ā
ā āļ½” Carry On Countdown 23 Masterpost
ā¦ Any links for the various series spawned from this insane month should be in the order of preferred reading, or you can just go to Ao3 once they're all up and in order. I will reblog & make sure all links are up to date as they go up on Ao3!
ā¦ All tumblr links are raw and (mostly) unedited. Ao3 links will be completed, betaād and are potentially subject to reformatting, changes to prose (including pov and tense), and added scenes/chapters written at some point after the countdown.
ā¦ NSFW entries will be noted with š - please do not interact with it if you're not mature enough to do so. As always, please mind the tags on Ao3, whether NSFW or not.
ā¦ A very special thanks to @carryon-countdown mods. Your tags on every reblog really kept me motivated through the month to not miss a day! 30/30 my first try. š„¹
That said, the whole list is under the cut, at your convenience. Enjoy!
Day 1:Ā Creature
Our Messy, Mismatched Ways - [Ao3]
Day 2:Ā Confession
"Like Yearning" - [Ao3]
Days 3 & 19-22:Ā AU/Alternate Universe, Sci-Fi, Flowers, Begin Again, & Music
One Life is Never Long Enough - [Ao3][tumblr || 3 ā¦ 19 ā¦ 20 ā¦ 21 ā¦ 22]
Days 4 & 11:Ā Stars & Side Ships/Alternative Ships
What If We Rewrite the Stars? [Ao3][tumblr || 11 ā¦ 4]
Days 5 & 10:Ā Fight, Wrath
Bring Him Comfort - [Ao3][tumblr || 5 ā¦ 10]
Days 6, 7, & 13:Ā WLW, Midnight, Wings & Shudder š
des vÅux posĆ©s sur mes lĆØvres - [Ao3][tumblr || 6 ā¦ 7 ā¦ 13 ā¦ 12]
Days 8, 14, 17 & 29:Ā Sick, Blade, Fluff, Angst & Cherry
(maybe) we could sleep in - [Ao3][tumblr || 14 ā¦ 8 ā¦ 17 ā¦ 26 ā¦ 29]
(I apologize sincerely for the emotional whiplash)
Days 9, 15, 18 & 24:Ā Pride, Familiar, Hunger, Cross & Crack
Ashes, Cloves, and the Things You Called - [Ao3][tumblr || 9 ā¦ 15 ā¦ 18 ā¦ 24 ā¦ 30]
Days 16 & 27:Ā Smoke & Gift š
Like Poison, Like Smoke - [Ao3][tumblr || 16 ā¦ 27]
Days 23 & 28:Ā Bite & Gently š
Losing Myself in Simon Snow - [Ao3][tumblr || 23 ā¦ 28]
Day 25:Ā Carnival/Faire
He Loves My Butter Lips - [Ao3][tumblr || 25]
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ā āļ½”Ė [Blood]
For Day 30 of Carry on Countdown 23, Crack. @carryon-countdown
In which Simon is an actual half-dragon and he's found himself in a bit of a situation with a certain human mage. His mage is... worrying.
This is rated T, mostly just for the language.
Prior Parts: 9, 15, 18, & 24
āļ½”Ė
Bazās head hit the ground with a sickening crack.
It had happened so fast that Simon couldnāt react in time, couldnāt move his little body quickly enough to catch Bazās head. Heād tried to shift back to his human shape but in the moment, he lost the capacity for it, apparently, too distracted by the wholeā¦ falling human in his vicinity suddenly bleeding from his face to focus on that orb of energy heād been grasping just moments before.
Simon couldnāt stop himself from circling Bazās head in his smaller shape, headbutting him lightly in an effort to bring the mage aroundā¦ and then he headbutted again, not so lightly. He did manage to stop himself from biting Baz back awake. He sort of figured that even if Baz should be awake he probably wouldnāt appreciate that method, and if he wasnāt going to appreciate fangs, he probably wasnāt going to appreciate fire either.
Simon leaned back on his haunches, huffing out his annoyance. He checked Basilās breath (again) and, well, at least he was breathing, and there didnāt appear to be a growing pool of blood under Bazās head, but he couldnāt exactly check like they were. Fuck, he hated needing hands and not having them when he needed them most.
He made a sort of shrill shout in the back of his throat, swatting Baz in the face with his tail, but that didnāt do it either, and then apparently the stress had caught up with him enough that he was human again.
āShit.ā
Well, at least he had hands again.
āļ½”Ė
It took Simon almost two whole hours to carry Bazās unconscious body back to his tiny house in the middle of nowhere. It mightāve been faster if he couldāve been a bigger dragon, but no, he was tiny, human, or somewhere between the two, and between the two didnāt particularly add much inhuman strength or weirdness to him that might help carrying someone a good few inches taller than he was home.
If heād had a cell phone, heādāve called emergency, but he didnāt. Simon was flat fucking broke. Basil mightāve had one, but if he did, it wasnāt on his person when heād passed out (stupid, Simon thinks, heās a sodding numpty and heās going to bring it up as soon as Baz wakes his concussed arse back up). Or, if not emergency, whoever Bazās go to contact was for situations like this.
Did Baz have a go to contact for this kind of thing? If he doesnāt, heās that much more a numpty. At least Simon was even able to get Baz back in his house, safe on his couch, and check out his head properly. Did Simon know anything about how to deal with head injuries? No. Did he have much choice about how to go about it. He still canāt find a phone to contact anyone, landline or cell either, and the nearest neighbors arenāt exactly near.
Fortunately for Basil, he was still bloody breathing and his nose stopped bleeding and the knot on the back of his head seemedā¦ well, mostly mild. Simon kept checking his eyes. He wasnāt really sure why he kept doing it or what he was looking for when he did, but heād seen nurses do it in medical dramas and so he was doing it too.
All he could really do was hope. Well, hope and wait.
āļ½”Ė
At some point, apparently Simon had fallen asleep while waiting for Baz to wake up. Heād curled himself up at the end of the couch heād laid Baz out on and his head was resting on the armrest and then just passed out like that.
So Simon woke up to Baz poking him in the cheek.
āBwuh,ā Simon announced, mostly still fully asleep.
āEloquent,ā Baz answered, as if he had any room to judge.
Simon shot him a scowl that rivaled the size of Australia, and also any Baz had ever delivered. Impressive, should the man say so himself. āYou literally almost died, you have no room to judge me waking up.ā
āI did not,ā Baz protested, āAnd if I had, Iād say nearly dying gives me extra leeway in the judgment department.ā
āOkay, well, you started spewing blood and hit your head on the way out,ā Simon said with a small flick to Bazās nose, āIād say that full well counts towards near death experiences.ā
āOr,ā Baz hummed, āIt was just another day in the life of an experimental, exponentially gifted mage.ā
āExcuse you?!ā Simon nearly shouted, loud enough that Baz sat himself up properly and winced, āJust a day in the life? This is your normal?ā
āQuiet,ā Baz muttered, his hands going to his temples immediately, āThat bump did a number on my head.ā
āDeserved.ā Simon crossed his arms and scowled harder at the mage heād unwittingly contracted with.
āOkay, well, bloody rude. But no, I admit, today wasnāt my normal experience. I thought I was banishing a specific demon causing a problem for another mage I know, but when I drew from you, this one showed up instead. It was moreā¦ well, just more than I was expecting, so yes, I did end up overworking myself. The smaller wouldāve been fine though.ā
āHowā¦ā Simon looked entirely unconvinced, āJust bloody how do you know that?ā
āBecause Iāve done it before, for this person, but they seem to have a bit of a thing with accidentally bringing it back. Anyway, itās neither here nor there. We can do it again, now that I know what working with you feels like,ā Basil answered, already thinking about the possibilities.
āDid youā¦ just bloody say weād do it a-bloody-gain?ā
āWell, of course,ā Baz said it as if it were obvious, āWe canāt just let demons go about unchecked.ā
āI mean we bloody well could,ā Simon scoffed, āMost people arenāt even aware of demons. I bloody wasnāt.ā
āSimon Snow, you are literally a dragon.ā
āHalf of one,ā he corrected, āAnd that doesnāt matter, dragons donāt just cavort with demons. I think.ā
āJust bloody how do you know that?ā Baz echoed his phrasing, making Simon scowl harder.
āWell, because I donāt.ā
Basil outright laughed at him. āYou know youāre not all dragons, right?ā
āOf course I know that!ā Simon snarled, just a little, his nose curling, āAnyway weāre off course, weāre not doing that again. You nearly died.ā
āWeāre doing it again,ā Baz reaffirmed, āI have to. I canāt reneg on an agreement I already made. And I didnāt nearly die.ā
āYou passed out for hours. You were bleeding, youāre probably still concussed. Howāā Simon nearly shouted it again, making Baz wince slightly, and Simon immediately lowered his voice to a hush at the realization, āāis that not nearly dying, you prick?ā
āOh, well, you were fine, werenāt you?ā Baz asked, again, as if it were obvious.
Simon gestured down his unscathed body, waving Baz off in the same gesture. āWell, yes, clearly.ā
āAre you sure you read the contract?ā It was asked like half a tease, that annoying little smirk back yet again.
āOf bloody course I read the contract,ā Simon huffed out, his hands falling to the side and picking instinctively at the stray bits of the couch, āI said that already.ā
āWell,ā Baz said with that all too superior air about him, āThen you should know that if I had nearly died youād have been aware immediately. And besides, you being fine kept me alive. Itās likeā¦ a blood bond, you could say. You being fine keeps me fine. Now, you wonāt die if I do or vice versa, thatād beā¦ a bit much, I think, though some people do make those kinds of contracts, but you would just know if I was about to die or in the process of dying to dead.ā
āDoes that somehow exclude brain damage, because youāre sounding incredibly brain damaged right now.ā
āI donāt think I sound particularly outside of my normā¦ā Bazās hand ran over his chin, gaze wandering off and away to some unknown corner of the room, or more likely some memory Simon wouldnāt be able to follow him to.
Simonās hands twisted up in the couch, the poor furniture taking the brunt of his inability to stay still and also his inability not to be utterly incessed by Baz. āOh, so youāre always insane then?ā
Baz shrugged, hands coming away from his temples at last, āI suppose I might be. They say Iām rather like my mother. They say she was revolutionary. The revolutionary are often misken for mentally unsound.ā
āYou are infuriating,ā Simon declared simply, standing with a huff. He wasnāt exactly sure where he was going or why heād stood, but he was standing now, so that was what he was doing.
āYou can leave the contract if you like,ā Baz offered, āIt was an accident for you to end up here in the first place.ā
If Baz wasnāt so sincere about it, Simon might have been more offended. āWhy would you jump to that conclusion?ā
āIām notoriously hard to work with, and I seem to have worried you,ā Baz smirked, but it wasnāt a confident sort of smirk, rather a sort of self-depricative one, a sort of knowing the parts of you that others were uncomfortable with all too well. That feeling? That was one Simon could relate to all too well.
āIām not going to bloody leave because you worried me. That is the opposite of what you should do if youāre worried about someone,ā Simon turned to point accusatorily at Basil, āYouāre stuck with me now. Iām getting you water. Also Iām glad youāre not dead. You seemā¦ alright.ā
Baz huffed a small laugh, not quite his normal, but still a laugh. That much was relieving as Simon left to fetch that glass of water. When he came back, it seemed Baz was already thinking thoughts that Simon couldnāt comprehend. A notebook had appeared on the coffee table fromā¦ well, only Crowley knew where, and Baz was scribbling rapidly inside of it, formulae and languages well beyond Simonās grasp.
Simon plopped the glass of water down loudly just next to Bazās notebook. āDrink.ā
Baz did with no protest, nearly finishing it and returning to his insane scribbling. Simon shrugged and went to get his own glass of water. When he returned again, Basil had shifted yet again, leaning back into the couch.
āYou said you didnāt know your father?ā Baz asked with a sort of look about him that Simon could just tell meant trouble. Trouble capitalized, even.
āYesā¦ā Simon answered hesitantly.
āAnd he was a dragon, yes?ā
āYes,ā came the same reluctant answer.
Basil asked just one more question, āWhat would you say if I said that I think I could find him?ā
āOh,ā Simon answered simply. That wouldā¦ open a lot of opportunities, he supposed, maybe even answer some questions heād never been able to askā¦ or even conceptualize properly. He didnāt say that though. He just stared. He blinked. He hadnāt really considered it ever. He nodded. He then shook his head. His head wobbled a little as he thought about it. He quirked his lips and reinforced his initial answer. āOh,ā he said again. āāOhā is what I would say, apparently.ā
āApparently,ā Baz repeated.
