbows resting on my knees, looking down, and it basically concealed everything. We both stopped blushing after the first half hour, at least. I’d thought it would be more embarrassing, but I remembered the live models I’d drawn in my drawing classes - it had just been tiring, not even remotely sexual, and this was much of the same.

“Can I see it so far?” I ask after I put my pants back on, as well as a dressing gown of his, because his apartment is frigid.

“Absolutely not,” he replies, but I walk over anyways, sliding around behind him before he can stop me. I don’t know a lot about oil paints, I only had to take Painting I, but I’ve been slowly relearning everything while I’ve been around Baz more. He hasn’t done much so far, only blocked in a lot of the colors for the backdrop and the base for me, but it still looks amazing. His blending is so smooth, so precise, while still retaining that touch of a deeper feeling. He blows me away.

I loop my arms around his neck, pressing my lips to his cheek and grinning. Baz is grumpy I’m looking at the unfinished painting, but his hands come up and hold my wrists, his thumb passing across the surface of my skin. “It looks amazing so far.”

“You’re supposed to say that,” he grumbles, but I can tell he’s pleased.

“Yes, I am, but it’s also very true,” I say, straightening and stretching again.

He swivels to look at me, tilting his head. “You’re not too sore, are you? We could always stop for the day. It takes so long to dry, we can do more tomorrow.”

I shake my head, dropping my hands to his lap and leaning over him. “I just need a few minutes. I don’t know if I can do a whole lot more, but another hour or two shouldn’t be bad. Maybe another break somewhere in between.”

Baz nods solemnly, and I capture his lips for a quick kiss. I’m getting to know him more and more, and I know that while he likes the kissing, a lot of the time he’s too anxious to in go for one himself. We’re working on that.

“How about some tea?” I ask as I step into his kitchen, fiddling with the kettle without waiting for a response, which is just a soft grunt of approval from the next room. While the water heats, I go back to Baz and crouch in front of him, where he’s still staring at his canvas, a little lost. He usually looks like this when he paints, but it makes him so soft, and I love it.

I gently take his right hand in both of mine and he looks down at me with that little head tilt I associate with him. “Is your hand hurting?” He cramps up a lot, and usually works through it, but I like to help when I can. I press my fingers into his hand, starting at his wrist and working out toward his palm with my thumbs, then slowly up his forearm. His eyes close, a wince now and then, but I know it helps.

“Thank you,” he whispers when we hear the kettle whistling, and I stoop to give him another kiss before hurrying back to the kitchen.

We drink our tea quietly at the table, after I drag him off that damn stool, and I still get a thrill just looking at him. As far as first boyfriends go, I think I sort of hit the jackpot, even if he is a bit of a bristly neurotic a lot of the time.

A few more minutes, and we return to our places. I strip in the most dramatic way possible, basically a strip-tease, and I can see him snickering, even though he’s trying to hide behind his canvas. We settle back into an easier silence, his music filling the space between us.

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #rainbow rowell #carry on fanfiction #agatha wellbelove #penelope bunce #simon carry on #baz carry on #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #fanfiction #writing #my writing #art school au #here we go y'all

[chip-off-the-writers-block]

Simon Snow Vs. the Heteronormals Agenda (Chapter 5)

Simon has never owned a mobile, because the Mage has never been for it, but after Penny begging him to get one for the millionth time, he finally caves. Along with the joy of finally getting to talk to Penny whenever he wants (even on holiday!), Simon gets to chat with Agatha on occasion, and discovers the Watford Tumblr tag. Life is perfect, until Agatha breaks up with him, someone from Watford comes out anonymously on tumblr, and Simon’s world is turned upside down.

Baz never expected to get contacted about his coming out. He figured he would be insulted, that people filled with hate would hold nothing back when they didn’t associate his name and face with his confession. But the letter in his inbox isn’t full or hate in scorn. Instead, it holds a damning declaration: “Dear Mr. Pitch, I’m just like you.”

-----

The Simon vs. the Homosapien’s Agenda story adapted to another famous and queer Simon in fiction.

Read it on Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/16056452/chapters/38057726

Read it on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/641650919-simon-snow-vs-the-heteronormals-agenda-5

Simon

I don’t get to check my email until the next morning, and I’m surprised to already have a response. I am a little embarrassed that I called this guy Mr. Pitch, but I blame it on the fact I was still thinking of Baz at the time. I think Ebony suits him and his flowery writing better, anyway. I do wonder if he actually talks like that, though. I mean, I think I would have noticed it if someone at Watford talked like this.