āYes,ā Simon chewed over his own lip, āApparently.ā
āSo,ā Baz tried again, leaning forward onto his elbows, āShould we?ā
āI donāt know,ā Simon answered, all too honestly. āI really donāt know.ā
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ā āļ½”Ė [Simple Things]
For Day 29 of Carry on Countdown 23, Cherry @carryon-countdown
Basil and Simon share a picnic in the park
Rated T for language & vague reference to shit childhoods.
This is the final of the Nurse/Lawyer AU. Enjoy~ š¤ [Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4]
āļ½”Ė
āWhy cherry scones?ā Basil asks, his head on my lap, my spare hand running through his long, dark hair while the other reaches into our picnic basket and cracks off another bit of scone to feed him, and then myself.
I hum and press a kiss to the point of his widowās peak. āItās not that complicated, theyāre just good.ā
He reaches up to stroke a hand soft over the side of my neck and I lean into the touch instinctively. āNo nostalgia?ā
He doesnāt say it, but I suppose it shouldnāt surprise me that heās noticed a bit how Iāll get just a tad bit weepy when Iām making them. I suppose it shouldnāt surprise me that heās noticed how much it means to me that he always gets ingredients for more of them whenever he does the grocery shopping. āI suppose,ā I admit, tugging at a stray strand of his hair, āThereās a little nostalgia.ā
Bazās hands are so soft against my neck, so gentle and soothing, he looks so soft like this. We donāt do this sort of thing often. I work too much, he works too much. Days spent in local parks having picnics and lingering just arenāt exactly in the cards for us, but weāve been making more time for them. Heās taken me on a beach day recently too, but this one was my idea.
āTell me about it?ā Baz asks as I tug on that stray strand of hair again, soothing over it immediately after. āIf you want to.ā
I nod, still thinking about the sentiment of the park a little bit. Itās a park I used to frequent with Penny, back when sheād been living in the UK too. Baz knows that part, Iād told him that much when Iād planned our little date. When weād first gotten here, weād even snapped a couple of selfies that I could send over her way. Or well, really Iād done the snapping of selfies. Baz just sort of quirked his lips for them. He looked nice though. Baz always looked nice in our photos.
Baz also doesnāt send texts like āour old haunting grounds!! I miss you!!ā to anyone, really.
He texts a bit like an old man. No emoji, proper punctuation, very little by way of abbreviations or shorthand. I think he mostly uses voice-to-text, which makes sense. His hands are always busy. I kind of think itās cute.
āSimon?ā
Right, we were talking.
āYou know how Pen and I used to come here?ā I start, and he nods, not really needing the reminder from just this morning. āWe used to come here with stolen scones from the boarding school kitchens. I just used to shovel armfulls into my back and ditch and end up all over with them. It was sort of all I ate back then, but honestlyā¦ it was the first food I really liked in my childhood.ā
Baz knows about my childhood, about how I bounced from foster to foster, from group home to group home. My non-existent concept of family, my struggle with deep relationships and trustworthy adults. Somehow I kept running into the problematic sort in my childhood. But Baz knows all that already. I donāt need to get into it.
He pokes at my chin gently before leaning up slightly to get his own bit of scone, feeding me another bite back. āWho taught you to make them?ā
āAhhā¦ā I think I can feel myself flushing, āI sort ofā¦ shilled together the recipe a little bit at a time. I made a lot of mistakes. I may have destroyed at least three baking sheets in the process.ā
āSimon,ā Baz sounds utterly disbelieving. He looks it too. I have to laugh about it. He should know by know what a danger I can be to common household objects. āSimon Snow, you did not bullshit together a recipe when google exists.ā
āI did,ā I nod down at him, as disappointed as he is about it. āI did and I had access to google in the school library and I ignored it in favour of ruining Cook Pritchardās life.ā
āYouāre terrible,ā Baz snorts out. He also leans up to kiss me again, cupping my cheek soft. Heās so full of affection for me. He doesnāt have to say it when he kisses me like that. He says it anyway. āI love you, menace to society that you are.ā
I love how he can say something like that, call me something like that, and sound so impossibly fond. āI know you do,ā I answer, grinning back at him and leaning back on my elbows. He chases me down for another soft kiss and I lean back again, avoiding him, making him chase me more, making him chase me all the way down until Iām lying fully on the grass and heās leaning above me and holding my hands and kissing me silly.
Iām laughing through all of it, twisting our hands together and squeezing my fingers over his. I lean up and chase him down for more kisses before he can pull back, before he can get us water or more sour cherry scones or anything else. I love catching him in fits of kissing like this, dragging him back for more and more until we both forget anything else.
I could live off his smile, I think, when heās kissing me silly like this. He still makes me so bloody giddy and itās been well over a year and I spend all my free time with him. Everyone says thatāll change, that Iāll get tired of him around all the time. Coworkers, old classmates, old foster siblings and people I knew from therapy and group homes, basically everyone but Pen, but I think theyāre sodding insane. They probably think Iām insane for thinking itās not going to change, but I know myself. I know all I need is that silly bloody smile, that gorgeous bloody laugh, those sweet, bloody tender kissesā¦
āTell me more of your favourite foods,ā Baz asks between my laughter and his kisses.
Iām a little caught off guard. Iād forgotten we were talking still again, but I just grin up at him. āAnything you make me is my favourite food.ā
āThatās cheating, love,ā Baz snorts out another laugh, āYou have to give a real answer, or else Iām just going to cook for me forever.ā
āI like whatever you cook for you,ā I shrug under him, chasing down another soft, silly little kiss, a little giddy-drunk-stupid on his affections, āThatās plenty real enough, I think.ā
He hums back at me, nipping soft over my lips. āYouāll have to give a real answer sooner or later, Simon, or else weāll be serving basilla and fattah at our wedding.ā
āOkay but I actually do love your fattah.ā And I do. I love all his home cooking, but the casual wedding talk is new. Distracing. I canāt help but drift back to it. āYou want to marry me?ā
He laughs. Of course he bloody laughs. As if it were obvious.
āMore than anything.ā
He says it so bloody confidently, and I know one day heās going to ask, and one day Iām going to say yes. Iām not even going to have time to figure out my own plan. Heās already got it all figured out, but I donāt mind. I like that heās got our lives planned out like this, I like that I can trust him with me like this.
No, more than like it, I love it. āWeāre going to have to have cherries in the cake then. Thatās my only demand.ā
āAs if I wasnāt already planning on it.ā Bazās so bloody smug about it, smirking down at me.
I shove a scone in his mouth and shove him over just to wipe that look off his face. āYouāre such a bloody prick.ā
Unfortunately, heās still just as smug. āYou love this bloody prick.ā
āUnfortunately,ā I groan back. I canāt commit though. Iām already kissing him bloody stupid all over again. āUnfortunately, Iām going to marry this bloody prick.ā
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ā āļ½”Ė [Finding Myself In Baz Pitch]
For Day 28 of Carry on Countdown 23, Gently. @carryon-countdown
On Simon Snow and Baz Pitch and their respective sets of teeth finding their way into each other's bodies (cont). Part 1 here!
Rated E for... this being what it is (the smut).
āļ½”Ė
Baz looks so bloody unhinged as heās pulling off my wrist.
I bloody love it. He looks like heās already fucked us both stupid and spent and heās desperate for more. Heās got blood dripping down his chin and his lips are slick with spit and his pupils are blown so wide I think I should be scared, but Iām not. Iām so bloody not. All this, just from biting meā¦ I think Iām just about undone myself.
I pull him down by the neck and sink my teeth hard against his jaw. āNo.ā
My wings wrap around him instinctively and my tail finds his thigh and I draw him in as close as I can before Iām kissing him harder again, tasting my blood on his lips. I drag my tongue hot over that trickle of blood and force it back in his mouth and he moans around my tongue.
I donāt think Iāve ever heard him moan like that before.
āNo?ā He asks as we split apart from that all consuming kiss.
My lips are tingling with it, overheated and sore. I keep risking the touch of his fangs against my lips, against my tongue. Iām like some kind of fiend for them and itās only been a few minutes since Iāve first felt them sink into me properly. āNo,ā I say it again, firmer, squeezing my tail tight against the meat of his thigh, āI want you bloody in me when you bite me.ā
I know Iām being demanding, but it only makes Baz laugh out low and deep. He slips out of his shirt without a word and my hands immediately slide down his perfect bloody chest. Does he always have to look so bloody gorgeous? I bite his shoulder hard for it, and then again over his chest.
āAnd whatās that for, love?ā Heās still bloody laughing. Does it have to be so bloody attractive when heās laughing like that? I bite him again, harder over his arm. āAnd that?ā
āYou. Just bloody you.ā I bite him again just to drive the point home.
He grabs me my the jaw and shoves me back down against the mattress and kisses me hard. I try to bite his lips in protest, but he keeps me pressed hard to the couch to stop my teeth from bruising him more.
I scowl up at him. He smirks down at me. Does that have to be so bloody attractive too?
āSo,ā Basil hums, āYou want me inside?ā
āBloody fucking obviouslyāā Iām so bloody impatient for it. Heās in too many clothes, Iām in too many clothes. Iām bloody fucking soaked already, obviously I want him in me. āWhy am I still bloody dressed?ā
āThat,ā Baz answers as he tugs my tail, āIs a bloody good question.ā
He slips off the couch before I can stop him, out of reach before I can land another vengeful bite for that tug. And then I find myself slung over his shoulder and I canāt help the little āohā that escapes me when I land. Sometimes I forget just how insanely strong being a vampire makes him. His beautiful bare skin is so sodding smooth against my stomach and I want to bite him again for catching me off guard, for feeling so bloody perfect, but the angleās shite for it.
He marches us into the bedroom and my trousers fall aside along the way, moments before Bazā somehow bloody elegantlyā walks right out of his. He tosses me down onto the bed, so un-fucking-ceremoniously, and pulls me out of my shirt, and his hands find my chest without a momentās delay. His fingers tug and twist at me until Iām squirming under him, grinding against the knee heās so graciously providing for my aching cunt.
āYou want me right bloody now?ā His grin grows just a tick more, flashing fang down at me, and my fingers dig into his forearms, tuggin him down hard over me. He keeps himself out of the reach of my teeth. āYou want me bad enough to beg for it? Or should I make you?ā
I bite into my own lip as he asks, tearing that sore back open and scrunching my nose up at him. I hate that heās right. I love that heās right. Iām so bloody fucking conflicted. He sucks the blood from the sore all over again and I canāt stop myself from moaning for him. My fingers digging in hard where they hold him. I hate that heās right, but not enough to stop myself from nodding.
āYouāll beg, Simon Snow?ā He says it like a bloody contract. I hate that it gets me that much wetter.
āIāll begā¦ Iāll beg if you want me to.ā My lips brush hot over his as I say it and his tongue is already running over that split in my lip again, making me moan all over again, hips rutting harder against his knee.
āTell me what you want, loveā¦ā His voice is so bloody beautiful, so bloody darkā¦ Iām so fucking insane for him. Crowley help me, I am not immune to that voice. It sets me on fire, itās so beautiful.
It takes me long moments to work up to it. His lips start wandering over my neck. Heās teasing his fangs over the vein there, and I want to feel them sink in. Iām such a fucking slut about it too, rutting and whining and moaning. My hands keep wandering, and so do his, and his every touch is making me shudder and want that much more.
āI want youā¦ā I start and I can tell just by his look that Baz isnāt impressed with it. I grab his face so I can focus better, not distract myself with his muscles and perfect skin, not let him distract me with those teeth any further. āI want you in me, Baz, right now. The moment you bit me, really. I want to feel you so deep I canāt bloody breathe. I want you to bite me everywhere when you take me. I want you to feel you everywhere, Basil, I bloody fucking need youāā
āYou need me?ā Baz kisses over my palms as he repeats it and Iām already nodding up at him. āHow badly?ā
āFuckāā I moan as I feel his cock press against where Iāve soaked through my pants, the thin fabric hardly enough to stop me from losing my fucking mind all over again, āāplease, I need you so bloody bad, pleaseāā
He doesnāt even bother to take them off, just tears them down the center, like theyāre nothing, and it makes me moan all over again. Heās so bloody filthy. I might cum just from him slipping in.
And then heās in me.
And I absolutely do.
Heās kissing me through it and I canāt think properly. I can so rarely bloody think with him like this. He pulls my legs around his waist and my wings flit up to wrap around him and pull him in closer, hands wrapping around him and fingers digging in. Iām so bloody rough with him, I know Iām leaving him bruised, but heās kissing me so bloody tender and Iām losing my mind. I want him to move, I want to feel him lose his mind as much as Iām losing mine.
I canāt say it though.
Every time I try to speak heās kissing me again, stealing my words, and in the same moment heās slipped a hand between us and his hand is rubbing over my clit and Iām melting all over again, clenching around him like a vice, nearly cumming all over again for him.
āBaz,ā I finally manage, āBaz, please, bloody moveā¦ā Itās practically a sob. Iām pretty sure Iām dying with him refusing to move like this.
He kisses me soft just one more time and then he moves.
My vision turns white.
My hands canāt find a proper place to dig in. His back, his waist, his shoulders, his hairā¦ Theyāre everywhere, itās not enough. He stops my hands with his, pinning them above my head while his teeth start to wander all over again, and then theyāre all I can think about. āBite me, bloody fucking bite me, Basil, fuckāā
He has the nerve to laugh again, āNeedy bloody thingā¦ā he murmurs against my neck, but then his fangs sink in over that vein, impossibly gentle despite the sting of it, and his pace falters for half a moment.
He moans right along with me while heās drinking me and his hips slow down, hitting everywhere just right and my hips move back on instinct. I can feel him everywhere in me. Not just fucking me, but in my bloody veins, in my fucking lungs, in the beat of my pulse. I think my heartās in my bloody throat and it feels so fucking good.
Iām breathless when he pulls off again. He looks as debauched as I feel, licking his lips clean and eyes wild, his bangs haphazard in his eyes.
āYouāre so bloody beautiful,ā He says, making me whine again.
How can he bloody say that when he looks like that? āBasilton Grimm-Pitch, you will bite me again and moveāā
He cuts me off with another bite, lower, and again he moans out with me. My hands are clenching at nothing, twisting in his grip, and he gets the message without my needing to say anything. Not that I could anyway, but he gets it. He lets my hands go to find their home in his hair and he presses in deeper, closer, and I feel him impossibly more.
I feel so bloody perfect wrapped around him like this, like I bloody belong here. Itās near a religious experience. I might be losing my mind, or maybe Iām finding it. I donāt know. I canāt tell anymore.
All I know is I want more, and Baz is all too willing to give it. He bites into me again and again and again and our bodies are moving together in perfect rhythm and I think I mightāve found myself in him, Iām not sure what Iām thinking anymore, except everything is perfect.
His hips pick up when mine falter all over again, spilling unexpectedly after another bite, and then again after another. I think my tits are going to be sore for days with how much heās bitten them, and I wouldnāt have it any other way. He keeps going until Iām begging him to finish, āPlease, with me, please please, fuckās sake, Basil, pleaseāā
And he does, he gasps against my neck, arched obscene for him to drag his fangs over, tempting him to bite again, and he does, again, so bloody gently, even as he topples over for my begging, collapsing on top of me. He stopped himself from drinking so many bites ago, I know, but he still laps his tongue over every wound, treats them tenderly, carefully, each bite a mark of his love, his obsession with me.
Heās so bloody obsessed with me, and even as he says it, I still canāt understand it. Itās alright though. Iām just as obsessed with him.
āGood?ā He manages, and his voice is a low, breathless thing. It feels so bloody good to have taken him to that point.
Iām even further gone on him, only managing a nod in answer, tail brushing over his legs as we relax into each other.
āGood,ā he says again, petting through my hair gently, a contrast to the way Iāve been tugging desperately at his. Heās so bloody perfect. I love him so much. Iām a sweat-streaked, bitten bloody mess, and heās perfect. But heās mine. Heās all mine. And Iām all his. Iām all his.
Fuck, I love him. I manage to say it, I think. If I donāt, he understands it all the same. Heās kissing me stupid all over again. I think Iām going to make him bite me every time after this, if I have any say in it.
And I do. I know I do.
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ā āļ½”Ė [Cleansed]
For Day 27 of Carry on Countdown 23, Gift. @carryon-countdown
Filthy Anniversary Smut continued, or: aftercare smut. As Simon Snow and Basilton Grimm-Pitch deserve.
Rated more explicitly E than the first part of this. For Baz being overly gentle and forceful at the same time.
āļ½”Ė
Itās two in the afternoon and they havenāt left bed yet. Well, that isnāt entirely true. And it was less that they hadnāt left bed yet, but more like Baz was keeping Simon in their hotel bed. Simon might have tried to claim it was against his will, but that wouldāve been a load of shit. Simon had stumbled into the bathroom at some point after nine in the morning, but then heād stumbled right back into bed after. He didnāt want to leave bed as much as Baz didnāt want him to.
Baz, on the other hand, had left to get the breakfast theyād ordered in from the restaurant. French toast, slathered in berries and syrup and whipped cream, with fresh coffee and a side of bacon for each of them, absolute decadence in their morning after. Heās also left twice over the course of the morning to get Simon more water, a crime, according to Simon Snow himself. A crime in which he was the primary victim.
Simonās whining only makes Baz laugh harder while he forces Simon to hydrate.
Itās a slow morning, a tender morning, and Baz spends his spare moments kissing over the burns and scratches and bruises over Simonās skin. Every kiss presses into his skin like a gift, every sore spot treated with the balm of Basilās lips, over and over again until Simon is squirming from too much attention.
āBazāā He gasps as Baz presses another kiss into the dips of Simonās hips, itās been hours like this. Simonās tail slides around Bazās waist and drags him closer, āāthink māworked up enough, donāt you?ā
Baz hums his answer, nipping over soft skin while his hands rub soft over Simonās thighs, his kisses trailing over the soft curve of Simonās stomach, tongue darting over sensitive dips in skin and tasting still more of his love.
He keeps going even as Simon asks again.
And again.
And still again.
He keeps trailing kisses over every inch of skin until Simonās been near fully cleansed on Bazās kisses, the tender touch of lips and tongue soothing every sore, both phantom and all to present. Baz pushes Simon onto his stomach and repeats the process all over again. His hands join lips in those tender attentions over still more hypersensitive skin, over wings and tail and the precious nape of Simon Snowās neck. Itās that spot that practically unmakes Simon, collapsing in on himself.
āBasilāā Simon groans out against the mattress, his arms no longer supporting him properly, his knees nearly failing him seconds later, āYou canātā you canāt keep teasing meā¦ I canāt take it anymoreā¦ Iām gonna bloody burst, pleaseāā
Baz licks a long stripe up Simonās spine and then kisses his way back down again, pausing at the small of his back, āYouāre not still sore from last night?ā
āDoesnāt matter,ā Simon groans, legs spreading apart for Baz to slide between all the easier, āYou made me like this, now do something about it.ā
The demand makes Baz laugh soft over Simonās skin, but he moves for Simon all the same. He presses a thumb against that tight hole, red and abused still from the night before, but Simon swallows up that digit all the same. His palm presses soft against where Simon wanted him most, where he was aching for Bazās attention, leaking for it, but he keeps his touches slow and soft. Baz stretches Simon with languid, lazy circles of that thumb inside him, rocking his hand steady against that point until Simonās practically sobbing for more.
His voice is a stuttering mess for Baz, a litany of pretty pleases, need you, want you, miss you and more, all for Baz to soak up. Baz answers each and every soft, pleading cry with his own soft comforts. A kiss over the jut of Simonās hipbone, or a teasing nip just under his ribs, or a soft reassurance. āIām still here, love, Iāve got you, Iāll take care of you,ā Baz murmurs in a voice so dark, midnight would envy him.
His thumb slips free of that well used hole, freeing his hand more to rub over that ache, stroking slow over it, soaking Simon that much more in his own mess. Baz shifts his way back down, forcing Simonās tail to adjust, slipping around his arm inside while Bazās tongue finds that needy hole, dipping just inside, teasing still more, until Simonās lost nearly all capacity to speak.
His tongue dives in deeper, finding the remnants of their mix and swallowing it down greedily, and then right back in to find still more. Baz moves in slow circles. His tongue, his fingers and palm all work in tandem, at that torturous pace that has Simon near in tears. He knows Simonās begging for release, begging to be unmade at the will of Bazās attentions and only Bazās attentions. He knows Simonās burning for it now, but he doesnāt bother hurrying the process.
Baz waits.
Baz waits until his palmās a mess with Simonās want, his fingers slipping all too easily over skin, all too raw from his unrelenting touches. Baz waits until Simonās sobbing has gone quiet, his voice too raw from mindless begging to make words happen the way theyāre supposed to. Baz waits until Simon canāt stop himself anymore, until he knows he could justā¦ breathe cold air against Simonās aching hole, against that point, dripping with want, and make him fall apart.
And thatās exactly what he does.
Baz slides his hand just so, fingers flicking over that heated, soaked point just once before he pulls back enough to breathe cold air over him, and Simon spills sloppy onto the sheets beneath him.
Baz dives back in before Simonās anywhere near done. Simonās knees give out while Bazās tongue slides over every aching inch, catching that spend, swallowing down as much of the mess as he can, cleaning his love all over again as he works Simon through it, humming like itās the only breakfast heād really wanted this morning.
Simonās chest is heaving, his wings are twitching and his tail is flicking mindlessly. Baz sucks a soft mark into the curve of Simonās ass, his chin dripping with Simonās mess and his own saliva, and he knows he could keep going, but he has grace enough to give Simon room to breathe.
āDone?ā He asks quietly, but Simonās already shaking his head. āNo?ā Baz asks again, letting loose a low laugh.
āMmn-mmn,ā Simon purrs for him, āNot till you are,ā he manages, voice broken but perfectly content.
āYouāre sure?ā Baz already knows the answer though.
Simonās tail flicks his arm for the tease. āYou tooā¦ā
āYou canāt even move, loveā¦ā
āDonāt care,ā Simon huffs, āYou too.ā
āMore water first,ā Baz is already standing to get it and Simon groans out loud for it. Baz tugs at Simonās tail before he can find the words to his annoyance, āNo protests or Iāll make you wait longer.ā
Simon pouts, but swallows the urge to protest, and itās far from the last thing he swallows.
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ā āļ½”Ė [Things Missed]
For Day 26 of Carry on Countdown 23, Angst @carryon-countdown
Basil's finally ready to talk about the accident and Simon's there to listen, of course he is, he's not about to walk away.
Rated T for themes, language, & trauma talk.
This is part four of the Nurse/Lawyer AU. Just one more to go - I hope you enjoy. š¤ [Part 1][Part 2][Part 3]
āļ½”Ė BAZ
Some days, I really miss the hours spent feeling my fingers stretched over the neck of my violin, plucking swiftly over the strings. I miss the feeling of the bowstrings reverberating noise under my strokes, the effortful, emotive playing that pushed me to sweat with effort. I even miss sitting my chin over the chinrest and just holding position in anticipation of playing.
I can still play, beautifully even, but Iām not the soloist I once was. I might have been playing sonatas in music halls across all of Europe at one point. I was good enough, I was more than good enough. I canāt do that now.
I usually manage ten to fifteen minutes before my bow hand starts shaking and my neckās screaming for relief. Oh, there are workarounds, sure. Iāve tried the extended neck braces that eliminate the need for the chin rest. Iāve used the mobility bows that have the wrist straps, removing the need for my grip entirely. Itās just not the same though.
I had fifteen years of playing before the accident happened. It was a lifetime of habits I had needed to unlearn and repackage andā¦ itās not that I couldnāt have gotten to my old skill level with enough time, enough practice, butā¦ I started to hate playing. I donāt want to hate playing, but every time Iād fuck up a simple chord progression or hit a note wrong or fumble due to relearning, that feeling would surge up inside of me. My body still wanted to play the way it knew best, and I still wanted to let it, and every time that urge clashed with the need to relearn it would put me back a whole day, sometimes more.
It hit a point where even just thinking about practicing would make me nauseous and angry, so I just stopped. I donāt want to hate playing. I love my violin. I focused on my physical therapy instead. I went to therapy. I got to the point where I am now and I changed course.
I switched to law school.
I cried a week over the decision and I had to speedrun undergrad but overall Iām better for it. I donāt hate my grandfatherās violin every time I look at it. I donāt feel frustrated just existing in a room with it. I donāt get jealous of other violinists who play half as well as I do for having just the slightest mobility advantage over me.
I can hold my bow again, position my violin and play my heart out for a full ten minutes without dropping anything or shaking and botching my play. I might not be able to do some of the more complicated pieces I once did, but what I can play, I play perfectly, just the way I remember, just the way I like. For ten whole minutes, itās like Iām no different than I ever was, and I find that beauty I make in music and let my violin sing for me. Sheās my oldest friend. I canāt hate her.
When Simon first hears me play, itās a bit of an accident. I donāt really play for people anymore, since I canāt play long and sometimes I have to conclude a piece early when I start to feel my body react, so of course itās a bit of an accident. Itās just my sisters I play for when I play for people now. Otherwise, itās just me. I play alone and let myself have my memories of what once was and I put her down to reminisce another day. We share a peaceful relationship, an old friendship, but itās not something I feel most people particularly need to witness. I aim to play alone.