I am not entirely sure why I wanted to email Ebony to begin with. When I woke up the next morning, I realized that I hadn’t really reached a conclusion, I had only thought about Baz until I literally fell asleep. But as I showered and got ready for the morning, I noticed something. Baz is very objectively handsome. He has high cheekbones and pretty grey eyes, and if he didn’t always look like he was plotting someone’s murder, he’d be very beautiful. I ponder this fact for the rest of the day, and at dinner I ask Penny what she thinks of Baz.

It’s only when she talks in detail about my following him around in fifth year that I realize.

It’s then when I decide then to contact the boy from the Tumblr post.

I’m not really sure what I should tell Ebony now. I want to tell him about Baz, but I’m not sure if that would give me away. It’s not a secret that Baz and I don’t get along, and while almost everyone argues with their roommate, we basically have set all of the precedents of what you can get past the anathema. I don’t want this to possibly get back to Baz, so I should be careful. Not to mention, I’ve only realized a very short while ago, so I should be a bit cautious.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Hi There

Dear Ebony,

Well, long story short, there’s a guy I know. I’ve known him since I’ve started school here, and we’re always at each other’s throats. I kind of realized some of my fighting with him came from not really knowing myself or what I was feeling more than it was that he was being infuriating. Don’t get me wrong. He is very infuriating. An absolute prat, really. But I also just really care about him, more than I would like to admit sometimes.

He’s also very pretty, which doesn’t really help the matter.

What about you? What’s your story?

Cinder

I put my phone away as I walk towards the dining hall. It feels weird, telling a nearly complete stranger that you might have a crush on your roommate, even though he doesn’t know the guy I have a crush on is my roommate, and even though I’m not even sure it’s a crush.

It also feels like I’m moving so fast. I mean, I realized I maybe liked boys a day ago, and now I’m talking to some guy who came out anonymously on Tumblr. It’s cliche, isn’t it?

Granted, Ebony is a very nice guy. There’s something about the way that he talks to me that makes me feel special, like he’s telling me a joke meant just for us. I feel a little warm, like there’s magic in my veins ready to be used, even though I haven’t spoken all morning, let alone cast a spell.

It’s easy to forget about the emails, and Ebony, throughout the day, because I have Penny. I feel bad not telling her immediately about my realization last night, because I trust her more than anything, but I just want to figure it out for myself before I tell her. And if I tell her right now, she’ll start doing all kinds of research to help me define who I am. And as much as I love Penny, this is something I need to do without her holding my hand through it. She does so much else that I’m less worried about her disappearing from my life as soon as we graduate, the promise that we’ll get a flat actually feels real for once. So I want to get to do this thing on my own. Make her proud of me like I constantly am of her.

Baz

Talking to Cinder is embarrassingly easy. It’s as if I’ve been ready to just burst out and talk about my feelings for ages, and now that a boy is giving me attention, I bat my eyelashes and spill my secrets. He’s unlike anyone else I’ve ever come out to, so full of genuine curiosity and a capacity for understanding no one else has ever given me. The closest I’ve ever gotten is from my stepmom, and she thought that a good course of action would be to get me a fireman calendar. In her defence, it might have been a good gift, if I didn’t have so many younger siblings. I’m sure she believes they were a gift to our family, too.

I was surprised that Cinder was willing to tell me about his crush, even though he was careful to be vague about it. I didn’t think anyone my age would trust me without my family’s legacy behind me. I am even more surprised that he asked about my past so bluntly. I’m not sure how I should respond to him. I don’t know how good he is at riddles, but there’s a bit of paranoia and cynicism in me that says I shouldn’t tell him anything that will give my identity away.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Let’s talk about me

Dear Cinder,

I don’t normally talk about my crushes, as it’s not only unbecoming to be outwardly taken by emotion, but also because anyone who’s met me will tell you I have the emotional capacity of a toaster. Since you asked so nicely, however, I’ll make an exception for you.

It was my fifth year. I knew a boy who was so infuriatingly beautiful he shined like the sun. Due to extenuating circumstances, we spent a lot of time together.He was just so full of happiness and light, I couldn’t help but fall.

I’m quite sure he hates me, as I’ve been the cause of a few mishaps in his life (there is one in particular that he is still upset about, even though I didn’t do it on purpose), but I suppose it’s karma. The two of us can be in the “in love with our enemy” club, like Harry Potter is.