Itās not that Simon doesnāt know I still play, he does, Iāve told him. Besides, sheās seen the violin, sheās seen me rosin the bow and tune my instrument. She got me a custom rosin case for it for my birthday, the very first weād spent togetherā Simon is more than aware that I still play.
it just feels intimate in a way I havenāt quite been ready to share. Fifty-fifty odds Iāll cry at the end, or even halfway through. I like Simon seeing me strong, confident, and maybe a little cocky. Iāve been vulnerable, of course, I met him freshly stabbed and all, but this is a different thing.
So itās a bit of an accident. Simon's been stateside for a friendās weddingā sheād been her best mate in schoolā and Iām not expecting him home that day, let alone these ten minutes of the day Iāve chosen to play. I could've gone to the wedding with him, but I thought maybe meeting someone the week of their wedding might be a bit presumptive of me, especially with our relationship being fairly recent. Besides, the caseload at workās been busy and Iādāve had to fly separately, Simon's invested in his tickets an era ago and I donāt particularly want to fly over the Atlantic alone. Iāve offered to take Penny and her husband-to-be on a cruise together at some later date and we can get to know each other then, when theyāre not so busy with pre-wedding and during-wedding and post-wedding.
Simon tumbles through the door about two minutes after Iāve started but I donāt hear him. Heās still at the door when I finish. Thirteen minutes later. I can feel my hand aching a little but my neckās doing alright, so Iāll take that as a good day. I blink over at Simon, realizing heās really there as I carefully settle my violin back into her stand.
āYou play beautifully,ā Simon says as she closes the door, āI didnāt mean to interrupt.ā
I blink back the way ears in my eyes. It takes me a minute to find my words, but I shake my head to tell him that he hadnāt. I find my confidence and breath and ultimately find itās not uncomfortable for me to have Simon seeing me play. Thatās a relief. Unsurprising, ultimately, but no less a relief. āYouāre early?ā
āAh, yeah,ā Simon answers as she kicks off her shoes. Iām already moving to help with his bags while he explains, āPenās already on honeymoon and originally Iād wanted to stay over to see some sights but I just missed you so I checked to see if I could catch an earlier flight and here I am.ā She does a silly little wave of her hands and it makes me impossibly bloody fond.
āYou missed me that much?ā Thereās a touch of teasing there and Simon punches my arm for it, but he doesnāt use any strength to do it, and just sort of scrunches his nose in annoyance.
āOf bloody course I did, you prick. Itās been a whole week alreadyā¦ā
I hum as I follow Simon to our room, helping him unpack when we get there. I pause to nudge his side and when he turns my way I catch him in a kiss. āI missed you too.ā
Itās an easy admission. āOf course you did,ā Simon says it like itās obvious.
it is obvious.
We work through unpacking him in relative silence, a companionable quiet that tells me both how tired he is and how happy he is just to be home. Iāll ask him all about everything after heās gotten some sleep in him, reset properly from the jetlag over some food. Iām just as happy to have Simon home again too. I missed existing with her the last week.
āIāll let you hear me play again,ā I say apropos of nothing, except I can still hear those words in my head. You play beautifully.
I know I do. Or I knew I did.
The declaration stops Simon midway from tossing his dirty wash in our hamper, but only for a moment. āYeah?ā
āYeah, whenever I play next.ā Itāll be tomorrow. I play almost every day, so long as itās not a snow day.
āIād like that,ā He answers with a soft smile, āIād like it a lot.ā
I love this about Simon. Heās just so bloody understanding. I donāt understand how he doesnāt press or complicate or assume anything. We just finish getting through his unpacking and collapse into our bed and cuddle close.
I think heās fallen asleep already when his voice catches me off guard, but maybe Iād been the one closer to sleep. āAre you gonna tell me about it?ā
āNot tonight,ā I know exactly what he means without asking, āBut soon, probably. After you tell me all about how the wedding went.ā
Simon hums and snuggles in closer and I melt around him, letting myself relax with him, letting myself feel how much I missed him. I can feel Simon melting in my arms too. Iām too tired for anything else, heās too tired for anything else, and itās so bloody easy for us to fall asleep like that, tangled up in one another.
āļ½”Ė SIMON
He doesnāt tell me the next morning, not after all the talking I can manage on Penās ceremony and dress and everything. Itās a lazy morning. He called in to work from home (āNo court days?ā āNo court days.ā) and we slept in and stayed in bed hours longer and I still had three whole more days off work. Iām not in any rush to find out, Iām just happy Iāve gotten to hear him play now.
I ramble on and on about the States and everything that Iād missed about home and weird little language differences and all the things Pen had gone on about herself during our downtime. I think Baz might know her better than he thinks with how much I talk about her, but Iām not mad he didnāt come with me. I just missed him.
I donāt ask. I donāt need to ask. Heāll tell me when heās ready.
Iām happy to linger in lazy mornings like this forever, if heāll be here with me for them.
āļ½”Ė BAZ
I keep thinking Iām going to tell her, and then I donāt. I keep thinking I should bring it up, but then I donāt. Itās just such a bloody happy day and Iām such a greedy, selfish sap. I want to keep it a happy day. We deserve more happy, lazy days.
I do play my violin for him, just like Iād said I would. I only just make it through about eight minutes today, but Simon smiles so beautifully for such a simple piece.
Iām going to tell him, I know it, just not today. Today I want to keep his smile just like it was when he woke up, refreshed and comfortable after a week out of our bed. I want to keep her just like this forever.
āļ½”Ė SIMON
Itās about two weeks later when Basil wakes up in a cold sweat next to me. Itās not the first time Iāve witnessed his night terrors, weāve lived together far too long by now for me not to be at least a little familiar with them, but normally he goes through the motions quickly enough that I barely have time to comfort at all. This time mustāve been particularly visceral. I sit up beside him and he still hasnāt budged an inch, except to curl in on himself. I touch carefully, brushing my fingers through his thick, dark hair, brushing his bangs aside so they donāt stick to his sweat-slick skin and hum.
I hum whatever heād played me last. Something by Bach, I think, but Iām not good at classical music. I am learning, a little, but I still canāt tell Beethoven from the Greatest Showman and apparently the latter is a musical, not a classical composition. Iām learning. Baz smiles whenever I get something right.
He unwinds enough to roll himself over and into my arms and I wrap him up like Iām a security blanket made just for him.
āBloody nightmaresā¦ā His voice comes out in rasp, dry and angry, but I donāt push, I just hold him like that until he stops shaking, until his breathing settles out against my chest.
I glance at the clock. Twelve more hours till work. I can nap after this all settles if I need more sleep. I have time. āThink you can sleep again?ā I ask it as gently as I can manage.
Baz shakes his head against my chest, but itās alright, I just keep humming while he sinks deeper into my arms and the tangle of blankets around us. If there was less time, Iād even call out, but thereās plenty of time.
āI think I want to talk about it.ā
āļ½”Ė BAZ
Iāve surprised him, I can tell. His mouth is doing that little āohā thing that she only does when sheās caught off guard. Maybe thatās fair, I havenāt talked about for long enough that maybe she was never truly expecting me to, but I have wanted to.
āļ½”Ė SIMON
He presses a kiss to the hollow of my throat and it brings me back to my senses enough to encourage him to keep going. āIf youāre ready.ā
Basil hums again and nods along, āIām ready.ā
I press a kiss to his temple and wait. I have time. I can always wait where Baz is concerned, but he doesnāt make me wait long. It spills out in chunks, but I fill in the blanks well enough. Traumaās like that, I know, sometimes memories just donāt come back clean.
āļ½”Ė BAZ
I was twenty when it happened. It was winter break and I was driving back home for the holidays.Ā The road had been slick from the storm but it was only a four hour drive, a little longer if I went easy, and I always go easy when I need to. So Iām headed home and thinking about what to get my sisters in the meanwhile and not at all worried about the process of getting there.
Of course, it was never me I had to worry about. A truck twice the size of my little Beetle comes hurtling down the opposite side of the road at a good twice my speed. It mustāve started hydroplaning at the exact right moment to cause him to swerve right into me.
Thereās no time to react, no time to brake or swerve or anything at all.
Thereās only the truckās blinding headlights on a collision course straight for me.
I can still feel the hear the sound of the metal crunching together in front of me. I can still feel the pressure of the airbag going off against my face, against my hands. The way my arm had hit the center dash and turned blue almost immediately. The whiplash from my head flinging back so suddenly, the wrongness in my neck.
Simonās petting through my hair as he listens to me, taking everything in, kissing my forehead again, and then pulling back enough to pull my hands up to kiss them too. Sheās patient through it all and itās not until the lull in my story that I realize Iāve been crying. Just a little. Just quietly while I go through it.
I lose myself in the realization for a moment, thoughts dissipating into nothing. Iām not sure where I was in the story, or where to pick up, itās just all sort of a blur anyway. I let myself have my tears about and Simon, my sweet Simon, kisses my tears away and holds me closer through it.
āIs that what your nightmares are about?ā Simon asks when my tears start to slow and Iāve worked myself further out of that ball of stress.
āNo,ā I answer, and it feels a bit silly, but also not at all. āMy nightmares areā¦ theyāre about the first time I picked up my grandfatherās violin, after Iād supposedly healed enough to try again, and I dropped it.ā
āļ½”Ė SIMON
Baz chokes when he confesses it, loses his voice halfway through the word dropped, but his mouth still forms the word it. My skill in lipreading fills in that blank too. āYou donāt have to say more if you donāt want to, you know. Itās okay to be done talking.ā
He hums low and shifts our hold so heās more holding me now, wrapping his legs around mine and practically clinging. I donāt bother to resist. I donāt mind comforting him like this either. Itās plenty comfortable in Bazās arms too.
āI donāt think thereās much else to say,ā Baz breathes out when he finds his voice again, āIf there is I canāt recall right now.ā
I nuzzle his chest and tangle us up that much more thoroughly. āItās alright, loveā¦ if you want to talk more later, Iām always here for you, alright?ā
āAlright.ā
āI love you.ā
āļ½”Ė BAZ
Simon quiets in my arms after that and I can feel my exhaustion creeping up again. I press a kiss to her temple and let my thoughts drift away from my nightmares, from my spotty memories, from the little Volvo I had once loved so much. I suppose it saved my life that day, gave itās own for me. If cars have souls, I hope it's thriving somewhere.
I let myself drift to thoughts of Simon, of our life. Of the time weāve had together so far, of the time weāre going to have together. I think of his soft hair and softer marshmallow scent. I thought it was a perfume or cologne at first, but no. Thatās just Simon, sugary sweet.
āHey, Simon?ā
She murmurs her own soft, unintelligible acknowledgment against my chest and I can tell from the weight of him that sheās drifting back off already.
āThank you,ā I say into the mess of her hair and she makes a happy little noise. Her own of course, anytime, always, without the mess of words. She makes me so bloody soft, so bloody comfortable. āI love you too.ā
Simonās little noise repeats itself and I can feel a smile crack my lips, just a little bit even after all the emotions thinking about the accident can give me.
āRest well, love,ā my words fall soft and Simonās already gone, and I think I can manage the same. I think, probably, without dreaming terrible things all over again.
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ā āļ½”Ė [He Loves My Butter Lips]
For Day 25 of Carry on Countdown 23, Carnival/Faire. @carryon-countdown
Simon Snow hates his boyfriend and his boyfriend's ego and all the plushies he's won for him so, so bloody bad (but not really, not really at all).
Rated T for... honestly I think Simon is cursing every other sentence in this.
āļ½”Ė
The best part about the faire is the bloody food. The cheese sticks, the corndogs on sticks, pickles on sticks, the spun sugar on sticks, in certain parts of the world (this part of the world!!) the fried butter on sticks, everything fried and everything on sticks. Itās divine. Iām going to die of a heart attack at one of these godforsaken carnival-faire-decadence-things, but Merlin and Morgana both, it will have been bloody worth it. The best bloody thing is the fucking food. Donāt let anyone else tell you otherwise. If they think otherwise, theyāre bloody daft.
Now some people might claim having a boyfriend who could hack all the carnival games would be the best bloody part, but their boyfriends are not Basilton fucking Grimm-Pitch, are they? No, the honour of calling that one a boyfriend is mine, and heās too bloody smug about it.
Not to say that I donāt love and cherish each and every one of those ridiculously large plushies, and not to say that they donāt each get a name and a little home in our littler apartment, but does Baz have to bloody fucking smirk about it every time he predicts right? Does he have to be right so bloody often?
Heās such a sodding twat about it, I hate him. (I love him. Heās perfect. Never bloody tell him that though, his ego is killing me already.)
Presently, I have four fucking plushies squished in between the space between my arms and my chest and each of them is the size of my torso. āBasil!ā I can see him heading to win me a fifth, āBasil, I swear, I literally cannot hold another sodding plush bear, please do not.ā
I just want that fried butter, but how will I eat the fried butter without hands to hold the stick required to eat the fried butter? Baz probably wouldnāt even let me eat the fried butter anyway. He should let me eat the fried butter, itās not like I wonāt go at a stick occasionally anyway. Heās trying to train me out of it, the ninny. As if I want to learn better than eating sticks of butter.
Heās already out of bloody earshot.
I huff down at my growing collection of plushies. Mr. Bun, Mrs. Bear, Sir Froggington the Fourth, and the Little Duck that Could will surely have another companion soon. The Little Duck that Could is in fact the largest of the plushes, but he has small animal energy. I think he might also technically be a swan, but itās too late, heās already been named. Itās sticking.
Thereās nothing to be done about it, I suppose. I faithfully trudge after Basil and pray heās wrong about his skills in this carnival game, just this once, and then I see what it sodding is.
Bloody fucking football.
No wonder heās practically whooping about it. Well, as much as Baz might whoop. Itās basically just an overly enthused grin, the smile showing the in the curve of his cheek, a not-quite-there, but not-quite-not-there dimple, his eyes sparkling. I canāt very well tell him not to kick footballs about, itās Baz Pitch, king of the pitch, itās in his sodding name.
I find a nearby bench to sit my hindquarters on and plop myself down. At least from here I can partake in a particular favourite activity of my own: staring at Bazās ass while he kicks bloody footballs about.
Itās been three whole years since Watford and 4 years since he played on any kind of regular team, and he has not lost his form. I rest my chin atop Mrs. Bearās head and sigh. Heās so bloody handsome it hurts to look at sometimes. I think I feel myself losing braincells I turn so braindead just from the man bloody existing.
I hate him so bloody bad. (Heās so perfect I forget how to speak. Heās so handsome I forget how to breathe. I love him so badly it aches whenever heās not around. Sometimes I think Iām going to be sick from how insane he makes me.)
Heās beaten the game in a solid minute, heās such a fucking wanker, I love him so fucking much itās ridiculous. Heās already walking his way back to me with a giant fucking pink kitten plush in his arms, with ridiculous white patches over itās eyes, and then he does something that makes me love him some impossible amount more.
A small girl, no more than six or seven, I think, had apparently had shit luck with the game, because sheās looking up at Baz with the biggest pleading eyes I have ever seen on a child. Heās kneeling down to talk to her now and the girlās adult, I think maybe an older sister or very young aunt, is waving her head, like Basil doesnāt have to do whatever heās thinking about doing, but Basil only shrugs and hands over the plush like it was nothing.
Oh, heās so smug and soft and kind and perfect, how bloody dare he.
I am going to snog him so sodding hard when we get home.
When he saunters over to me, he shrugs again, as if to say āwhat more can you do?ā but I still have every intention to rib him about it.
āDid you really just give away Sofia the Third of her Name without asking me?ā
Baz perks a brow at me, relieving me of Mr. Bunās company (how dare he?? We have been bonding??) and my arms thank him for it. āI can win you another if you like.ā
āNo, no,ā I sniff dramatically and I can tell Basil knows Iām just taking the piss, āShe seemed nice and not at all like an evil child. You can make it up to me in other ways.ā
āAnd how might I appease his royal plush collector?ā Basil doesnāt hesitate to rib me right back and I make a show of thinking about it, looping my arm around his and dragging him away from the games and towards the intoxicating smells of fried food.
āWell, you can start by telling me the little missās sob story,ā I answer and lean myself a little more against my prick of an overconfident boyfriend as we walk, āAnd then maybe Iāll decide.ā
Itās a lie, by the way, Iāve already decided.
Baz, of course, knows this, but he tells me anyway. āWell, she lost all her tickets trying to win a goldfish, but then fell in love with your Sofia the Thirdāā
āSofia the Third of her Name,ā I correct.
āRight. She fell in love with your Sofia, but with no tickets she couldnāt even attempt. Besides, itās already past her bedtime and her aunt needs to get her back home before it gets too late. It wasnāt really much of anything. Sofia cost me basically nothing.ā
āBecause you game the system,ā Iām nodding along even as I hear Baz start to huff over it. It makes me laugh a little.
āIām just good at the bloody gamesāā He protests and Iām still laughing.
āGood at breaking them, yes,ā I agree, already moving on, āAnyway, you can get me a ride on the ferris wheel with all your obscenely large plushies and a stick of fried butter.ā
āSimon,ā Baz looks down at me, utterly appalled, āI absolutely refuse to get you a stick of fried butter. I refuse to be party to your early, untimely, cholesterol-related death.ā
āBut Basil,ā I give him my best impression of those puppy dog eyes, āI thought you loved me.ā
āWe are getting you your ferris wheel ride, but there is absolutely no way Iām kissing you post fried butter. I refuse.ā
Iām still pouting ferociously at him.
Heās avoiding looking at me.
Weāre stopped in front of the dreaded butter stall.
Heās still not looking at me.
I keep pouting.
He caves.
Iāve got my butter stick, my ferris wheel ride, and kisses at the very top of it, despite his complaints and protests.
I love him so much I might die. I might also die of too much butter intake. I donāt care. Itās stupidly delicious. Iām stupidly happy. He could ask me to marry him right now, Iād definitely say yes. Heās too busy bitching about my butter lips to ask me to marry him though. Heās lying through his teeth.He bloody well adores my butter lips and I know it.
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ā āļ½”Ė [Crossroads]
For Day 24 of Carry on Countdown 23, Cross. @carryon-countdown
In which Simon is an actual half-dragon and he's found himself in a bit of a situation with a certain human mage. What's a familiar even supposed to do anyway?
This part is rated T, mostly just for the language.
Prior Parts: 9, 15, & 18
āļ½”Ė
They were at a crossroads. Apparently, there was a lot of magick nestled in crosswords. Baz had explained it some along the way here, but Simon hadnāt really absorbed it all so much. That was fine, this was just introductory. Basil had said Simon didnāt need to remember anything and everything he said about magick anyway.
So here they were, standing at a crossroads, a fairly quiet one it seemed. āItās not the most powerful we couldāve gone to, but we wonāt be disturbed here.ā Apparently a more travelled crossroad could store more potential, reach more depths, or something of the like. Simon was trying to pay attention, really he was.
Simon still wasnāt sure what it was they were going to do by being here. Baz was already drawing out chalk circles on the ground in some kind of cryptic obsessive-compulsive pattern. It sort of looked like something that would show up on a late-night BBC documentary about āthe corrupted youth.ā
He looked over to Basil again.
Yeah, he could have definitely be the face of the corrupted youth. No, maybe not in the traditional way or the way youād expect. He wore his blazer and shirt and tie all neat and nicely, but his long black as pitch hair slicked back in a short pony and an ears full of golden piercings, his nails painted blackā¦ yeah, he could be the corrupted youth. If you looked close enough.
Simon inched closer to those meticulously drawn circles, careful not to disturb them as he squinted down at them. āWeāre not summoning some kind of demon are we?ā
Basil took a moment to look properly aghast at Simon, pausing his meticulous drawings. āOf bloody course not. That would be insane. Itās barely your first day as a familiar.ā
āOh,ā Simon hesitated, āDoes that mean we might eventually?ā
Basil snorted a sort of half-a-laugh, āNot if we can avoid it. Iād prefer not to lose my soul being reckless like that.ā
āWell thatās a bloody reliefāā
āWeāre banishing one,ā Baz interrupted as he puts the finishing touches on his circles, glyphs really, and stands. He claps the dust from his palms and stands himself up outside of the design, circling it and checking his work over.
āIām sorry, what?ā Simon blinked over at Basil, the colour draining from his face, āWhat happened to it being my first day as a familiar?ā
Baz waved his hand dismissively, nose pointed up, āThis is easy work. I could do this on my own, in itās entirety, and I have before. Youāll make it easier though. Just standā¦ā Baz stepped over to Simon and guides him to a particular point on the design, the eastern side, if Simon wasnāt getting himself mixed up. āHere. Donāt move, donāt break the lines, just hands on the ground on either side of the point andā¦ā the explanation sort of broke up for a moment, āActually, how do you access your magick, usually?ā
Simon settled himself as Baz had described. He didnāt really know too much magick, let alone how to do it well, or even consistently, for that matter. āAccidentally?ā He finally admitted.
Baz didnāt answer right away, correcting Simonās hands only slightly before stepping around to the opposite point of the circle. āHow do you go about your littleā¦ shape change? Is that not magick?ā
āKind of?ā Simon didnāt really know how he did that either, āI think itās mostly instinct.ā
āAlright, well,ā Baz shrugged, āReach for that instinct then. Find whatever little thing that makes you shift and just, I suppose, touch it. Try and touch it without switching shapes.ā
Simonās gaze stayed fixed to that corner for a long while, long enough that the silence between them got a little awkward, that the air between them got a little stale, that Baz started to get a little impatient.
āThink you can manage?ā
āOh, right,ā Simon scrunched up his nose and concentrated, thinking about that feeling that came right before the switch, āYeah, I think Iāve got it.ā
āGrand,ā Basil planted his own hands the same way Simonās were, just opposite of him, āJust hold on to that feeling. Iām starting now.ā
Before Simon could confirm heād heard or understood, Baz was speaking. Well, Simon thought it was speaking, but it was definitely in a tongue heād never heard before and it didnāt feel human. It felt heavy and thick and dark and Bazās eyes had gone black in the sclera, but Simon didnāt have time to think about that either. He had to keep his mind on that feeling, that littleā¦ okay, maybe not so little, orb of energy that caused his shifts. It was warm in his mind and if he thought about it hard enough he could roll it around in his palms, like a small sun, but it wasnāt so scorching like this.
When the demon came through in middle of the glyphs Baz had arranged, it was a whole dramatic affair, or it certainly seemed that way to Simon. It wasā¦ a bit beyond direct perception, a swirling mass of dark energy and wispy smoke. The area immediately surrounding them had definitely grown hotter and the cement under Simonās palms was notably more uncomfortable to the touch, but he didnāt move his palms away.
He did his best to remain as Baz had put him, despite the sweat pooling in the small of his back. It had gotten harder to maintain that connection with his miniature personal ball of sunshine now that the demon had found itself here.Ā
And then the demon spoke.
Simon fumbled the ball in his mindās eye and his shape slipped from one to the other like water rushing down from the apex of a waterfall. His wings fluttered behind him at the swiftness of the change, tail stretching out on instinct as his body adjusted, but his claws, even as small as they were comparatively to his human shape had managed to stay solid in that same spot.
Thank Merlin and Morgana and every other mage to come before. He ignored the pure power contained in that voice and focused to pull this orb back into focus. There was no sludge running over his ears, only this sun in his palms, only the magick of it flowing through him.
It was speaking the same tongue that Basil was using, but Basil remained unphased, only focusing harder on his incantation, his brows knit together with effort and sweat starting to bead down the back of his perfect neck. Simon couldnāt help but be taken with his unflappable aura for a moment, impressed by his sheer will to remain unwavering when faced with such a thing as the demon caught between them.
Simon redoubled his efforts to hold that little ball of energy, pulsing brighter the longer Baz chanted. He prayed he hadnāt fucked anything up too hard for Baz when heād shifted. He also didnāt want to lose his soul to some reckless act within a day of finally finding a steady source of food.
At least in this shape, there was no sweat to gather down his spine and his palms didnāt ache so much. Simonās wings fanned gently to keep him cool and he allowed himself to concentrate on Basilās calm repetitions over the oil-slick wet feeling that came with the demonās words.
Almost as suddenly as the demon appeared, the ground under it fell away.
There was a large whooshing noise.
And then the demon was gone too.
The road reconstructed itself in between the two of them and then everything fell quiet.
Simon stayed poised until Baz moved. Basil stood slowly, dusting his hands off again, and fetched the bucket of water heād left aside. He poured it over the now sizzling sigils, burned of their power (Simon had no idea how or why he knew that), and thatās when Simon allowed himself to move. He trotted over to Bazās side and headbutted his calf.
It was as close as he could manage to a āgood jobā without words.
āOh,ā Baz looked down at him, āYou shifted.ā
Simon let out a small trill of confirmation and then Bazās nose started bleeding.