Sincerely,

Ebony

I rewrite the email over and over, trying to get the words just right. It surprises me that I get an answer barely 7 minutes later, and I fear it’s a sign of rejection. I was too pessimistic, and now Cinder wants nothing more to do with me.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Let’s talk about me

i thought harry marries ginny? but they’re not enemies

cinder

I almost laugh out loud at his response. Merlin, this boy doesn’t know anything. The face of someone Cinder reminds me of flashes in my mind, but I try not to think about him. Simon Snow being my anonymous internet friend would be a twist of fate too kind to be afforded to me.

Besides, I don’t have time to pine over my roommate/mortal enemy. I have to teach a hapless boy about fanfiction.

Who would be so annoying if I didn’t find him so adorable.

I need to be more cautious. I know I’m playing with fire here, and if I’m not careful, I’ll forget I’m flammable.

#love simon #simon vs #svthsa #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #my writing #chapter 5 #simon vs the homosapians agenda

[random-meee]

Flower boy Baz 🌸

A/N:So I know this is late (again) and I’m sorry but I’m actually traveling and these last updates have been hard to do because I am going back soon which means last minute relatives to visit and bags to pack. The next will also probably be late but hopefully that should be the last one. The photo is of Ezra Miller but I am 100% sure he is the real life Baz. High school AU in the normal world but with magic. Enjoy!

I do not own any of the characters they are property of Rainbow Rowell the wonderful creator of Carry on

Baz My mother used to love flowers. Before she died the house was filled with house plants while our garden held various kinds from daffodils to Peruvian lilies, we even had a some what big pond to hold the water flowers. She had enchanted them so they seemed to glow and emphasized their sweet smells “Mommy, how come you don’t enchant them to never die?” I had asked one morning while helping her in the gardens she turned to me and with a sweet smile replied “Because dear Basilton, it is part of their beauty” I hadn’t understood them what that meant then but now I see.

After she died father had been to depressed to care for the garden so the flowers died and when I tried to get more father had said they were a waste of space and just attracted bugs, to be honest I think he didn’t like how much they reminded him of her. So I kept the flowers to myself in my room, I had them hanging from the walls and on shelfs. My personal favorite were the pink roses and the purple striped carnations, I put on my white daisy flower crown and grabbing my bag made my way to the bus. I got in and walked straight to the back, you would think someone like me would get bullied I mean a bloke with shoulder length hair, wearing a flower crown and he’s queer? I’m practically begging to be bullied but my family name kept me safe. I was a Pitch and no matter how much the others hated it they knew the Pitches were a powerful family. I put on my earphones the tunes of Halsey and P!ATD playing as the bus did its rounds.

Simon I got ready for school and checked my self out of the orphanage walking to school thinking of a particular flower boy. I don’t know why the others found him unusual sure he was rude sometimes and his nose was to high up but he was also gorgeous. With his silky black hair, glorious mercury eyes and the adorable flowers how was I not suppose to fall for him, unfortunately though I’m sure he would never think the same of me after all I’m just an orphan who doesn’t know how to do shit. I walked into school and made my way to homeroom taking my seat beside Baz. Oh yeah did I forget to mention that he so happens to be in the same year group as me and in almost all my classes? Well he is.

Baz Snow came in making a ruckus as usual he dropped his book bag with a thud and took his seat. I hate him, I hate how his stunning blue eyes shine, I hate how is soft bronze curls bounce when he walks, I hate his adorable moles and freckles and I most definitely, and most absolutely hate how much I love him. As if he could ever feel the same I’m not even sure if he’s into guys, I groan inwardly as the thought of having to spend another day just wishing for the impossible.

🌺🍁🌺🌺🍁🌺🍁🌺🌺🍁🌺🍁🌺🌺

It was last period and just as I was taking my books out Snow came up to me and dropped a piece of paper on my desk before walking off. I opened the piece of paper to find out it was a note with a simple time and place.

Behind the school building after school.

Simon I honestly do not know how Penny convinced me to write that note. She said something about giving it a try? And not really having anything to loose? Either way I really didn’t know but I did it and now I feel like I want to dig a whole jump in and hide for all eternity. As if he would ever show up, but what if he did? What would I say? What if just laughed in my face? That was probably the most likely to happen.

I couldn’t concentrate all through class my brain making the worst possible scenarios. As I made my way to the back door of the school I tried to plan what I was going to say but coming up with nothing I gave up and started pacing back and forth.