āOh,ā Baz said again, catching the blood in his open palm, and Simon could see he was moving too slowly, that his balance was starting to go, āIt seems I over-exerted myself.ā
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ā āļ½”Ė [Losing Myself In Simon Snow]
For Day 23 of Carry on Countdown 23, Bite. @carryon-countdown
On Simon Snow and Baz Pitch and their respective sets of teeth finding their way into each other's bodies.
Rated M for... this being what it is (the precursor to smut).
āļ½”Ė
Simon bites a lot.
Between the two of us, youād expect the vampire to be the one that bites a lot, but no. That honor goes to the dragon winged boy with the prehensile and overly sensitive tail.
When weāre kissing, he tugs my lips between his teeth, nips at them till theyāre sore. Heāll trail more nips and bites overy jaw and down my neck and over my shoulders until Iām so worked up and frustrated, I pin him beneath me, just to keep his teeth from digging in more. I mean, other things follow, but it starts with stopping Simon from assaulting me with his teeth.
When heās been worked up into a blusterā my fault, almost with one hundred percent certainty, I knowā he bites. He latches onto my forearm or pec and digs in for dear life until I give in and stop teasing him for some small thing or another. Even if I think heās cute when heās all red in the face and annoyed with me.
I do, by the way, always think heās cute.
When heās embarrassed, he steals my hand to hold, inevitably using me as a sort of shield from whatever thingās embarrassing him. Iāll talk us out of the situation and walk us away and then somehow my hand will end up in his mouth and heāll be chewing on my palm like some sort of stimtoy. I donāt bother to stop him. Itās silly, sure, and it feels odd, but I donāt mind if it helps calm him.
When heās angry, he doesnāt quite bite. Heāll snap his jaw at whatever or whomever has him fuming, but he never actually finds purchase to bite. I can feel it in him though, the urge to snap back with something more instinctual than sharp words and mean looks. Sometimes itās at me, though I like to think that I give Simon less cause to be angry than I once did, but even though I always let him, he never bites me when heās fuming at me. He doesnāt want to actually hurt me, sweet thing that he is.
Sometimes I wonder if itās because I donāt bite him. It is mostly in teasing and play and definitely intended to get a reaction out of me, so it could be that. I mentioned the thought to Bunce once and she kindly asked me to never mention it again, or else sheād evaporate out of existence.
Iāll stick with Shakespeare and familial magicks. At least that much is safe to talk about with Penny, as much as the psychology of Simon is also a shared interest of ours. Apparently the interest doesnāt extend to all facets of Simon, and his biting habits are just a boundary she wonāt cross.
Itās fair enough, I suppose.
Maybe I need more friends so I can have more perspectives on what might be normal or not. Vampire friends, maybe, though I admit that Iāve had relatively bad luck with those.
I think a part of it might be the whole āwell if you wonāt bite me, Iāll have to bite youā attitude heās got going on. A sort of petty revenge, or maybe itās some kind of way to egg me into doing it. Thatās not to say I havenāt thought about biting him. Iāve thought about it too much, honestly. Every time his heart skips a beat when we kiss, every time weāre nestled together in sleep and my nose is buried against his neck, every time his pulse is thrumming with effort when heās wrapped around me, every time I bend to kiss his wristā¦
I think about it too much.
He undoes me, my Simon. Takes every decision Iāve ever made and throws it out the window, makes an exception of himself in my life at every turn.
But not on this. At least, not yet.
Iām getting weaker in my resolve against it, and I think Simon knows, because heās tripling down on the biting lately. Coffeeās gone cold? A bite. Remoteās gone missing? A bite. I changed the wifi password? Several bites. I had a good reason for it, but no, there was no forgiveness, only teeth.
Heās in my lap and heās kissing me hard, shoved me back against the couch like heās desperate for it, and he is. His tongue is everywhere, my lips are already sore from his teeth, his hands are hot under my shirt and I donāt even know what I did to get him worked up like this.
Iām not about to stop him though. āYou make me come undone, Simon Snow,ā I breath against his lips and he moans into our kiss, āYou make me feel insane.ā
āShow me,ā He half-demands, half-begs as his kisses start wandering. His lips feel like fire against my collarbone and I can hear the thundering of his heart. āShow me how insane I make youā¦ā
Iāve spoiled him, I know I have. I give him everything he wants, I give into his every demand, but thereās no going back on it now. I donāt regret doing it either. I love giving Simon everything I can, heās so hungry for it, swallows it all down like he was made for me, asks me for more.
Iām kissing him still and he tugs at my lips, asking for a deeper kiss while he grinds over me, and I give it to him. I let my tongue trace the roof of his mouth and the heat of his tongue, and when I pull back I tug on his lips in turn. I give him just the barest taste of my teeth.
He nearly collapses on top of me.
āSimon?ā
He leans up on his elbow, biting into his own lip over where my teeth had just been. He bites hard enough to make himself bleed. I donāt think heād intended that, but he did it all the same. āYou used teeth.ā
I donāt think he can even taste his own blood heās so caught up in the thought.
Itās a moral thing. I want to live my life with Simon Snow. If I drink human, I become more inhuman, I live forever, blah blah blah. Iāve thought about it. Iāve thought about it too sodding much.
There is a drop of blood growing on Simon Snowās lips.
Iām not thinking about it when my tongue darts out of itās own accord and laps over the bite. Iām not thinking about it as that droplet runs over my tongue and back down my throat. Iām not thinking about it as I feel Simon start to run through my veins, as his taste fills my mouth.
The only thing Iām thinking about is that taste, that savory-sweet taste. Itās not like the blood I normally drink, but it is blood. Itās not like anything else Iāve ever tasted. I canāt find the words to describe it, and that would probably shock Simon more than the fact that Iād used teeth in the first place. I donāt stop to think about it.
I capture his split lip between mine and suck over it hard, tongue laving over it as I drink from him, letting myself linger in the flavour that is uniquely Simon Snowās. I drink from that little wound until itās given me all it can, and itās not nearly enough, and in the same breath itās entirely too much.
I didnāt even realize Iād flipped at some point in the process. My hands are poised on Simonās shoulders, keeping him pinned down under me, my kisses turning tender over that small sore.
āYou used teeth,ā Simon says again as I lean off of him enough to regain myself.
Iām trying to think about my breathing, bring myself back to calm, but my veins are alight with Simon running through them. Iām thrumming with him. āI used teeth,ā I manage to echo back.
āDo it again,ā Simon asks, his hands finding their way back under my shirt, and I almost shake my head, denying us both.
But why not?
Iām already not thinking. I canāt think of a single reason why not.
Iām already pulling one of his hands away from my abdomen, letting the other linger there while I caress his palm against my cheek, against my lips, teasing the sharp edge of fang against it, lapping over the lines of his palm, tasting his sweat.
I am not thinking.
I am breathing Simon, tasting Simon, bleeding Simon.
And I want more.
I lay the tenderest of kisses against his wrist, feeling the pulse of it against my lips, thin, sensitive skin against thin, sensitive skin. āDo it again?ā My voice comes out harsher than intended, giving me away entirely.
āDo it again,ā Simon confirms. His eyes are fixed to mine, watching me lose myself in the sensations of him.
I donāt mind. I trust him. He trusts me. He wants it just as much as I do.
My fangs sink in against his wrist and he gasps like heās forgotten how to breathe while I drink from him. Maybe he has. Maybe with both have.
Iām drinking from Simon Snow. Iām losing myself in Simon Snow. Iāve never felt more alive. Iāve never felt more dangerous. I could live on this, I think. Heād let me.
I might be addicted already.
Heās writhing under me when I pull off his wrist, and I must look some kind of way, but I canāt begin to imagine how. I keep kissing his wrist, licking up stray droplets, even as his nails dig into the soft underside of my jaw, begging my attention properly.
āAgain,ā He whines, and it is a proper whine.
I havenāt taken much for myself. I know I could.
I smirk down at him. āLater,ā my words filter back in clearer, and I think I can see the details of him that much sharper, āI have other ways I want to eat you tonight, Simon Snow.ā
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ā āļ½”Ė [05. A (Married) Life with a Kitten]
For Day 22 of Carry on Countdown 23, Music. @carryon-countdown
In which Simon Snow brings his husband home a kitten, who his husband (appropriately) names Ophelia.
Rated T for One (1) instance of the f-bomb (I think).
This is a series of snapshots of different Simon Snows and Baz Pitches in the greater multiverse. You can find the other "lives" here: [Day 3: Alternate Universe][Day 19: Sci-Fi][Day 20: Flowers][Day 21: Begin Again]
āļ½”Ė
āOkay,ā Simonās text opens, āPromise not to be mad.ā
Thatās always a good start. Basil doesnāt bother to text back, only checks the time to make sure Simon would be done with the kids for the day and decides now is a good enough time to call a break for the symphony. He dismisses them with a wave, flashing five twice as he steps away from the podium, already calling his husband. āPromise not to be mad is an ominous way to start a conversation, love.ā
āOkay, but you have to promise,ā Simon pouts adorably on the other end of the line. Baz can just see those blue eyes glistening up at him and the indignant jut of Simonās chin when he protests Basilās objections, and the dramatised sniffling his Simon would do.
He sighs, already defeated, āLove, do I ever stay mad at you long?ā
āWell, noā¦ā Simon admits, and Basil can see the little duck heās doing with his head right then without having to see him at all, āBut still! Donāt get mad in the first place for this one.ā
Baz paces a circle once, and then he paces it again, just one more time before giving in fully to his defeat. āAlright, I wonāt be. Actually mad. But what have you gone and done in the first place?ā
āNothing! Just, well, it wasnāt me who did anything,ā Simon starts, and Baz could agree he probably hadnāt actually done anything too offensive himself. āSo you know how the schoolās gotten a sort of campus cat in the last couple of months?ā
āMhmn,ā Baz intones, forcing himself to sit in an empty seat in the concert hall so as to not work himself up excessively or worry his musicians. He visualises the twenty tiny kindergarteners Simon minds throughout the day, running through their faces and various little mops of messy kindergartener hair from the last time heād seen them. He could just imagine how excited they must be about some sweet campus stray. Knowing Simon, heās probably set up a cat house in some corner of the playground for it. He doesnāt need to ask about it, he already knows Simonās done it without even popping by the school.
āSo the cat, weāve been calling her Midnight, is actually a Mama Midnight and she had her litter like seven, eight weeks agoā¦ā Simon trails off for a moment and Baz has to urge him on with another acknowledging noise, a sort of wordless āgo on thenā before Simonās barrelling forward again, āSo itās about time that the kittens get homed and I kind of just took the black one before anyone could say anything all her siblings are orange and white theyāre gonna get adopted so easily and I already got her a collar and itās pink with little rhinestones on it and you canāt tell me to send her to someone else, Iāll cry.ā
Baz blinks back at the empty space at the end of the hall, taking all this information in stride. He doesnāt dislike animals. He gets on with cats rather well, actually, heās just never had one of his own. āAlright,ā he concedes without argument, āI wonāt tell you to send her to someone else.ā
āIām already attaāā Simon pauses with a confounded little āuhhhā¦ā that stretches on into eternity, āWait, you said yes?ā
āI said yes,ā Baz confirms, standing to stretch his legs and head back to the symphony, his musicians already starting to test their instruments in the background.
āThat was surprisingly easyā¦ā
āI have a condition,ā Basil announces, purely for the sake of giving Simon a justification for that uneasiness in his tone. And also purely because he likes fucking with his husband still sometimes.
āOkayā¦?ā Simon sounds even more suspicious of him and Basil has to hide a laugh, pulling the phone away from his ear while to compose himself before continuing.
āI get to name her.ā
āOh,ā Simon says dumbly, āBut Iāā
āNope,ā Baz pops his āpā as he says it, āThatās my condition, take it or leave it.ā
āļ½”Ė
Baz names her Ophelia. He doesnāt bother to hear any suggestions from Simon, even though Simon had apparently had a long list of names, but when he hears Basil call the little black kitten Ophelia he forgets each and every one of them in an instant.
She ends up being a bit of a priss, dainty on her paws and holding her head high, prancing about like she owns the place only a week and a half into moving in with them. Sheās definitely taking after Baz with how he minds the house, each little thing in its little home and not a bit of mess to be found. Not to mention she does the same sort of snubbing Baz does, nose up to the sky when she doesnāt want to hear it or doesnāt get her way. The worst of it is sheās definitely bonding with Basil more than sheās bonding with Simon!
Well, alright, that wasnāt a bad thing, not actually. Something about coming home to find Baz lounging watching the tele or browsing his computer and having the little kitten on his lap napping was entirely too precious. Something about them made him entirely too fond. If it wasnāt that, then theyād be in the kitchen while Baz was cooking, and heād have his headphones in and the sheet music to the symphony his orchestra is playing and between stirring pasta sauce or sauteing meat and vegetables, his spatula would double as a make-shift conducting baton.