Baz Of course I knew it could be a trap but seeing as I had nothing to do and nothing to loose I packed my things and made my way to the back of the school, maybe he somehow found out about my crush and wanted a chance to laugh at me. I walked out to find him pacing curls bouncing on his head and tan skin glowing from the light of the setting sun, I swear to you he looked like a legitimate angel for a second or so.

“What do want snow?” I didn’t feel up to make small talk so I hoped he’d just get straight to it.

“W-well, I was um w-wondering…I mean I wanted to s-say that…you know like…I um sort of maybehaveacrushonyouandwaswonderingifyoudgoonadatewithme?” I blinked st him not understanding a word of what he had said, he must have noticed my confused look because he took a deep breath closing his eyes before repeating his sentence “Baz Pitch I have a crush on you and I wanted to know if you would like to go on a date with me?”

Simon When I heard no laughter and didn’t feel a punch in the face I slowly opened my eyes to see him looking at me with and exasperated look in his face as if he couldn’t believe what I had just said “A-are you telling me th-this whole time while was suffering thinking you would never like me back you have actually had a crush on me?” He asked, I smiled sheepishly and nodded my head slightly he sighed and suddenly he was in front of me and before I know it his lips are on mine and I finally gather enough wits to kiss back and hold his hips, he pulls away from my lips but continues to kiss everywhere around my face and neck. “I’ll take that as a yes then?” He pulls a way just enough to look me in the eyes before he smiles and whispers “yes, a thousand times yes” I smile back and we continue to kiss my hands going from his hips to his silky hair.

A/N: Lol sorry I didn’t know how to end it

#carry on #snowbaz #my own #rainbowrowell #flower boy #foral!baz #au #also on wattpad #my wattpad: escapehs

[adamarks]

Penny’s relationship  troubles and how that relates to Simon and Baz

aka my Baz and Penny mirror post

I said I’d do this and god what a fucking emotional ride we’re about to go on. Strap in, my dudes.

In Carry On, it’s well-established that Penelope is Baz’s mirror character. She’s mostly static in the book (because it’s almost completely focused on Baz and Simon) and she’s used mainly as a literary device. Her mirroring Baz in particular is established very plainly. Both of them being top of the class; both of them geeking out over spells; both of them geeking out over marriage spells; their mothers both being headmasters; both of them getting out chalkboards and making the exact same types of lists. It’s very much in-your-face screaming in Carry On. 

It’s not so obvious in Wayward Son. 

The main reason for this is that Penny was upgraded from static to rounded in this book. She has an entire arc of doubting herself, which will most likely be completed in the next book. However, just because it’s not banging pots and pans in your face doesn’t mean the mirroring isn’t there. 

Let’s dig in.

Rainbow did something I really, really loved with this book: she made sure we know that happy endings aren’t what we’re told. The story doesn’t end because the Prince and Princess kissed-- how did they hang on? How did they make it to the hundredth kiss? Did they even make it to the hundredth kiss?

This book tells us that sometimes they don’t make it to the hundredth kiss.

This lesson is what’s got a lot of people’s panties in a knot. Here’s the thing though: it’s not a bleak lesson; it’s a warning. It’s a reminder that we have to keep trying; we have to want that hundredth kiss.

Simon and Baz want that hundredth kiss. They just don’t know how to get there. 

Wow guys I’m gonna have to struggle to not cry while writing this. Wish me luck.

Yes, the boys are morons that can’t communicate. How does Penny fit in?

She didn’t get to that hundredth kiss.

Micah and Penny are what happen when you just expect happily ever after to take care of getting you to the next kiss. 

Micah declares what the lesson Penny (assumedly with Shepherd Tornado Chaser Supreme) is going to learn about relationships is in Chapter twelve:

“A relationship isn’t about the end. It’s about being together every step of the way.”

This may be Penny’s lesson, but this is also a sort of (in my opinion) apology from Rainbow. Because, what was Baz and Simon getting together if not just a nice little tie up as part of a happy ending. What are queer consumers of media usually fed? Our representation usually dies, breaks up, or ends up together all happy go lucky right at the end. We don’t get to see characters we relate to struggle. We don’t get to see them still be miserably in love but unsure how to make it work when shit gets rough. 

Wayward Son is what happens when you don’t know how to keep going, but god do you want to. 

“I told you that I thought we’d grown apart--” 

“And I said that was natural!”

(also taken from Chapter 12 of Wayward)

Simon and Baz growing apart when Simon is so severely depressed and unable to communicate is natural. It’s natural, but it doesn’t mean that he’s going about it the right way. Simon is fucked up. He’s fucked up in a lot of ways, but (and this is coming from someone that’s struggled with the same kinds of thoughts Simon’s suffering from) that’s no excuse for him to hurt Baz in the process. 

Simon even realizes that this is a terrible way to go about this. It’s why he’s thinking about breaking up with Baz. 

i almost cried typing that just now rainbow why simon why i’m dying i-

BREAKING UP WITH BAZ IS NOT THE ANSWER, SIMON!!

Simon needs to learn how to communicate. How to talk about what he’s feeling and what he needs.

Here’s the thing though: Baz does too.

This is where Penny’s mirroring comes into play. Micah and Penny apparently didn’t talk for two whole months and she didn’t notice. They didn’t talk. They didn’t communicate. This is what killed their relationship.

This is what’s killing Simon and Baz’s.

In Chapter Fifteen we see Simon mulling over Penny and Micah breaking up:

“Penelope and Micah were going to get married. 

And now... Merlin, what now?”

I’ll come back to the concept of “endgames” throughout this series, but for now, apply that to Baz and Simon.

Baz and Simon were supposed to live happily ever after, but ever afters don’t work like that. So, now what?

Everything sucks. We are all in Pain. The dumbasses won’t talk. What do we DO, JAY? 

god, what do we do. suffer i guess idk. 

Okay but for real, we don’t have to worry. Rainbow knows what their issue is. And! She’ll make sure it’s resolved! How do I know? 

Well, I’ll tell ya.

Shepard.

We were introduced to a brand new, absolutely batshit, completely delightful character in Wayward. He’s spunky, he’s fun, but what does he do best?

Fucking. Talk.

He doesn’t shut the fuck up!! He’s completely honest and he just talks. Bitch will tell you his entire life story without batting an eye! This is what Penny needs. 

This is where Simon and Baz are going to end up. 

Perhaps not exactly, that doesn’t suit their personalities. This is what they’ll end up being, though: completely honest with each other. 

These fuckers are constantly thinking about each other throughout the book. 

“Oh he’s so beautiful.” “Oh he’s so charming.” “Oh he’s so funny and smart.” “Oh he’s so heroic and brave.” “Oh, i’d give him my whole being.” “Oh I wish he’d let me in” “Oh I love him so much.” “I love him.” 

They’d both feel so, so, so much better if they just said shit out loud. Good god. 

But neither of them are a) in a place where they can say it and b) in a place where they’ll believe it. 

This brings us to our next biggie:

Baz still doesn’t like himself.

Simon’s obviously having troubles with self loathing. That’s not even a question in anyone’s mind. Simon’s depression and lack of self worth is one of (if not the) main vocal points of the book. 

The issue with Simon’s sadness getting the spotlight is that we overlook Baz’s a bit. It’s thrown in so that we don’t notice immediately, because we’re not supposed to. Baz’s self-hatred isn’t as loud as Simon’s and he’s been dealing with it a lot longer. It’s a self-loathing he’s learned to live with-- he’s used to it by now. 

Sometimes the demons we learn to live with are the most vicious of all. 

I think it’s very clever that the most overt time we see Baz disliking himself is in his Things I Hate List in Chapter Fourteen.

“11. The wind in my hair.

 12. Convertible automobiles.

 13. Myself, most of all.

 14. My soft heart. 

 15. My foolish optimism.

 16. The words “road” and “trip,” when said together with any enthusiasm.”

It’s slipped in there awful sneaky! You’re giggling and going “oh thank god maybe I won’t be sad through the whole book” then BANG! there it is. But, right after we have “my soft heart” and you’re going “oh my poor baby he’s so sweet I love him” before you really had time to process number 13 as anything aside from an “lol i’m hot and icky and i hate myself” joke. 

Baz is used to hating himself. It’s everyday whatever. Simon’s is only louder because he’s not used to being allowed time to think about the bad stuff. Everyday before the end of Carry On for Simon was just struggling to get to the next day-- whether that was at Watford or a home. Simon’s happy when he doesn’t have to think; Baz can’t just not think. 

Penny’s just learned what doubting herself entails; Baz has been doubting himself for the last decade. 

No matter how much they coo at each other, it won’t fix the underlying issue: Baz and Simon don’t like themselves. 

This is the main internal conflict of the series for all of the characters: loving yourself for what you are. 

This brings us to Agatha. 

If you haven’t read my meta on simon being a dragon hell yes then you might want to. I discuss Agatha being a mirror for Simon fairly thoroughly in it. 