Ophelia loved when Baz would practice his conducting. Not only did she manage to get stray scraps of meat and cheese when Baz was cooking-conducting, but he also was waving around a very entertaining stick for her to try and snatch from him. Nothing was better for entertaining little Ophelia. Theyāve gotten her several sticks that were intended for kittens, with bells and feathers and floof in all manner of bright colours, but nothing satisfies the same way Bazās spatula satisfies.
Perhaps it was the food. Simon could relate.
Simonās caught them like this no less than four times so far, and sheās not even ten weeks old.Ā
āYouāre spoiling her,ā Simon says as he drops his keys in the bowl and slips his shoes off, āI thought I was going to be the one spoiling her, but itās definitely you.ā
āDonāt talk about Princess Ophelia like that to me, Simon,ā Basil looks utterly appalled ā a farce Simon is well aware of by now.
āI canāt believe you crowned her since the last time I saw you two,ā Simon bemoans, flopping himself over on the couch, āWhen will you crown me, Basilton? When will I have earned the right to be royalty in your eyes?ā
Baz walks over with the kitten perched on his arm like she belonged there and Simon pouts at her. āDid you want to be Princess Simon?ā Bazās voice is dripping sarcasm, but Simon only pouts harder.
āWell, what if I did?ā
āSimonāā Baz outright chokes on a laugh at the thought and Ophelia looks offended that he shook her perch so abruptly. Baz puts her gently down on the arm of the couch and slides down next to Simon, sprawling the smaller out over his lap. His fingers card soft through Simonās curls and before he knows it, heās got Simon curled up like he was the kitten in their household. āSimon, youāre always royalty to me.ā
āYouāve never titled me,ā Simon prods Bazās belly gently and Baz hums a soft song back.
āThereās no title in the world worthy of you, love,ā Baz says it so sincerely that Simon knows that it must be true, āYouāre always first in my heart. Even when youāre jealous of a silly kitten, need I remind you, that you brought home.ā
Simon huffs a little, nuzzling his nose against that same spot heād just poked, laying a soft kiss just there. āIām not really jealous,ā He means it when he says it, āI just wanted some attention.ā
āI will always give you the attention you need,ā Basil soothes as he brushes Simonās hair behind his ears, caressing the shell of it gently, āDid you have a rough day?ā
āMhmn,ā Simon answers, curling himself up more in Bazās lap, āParentsā¦ā
The one word bears enough weight to exhaust them both. āWould you like a nap before dinner? Right here on the couch?ā
āWill you nap with me?ā Simon asks, even as Basilās already pulling the throw blanket down from where it had been resting at the top of the couch. Heās already sinking down onto the couch with Simon, wrapping himself more thoroughly around his husband, covering them both with that old hand-knit blanket Lady Ruth had given them for their wedding.
āIt seems like a good day for a nap, I think.ā Itās Bazās own way of saying āof course,ā his own way of making the act of taking care of Simon something for them both.
Simon curls up facing Bazās chest and Baz takes the edge of the couch, knowing Simon would fall off if he were to switch their positions. Simonās breathing settles out as soon as Baz starts humming the notes to his symphony, just a quiet thing for Simon to focus on instead of the dreaded parents that he had been thinking about all day long, no doubt.
Princess Ophelia finds her own place curled up at the back of Simonās knees, purring loudly and comfortably napping with both her dads together on the couch.
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ā āļ½”Ė [04. A Life as a Writer (and a Barista)]
For Day 21 of Carry on Countdown 23, Begin Again. @carryon-countdown
Basil is a writer in dire need of a starting line. But where the bloody hell is he going to find it?
Rated T for Basil being a Smut Author and Simon being a Smut Enthusiast.
This is a series of snapshots of different Simon Snows and Baz Pitches in the greater multiverse. You can find the other "lives" here: [Day 3: Alternate Universe][Day 19: Sci-Fi][Day 20: Flowers]
āļ½”Ė
The hardest part of starting a love story, or any story really, is the bloody first line. No matter the environment, the characters, the whole setting, that first bloody lineās always the hardest. Basilās been sitting on this one for three and a half weeks now. Heās been in bars, dive bars and class acts both, libraries, cafes, parks, even secluded little psychic shops. Nothing seemed to do the trick though. Basilās remained just as wordless as ever, no matter where he goes.
Lately, though, heās been haunting this one cafe in particular, with a little disaster of a barista and, he thinks, baker. He hasnāt actually been here early enough to see whether Simon does more than put the pastries out, but heās always got a bit of a flour smear on his cheeks and his apronās always a bit of a mess and it just sort of adds up to him being a baker, at least as far as Basil can tell.
He wouldnāt actually know, heās never been a baker.
Right now, heās not looking to be much of a writer either. Heās got to at least start this thing. Basilās got a deal and everything, publishers and editors and such waiting on him. He pitched a damn good plot too and had a decent cast of characters. Now he just hadā¦ to bloody do something with it.
Resorting to staring down his empty document just seemed the obvious āsomethingā to do. The cursor blinked threateningly back at him. The cursor was unfortunately, undeniably winning.
Another cup of coffee slides itself in front of Basil, the prior empty one skillfully whisked away to Simonās tray of dirty dishes. āStill no luck on your start?ā
āDonāt tell me youāve noticed,ā Baz groans at the barista, glancing over to him out of the corner of his eyes and sipping his coffee even despite the apparent call-out.
āYouāve been in here every day for the last week,ā Simon shrugs, āThat doc remains as blank as when you came in the first day.ā
āAnd the coffee?ā
āTwo hour mark.ā
āWell, thank you then,ā Baz says with another long spit of coffee, āI just donāt know where to start.ā
Simon looks around the cafe, seeing it all but empty except for Basil, and plops himself down across from the struggling writer. āWell, what is it youāre actually trying to start?ā
āItāsā¦ā Basil pauses for a moment, assessing Simon with a little more scrutiny before shrugging. He worked in a cafe, there was only so much straight in anyone who works in a cafe, āItās a romance. Iāve a contract. Itās a supernatural, enemies-to-lovers, witches and werewolves story with all the bells and whistles and underlying fairy tale elements except itās a bit more future based than middle ages based. Oh, and theyāre gay, but you probably couldāve guessed that.ā
Simon blinks. āI still have no idea what thatās about.ā
āAh,ā Baz lets out an awkward little laugh, āI can give you the proper pitch? Iāve got it all outlined, mostly, itās just starting it.ā
āYou got a contract without a manuscript?ā
āItās a sequel, sort of. Like. Same verse, different characters. So yeah, Iāve a contract,ā Baz confirms, āI just need to get it rolling.ā
āWell, whatās the first one?ā Simon asks, precious and innocent.
Basil sighs, supposing if heās this far in he may as well unmask himself, hopefully Simon just didnāt know what the book was. āPrince of the Drowned.ā
āOh my god,ā Simon leans over onto the table and closer to Basil, āThat was so smuttyā¦ you look so respectable though.ā
āThank you? I think,ā Baz snorts out a small laugh. āI guess there goes any hope of you not knowing who I am.ā
āIām not sorry. In fact I might be a little too proud. I donāt read a lot, but that book was hot. So is your next protagonist as much a rake as the last?ā Simon, apparently, knows all the romance tropes.
āWell, not as much,ā Baz wavers his hand a little bit, āThis oneās more a like. Life-long obsession come to fruition sort of vibe. Unhealthy attachment, codependency in all the wrong ways, probably some sick and twisted fantasy fulfillment. You know, not exactly ācleanā stuff.ā
āOhh~ā Simon bites his lip as the door opens to a new customer, āOkay Iām getting this, but I say start it with a fight. If theyāre going to be messy like that, start it with a nasty fight.ā
Basil takes a moment as Simon walks away, thinking it over. It works with his rough outline and it fits the vibe. Thank you, random cafe boy, you have truly helped a drowning man out. He puts the first words to page.
And ends up writing three thousand words in a single sitting. Itās a start, he might change it later. He might scrap it entirely later, or put it somewhere else in the novel, or in a different novel altogether, but itās a start, and thatās better off than heās been in over a week.
He doesnāt leave without Simon checking in again. āHey, youāve got words,ā Simon half-sings from over Bazās shoulder, and Baz immediately tabs away from his work.
āI do,ā Baz twists in his seat to look at Simon properly, āAnd no spoilers for you.ā
āThat filthy already?ā Simon teases and Basil only shrugs.
āSuppose youāll have to read and find out, wonāt you?ā Baz smirks a little bit at Simonās obvious curiosity, āSince youāre obviously a fan and all.ā
Simon sighs, āIf I bring my book in tomorrow, will you sign it for me?ā
Baz canāt quite tell if thatās a tease or not, but he may as well take it for a genuine request. āI feel like thatās the least I can do for someone who helped me at least get a start going.ā
āSo generous,ā Simon sighs, leaning just a little on the back of Bazās chair, āYour boyfriend must be lucky though, I bet he gets previews of your smut.ā
āAh, well,ā Baz shrugs, āIf I had one, maybe he would.ā
Simonās lips form a precious little oh, terribly unsubtle for half a moment before leaning off Bazās chair just as Baz closes his laptop entirely. āSo what do you look for in a boyfriendā¦ if youāre up to sharing?ā
āThatās incredibly unsubtle, Simon,ā Basil fixes his face in an unimpressed sort of look, but Simonās clearly not buying it.
āSo was asking you back tomorrowā and you already agreed.ā
Baz letās Simon have half a smirk and shrugs, āSuppose that I did, didnāt I?ā
āThat you did,ā Simon grins back wide at Baz, knowing somehow heās already won, āSo is Basilton youāre real name orā¦?ā
āIt is,ā Baz answers as he packs everything up, shoulder bag neatly in place, āIf I do decide to show up tomorrow, though, you can call me Baz.ā
Itās no surprise at all when Basil shows up just as invited the next day. Itās even less of a surprise when he signs his name in that book with his phone number alongside. āFor the Unsubtle One with a spicy little mind,ā it says in neatly curled silver script. Whatās least surprising of all is how quickly Simon calls that number, Bazās phone ringing before he even manages to leave the cafe.
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ā āļ½”Ė [03. A Life in a Flower Shop]
For Day 20 of Carry on Countdown 23, Flowers. @carryon-countdown
Simon Snow gets a bouquet. His day is going great. (if you saw the wrong summary, no you didnāt)
Rated T for cussing and Idiots-to-Lovers-isms.
This is a series of snapshots of different Simon Snows and Baz Pitches in the greater multiverse. You can find the other "lives" here:
[Day 3: Alternate Universe][Day 19: Sci-Fi]
āļ½”Ė
āOh~ thatās a lovely bouquet youāve got there, Simon,ā Penny hums as she saunters into the shop, tugging her lip ring between her teeth.
āYeah,ā Simon grumbles, āI know. Itās for the shop's first anniversary, I guess.ā
Penny stops short, quirking her head at Simonās tone. āWhy are you being such a priss about a romantic bouquet? Itās lovely, youāre not taken, so youāve got an admirer, who wouldnāt be happy to know theyāve got an admirer?ā
That seems to perplex Simon, his brows furrowing and eyes darting obviously to the flower shop across the road.
āOh, of bloody course itās from the shopkeep across the way. Basilās been trying to figure out how to confess for the past three months now. Suppose the anniversaryās as good a reason as any to make a move,ā Penny shifts topic with eace, waving her hand dismissively. āAnyway, is that the face of a rejection I see happening? Youāre going to break his little heart, Simon, go gently if you do reject the poor lad.ā
āHeās a sodding arse,ā Simon scowls harder as he says it, sending all kinds of angry energy across the road and directly at Baz where he was probably tending plants. Singing to them sweetly, watering their roots, maybe adjusting the plants that needed more sun so theyād flourish better. Simon knew too much about how Baz tended his plants.
āWell, yes,ā Penny admits, āBut itās a very nice bouquet.ā
āHe told me it meant āfuck youā in flower,ā Simon groans out.
Penny doesnāt hold back her laugh at that. āAnd you believed him?ā
Poor Simon gives a defeated nod and Penny has to temper her laugh for that.
āOh, you poor sod,ā Penny pats Simon gently on the back, āBaz Pitch really is a prick, isnāt he?ā
Simon nods again, huffing his confusion. āHeās been trying to confess?ā
āSo far four times, and thatās just the oneās Iāve seen. Iām sure thereās been more that I havenāt,ā Penny consoled, her hand running soothing circles between Simonās shoulder blades.