Remember how I told you to put a pin in the concept of  “endgames” earlier? Well, here we are. Agatha was supposed to be the “endgame.” 

Endgames! Are! Bullshit! 

Human beings are not our consolation prizes for getting through shit. Becoming stronger as people and loving ourselves more is our prize. Realizing how much you can withstand, how hard you can fight, how amazing you are for surviving is your prize for getting through it. 

None of these guys realize this yet. Agatha and Simon just think there’s nothing good that’s going to come out of their lives and Baz and Penelope just think that maybe their “prizes” weren’t what they thought they were. 

Maybe the rewards for our efforts were really just inside us the whole time. uwu.

Penny is just starting to think of plans again by the end of the book, but this time they’re looser, wilder, even more hairbrained than before and she really only has one plan at best! She’s learning that she can be strong and capable even when she doesn’t have all the facts and doesn’t have all the details thought through. Penny’s learning to loosen up. 

Baz is in a better place by the end of Wayward too. He’s learned so much about vampires and even himself. Like sure I fuckin’ hate Lamb but he helped Baz to realize that... maybe he isn’t a monster. Maybe magical creatures aren’t lesser. Maybe he’s not any less human just because he can drink their blood. 

They’re the only two that really, really develop in this book. Simon and Agatha change but mostly stay the same mentality-wise. Agatha still thinks she’s doomed to be a damsel in distress and Simon still thinks he’s just The Boy That Was. Baz and Penny are the most dynamic characters in Wayward Son.

I’m putting my money on next book being Agatha and Simon’s big development book. And at this point I’m convinced it’s going to be more than a trilogy. 

Now! Let’s talk about Agatha and Penny. 

@stressedidiot pointed out to me that Penny and Agatha holding hands and burning shit down in the last scene was supposed to call back to Baz and Simon. They’re absolutely right. I think the most important thing that was calling back to was Simon giving Baz his magic in Carry On. 

This parallel confused me at first: why would Rainbow need to remind us of that scene? I know I personally have the Ladybird and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star scenes permanently ingrained in my head forever. Obviously we didn’t forget that Simon could pour his magic. 

Here’s the thing. 

Baz and Simon don’t stay together during any of the fight scenes in this book. They always get separated or one of them gets hurt or they’re scrambling trying to find or catch the other one. 

They’ve forgotten that they work best when they’re together.

That was one of the main takeaways from Carry On. Simon and Baz work best when they’re together. 

“A relationship isn’t about the end. It’s about being together every step of the way.” 

Every! Step! Of! The! Way!

This is where my dragon Simon theory really comes into play. If Simon does end up with some sort of dragonesque powers, somehow Baz and him are going to share it. 

When Baz figures out how to drink from humans without killing them, Simon’s going to be right there, ready to open up a vein.

This is the true beauty of their relationship. Simon wants to be the one to lead the dance of kisses and intimacy and communication, and Baz wants to be there to give him anything he wants. Baz has received Simon’s magic; he’s gonna drink Simon’s blood; and he’s somehow going to receive something from Simon regarding this dragon business.

“I’d give him all that I am. 

I’d give him all that I was.

I’d open up a vein.”

They give and take and equal measures. They love each other wholly. I’m gesturing to my computer screen out of stress right now. They literally love each other that much!

Agatha and Penny sharing a magic conduit at the end of Wayward Son is a reminder of what happened between Simon and Baz and also foreshadowing of where they’ll be again.

Imagine how powerful they’ll be once they remember how to work together. 

They were practically unstoppable before when they worked together-- they turned back a dragon. 

But now their love for each other is stronger than ever. It’ll only grow once they finally talk. Once they communicate.

Two people, so strong separately coming together with only love and understanding for each other. 

With their hearts beating together, they could do more than turn back a dragon.

They could change the world.

check my meta about simon’s wings being The Gay

And also my one about the scarf

Thank you for reading this word vomit. Just wanted to tag a few people that might be interested in seeing this shitstorm of a meta:

@goodie-giving-gecko-gets-gatos @singerofsimplesongs @wisest-girl @watfordwallflower @slaying-fictional-dragons @carrybits

#simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #basilton pitch #penelope bunce #carry on #wayward son #wayward son spoilers #meta #agatha wellbelove #shepherd wayward son #i can't remember shepherd's last name #did they tell us? #rainbow rowell #snowbaz #dragon simon #Simon and Baz #baz and simon