āHow did I miss them then?ā Simon doesnāt quite wail, but thereās still an anguished little noise at the tail end of his words that could definitely qualify as something like a wail, āWhy do I think he hates me?ā
āBecause heās not just a prick, but an emotionally constipated prick to boot,ā Penny sighs, āYou want me to go through the flowers and tell you what they really mean?ā
Simon leans his head on Pennyās shoulder, āYouād do that for me?ā
āIf neither of us have any appointments, Iāll do it right now. If we do, Iāll do it first break we get, alright?ā
āAlrightā¦ā Simon takes the bouquet in hand and sits down on the chair at the front desk, āMy first appointment is in an hour. I think youāre just potential walk ins today.ā
āWell, it wonāt take an hour to get through it,ā Penny pats Simonās shoulder gently, āI promise he likes you.ā
āHow did I miss it?ā
āProbably because you both attempt to kill each other on sight,ā Penny tuts, āNow letās get into these flowers.ā
Apparently, the three lilies that serve as the centerpiece to this bouquet apparently represent beauty, and their pink colour means admiration, or even infatuation, a far cry from a fuck you. The lilacs, soft purple stems bursting forth, apparently are a tender representation of a first love, which Simon finds a bit surprising. Baz is way too bloody handsome to have never had a proper first love before him. Would theirs even count? It was more fight than anything else.
Penny flicks his ear to bring his focus back to the flowers when his mind starts wandering down that path. āFocus on the flowers, Simon, not wherever your mind is going trying to figure things out. Figuringās not your specialty.ā
āRight, sure, of course,ā Simon grumbles out, feeling particularly scolding.
Babyās breath, apparently a common filler in bouquets, is also a choice pick for new beginnings, which is why itās so often in wedding bouquets. Heās put in forget-me-nots too, and those can mean devotion and true love and Simonās starting to think heās in over his head. Penny just laughs at him for it. Even the sprigs of thyme represent something. Apparently strength and power and Simonās not really sure why Basil thinks as much of him, and he says as much.
āWell, you started this shop from nothing. You made your own way and youāre not exactly shy about it,ā Penny answers a little too matter-of-factly, āAnd bully for you, itās a pretty strong confession, Iād say.ā
āDoes the greenery mean something too?ā Simon sets the bouquet down in front of him, staring deeply at the filler leaves that make up the space between whites and purples and pinks.
Penny laughs again, a little louder, āWell, maybe, but not that I know about. Anyway, even if it does, itās only going to keep being romantic, Iām sure.ā
āWhy did he say it meant āfuck youā though?ā Simon groans, slouching into his seat.
āI mean, if you think about it, in a way, he is saying āfuck youā in flower. Just,ā Penny wobbles her head and hand in unison, āLike fuck you, positively. Fuck you, literally. Iād like to fuck you, intimately, maybe. I donāt know his preferences, though, I shouldnāt make assumptions on them.ā
āOkay, Pen, please, I bloody get it,ā Simon groans.
āAlright, alright,ā Penny shrugs, leaning back against the front desk, āSo are you gonna do something about it?ā
Simon scrunches up his nose, āOh, bloody well yes I am. That absolute arse deserves whatās coming to him.ā
āAfter your appointment,ā Penny pops her lips as she says it, gesturing to the person who was just walking through the door, āSeems theyāre a touch early.ā
āAfter my appointment,ā Simon agrees, if a little reluctantly. He was definitely not letting this one slide.
āļ½”Ė
Baz, unprepared and going through the preparations to close shop up ten minutes before he would actually have to, was entirely unsuspecting to the thought that someone might have wisened Simon up to what his bouquet might actually mean. Might as well be ready, heād always said, and itās pretty well how he lives his life most of the time too.
Excepting, of course, in the case of Simon Snow.
Simon Snow makes him impulsive, makes him throw insults and fly off the handle, makes him stay up till midnight perfecting an impromptu arrangement heād had to drive across town just to get two kinds of flower that heād run out of stock for two days before this idea had struck him. Needless to say, Simon Snow made him a bit of an idiot.
The bell clangs to his door at five till the hour and Basilās already starting his usual spiel, āWe close in five, if you want to pick something premade and quick, theāā he looks up out of courtesy and instead of some customer he hadnāt been expecting, sees Simon panting his doorway, āOh. Itās you.ā
āMe,ā Simon narrows his eyes at Baz, āYouā¦ āfuck youā in flower right back.ā
It takes Baz a moment. Heād basically completely forgotten that throwaway line over the course of the day, between filling orders and answering calls, heād had other things to think about. Especially considering it had just been a sarcastic moment in his pre-caffeinated state. āDo you meanā¦ like insultingly or literally?ā
Simon marches right up to him, stomping the whole way, which is a rather wasteful expense of energy, Baz has mind to think, before he grabs Baz by the cheeks and tugs him down to kiss him hard.
Itās a hot mess of a kiss. Their teeth clang, Simonās lips burn from leftover curry, āit must be what heād had for lunchā and neither of them have any idea where to put their hands after Simon had grabbed Baz by the face. Eventually, it slows down, Bazās hands finding at least a slightly less awkward perch at Simonās hips, squeezing him gently. Simonās hands slip down to hang over Bazās shoulders and they stay like that for a long moment.
The door bell rings again.
āWeāre closed. Come back tomorrow,ā Basil announces without an ounce of shame and without looking up from Simonās eyes. He hears the door close again, and maybe a muttered apology, but he can deal with it later if anything comes of it. āIām taking that as a literal āfuck you,ā I hope you know.ā
āYouāre a sodding arse,ā Simon scoles him, a fierce little pout on his lips.
āYes, and you kissed me,ā Baz laughs out loud as he says it, āYou must have a thing for sodding arses.ā
āShove off,ā Simon growls and forces him into another kiss, this one with slightly less teeth, taking the time to slot their lips together properly this time, āYou owe me an explanation, Baz Pitch.āĀ
āAlright, Iāll get you one over dinner,ā Baz answers with a kiss to the point of Simonās nose, āSeem fair?ā
āItās a start,ā Simon huffs, āYou know itās not my fault your easy access to half-decent espresso shut down right? The building was already empty by the time I put my bid in!ā
Basil snorts another laugh at that, louder, nipping the pout of Simonās lips, wrapping his arms properly around Simonās waist and pulling the shorter in close by the waist. āIām glad itās gone now, but I certainly wasnāt then.ā
āYou better be,ā Simon purses his lips adorably, already half-caught in a bluster.
Basil shakes his head and squeezes Simon hard enough to pull his attention back to the kissing and not the fighting part of them. āShut up, Simon Snow, and let me kiss you again.ā
And Simon lets him. He does, and he does, and he does.
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ā āļ½”Ė [02. A Life in the Future]
For Day 19 of Carry on Countdown 23, Sci-Fi. @carryon-countdown
Simon needs work done and there's no place better to get it done than with Basil Grimm-Pitch. If the sodding bastard says yes, that is.
Rated T for cussing and, I think, themes.
This is going to be a series of snapshots of different Simon Snows and Baz Pitches in the greater multiverse. You can find the first "life" here, which was written for Day 3, Alternate Universe.
āļ½”Ė
āThis isnāt a chop shop, you know,ā the tech says as soon as Simon Snow slips through the door. He hasnāt even looked up from the prosthetic heās been working on.
Simon scrunches up his nose in annoyance at the assumption, slipping off his coat all the same. āI didnāt want a chop shop, I need a bioware specialist.ā
The tech looks up and squints over at him. He looks at him hard enough that Simon can feel the judging. He looks at him so hard the tech decides he needs to get an even closer look, his eyes shifting as he walks over and takes Simon in, circling him like a predator assessing his worth in meat. āWell, I am a bioware specialist. Sometimes. I donāt think thatās exactly what youāre looking for though.ā
āHow would you know?ā Simon prods, as though he werenāt talking to someone who knew bioware like the back of his hand, probably better than that.
āBecause these are illegal,ā the tech answers with no hesitation, running a hand over the metal of his wings. Simon knows now that this is definitely the shop owner, Basil Grimm-Pitch, the eyes giving him away, not to mention the impromptu assessment.
āNot all customs are illegal,ā Simon argues, āYour eyes arenāt illegal.ā
āNot so far as anyone knows, no,ā Baz grins as he says it, and Simon supposes it would probably be a lot easier to pass illegal eyes off as legal versus whatever he had going on. āBut these wings are. Soās the tail. Thatād never pass check in this city. You canāt tell me you get away with it just by covering them up with a coat.ā
āWell, no,ā Simon admits, āThatās why Iām here, actually.ā
āYouāll have to give me a good reason to want to risk my business for your illegal augments.ā Baz runs his fingers over the joints in his wings, making them twitch slightly with the touch. āWhatās wrong with them?ā
āWell, technically nothing,ā Simon answers and then makes a great exaggerated face and clenches his fists and looks a good bit more exerted than he should for someone whoās just standing there, sweat beading on his forehead, and then he relaxes again, āExcept when I try to fold them against my back like I should be able to. They just donāt anymore.ā
āSounds like a simple issue in the gears,ā Basil stepped around front of Simon again, āAre you sure youāre not looking for a chop shop?ā
āTheyāre connected at the nerves, I canāt go to just any chop shop for this. Canāt unhook em, canāt not feel em, theyāre just stuck there,ā Simon sighed, āAnyway shouldnāt the challenge be enough to incentivize you?ā
Basil hums and runs his hand over his chin, considering, āIāll need my hourly fee. I still need to eat around here, and potentially the cost of discreetly shipping in parts, depending on what you need. Can you afford that?ā
Simon pursed his lips, āMaybe.ā
āMaybe?ā
āMaybe. Hard to do jobs like this. Can I loan for it? Or trade for it?ā Bartering wasnāt his specialty, but trading was generally alright. Someone always needed something done, and Simon was damn good at doing something when it was most needed.
āI might have a job for you, eventually. Not right now though.ā Basil took a step back and gave Simon another look from head to toe and back up again. āSure, yeah, something could come up. Youād have to stick around till it did though, are you up for that?ā
āNowhere else to go,ā Simon admits with a shrug, āYouāll do it?ā
āIāll make an attempt. Removal sounds like not an option, so Iāll make an attempt. You trust me enough to bring in a consultant?ā Baz asks as he sits himself back down in his seat, placing a pair of particularly complicated-looking glasses on his nose, picking up where he left off with the prosthetic.
āYou need a consultant?ā Simon perks a brow as he steps to get a closer look at whatever Basilās working on. He knowsā¦ shit all about any of this. It looks to beā¦ a hand, so far as Simon can tell. Five fingers, a palm, some knuckles, little faux nailsā¦ yep, itās a hand. Beyond that, Simonās bloody clueless.
āNot really, but a second pair of eyes and/or hands can be helpful in complicated cases like yours though,ā Basil answers with an off-handed wave. āWho fucked you up with those augments anyway? Whyād you ask for something so insane in the first place?ā
Simon shuffles his feet awkwardly a moment, leaning back and away from Baz. āIt wasnāt something I asked for, actually.ā
Basil glances up at Simon through those glasses, then over them, a look of understanding passing over his face, and then he refocuses once more on the hand in front of him. āI see,ā he says simply, āWell, who botched the job? Do you know?ā
āAh,ā Simon relaxes a moment, shrugging slightly, āWell, only what he goes by.ā
āWhatās he go by then?ā
Work names were generally better known anyway, Simon admits to himself, at least most of the time. He wonders a moment over whether or not he should give up the name. At one point in his life, Simon had considered him something of a mentor. Did he want to admit his former mentor had ruined him like this? Heās not entirely sure yet.
He gives the name over anyway, āHe goes by the Mage in most circles.ā
Basil puts down his tools and takes off his glasses again, zeroing in on Simonās face. āAre my ears malfunctioning or did you say the bloody Mage?ā
Simon furrows his brows a little at that, āDo you have augmented ears?ā
āThatās neither here nor there,ā Baz dismisses, leaning further forward while he looks Simon down, āDid you say the Mage?ā
āAh,ā Simon blinks a little bit, āYeah, I said the Mage.ā
āOh, Iāll do it for bloody free, I hate that sodding blighter.ā Basil shook his head again, regaining his composure just that easily. āYou should head in the back for now. Iāve got an expected client in the next half. Youāll not want them seeing you all wings out like that. Most of my clientele are above board, after all.ā
āAlright then,ā Simon agrees, a little confused. He wasnāt about to protest a free fix though. His legs were already moving him the way towards the door Baz had nodded to, āAnything I should know?ā
āYeah,ā Baz answers without looking, āDonāt bloody touch anything. Iāll pop back after weāre clear.ā
āI think can manage that...ā
āGood. You have a name I can call you?ā
āSimon,ā he says after a momentās pause at the door, āSimon Snow.ā
āExcellent, Simon. Now you hide in there for a minute. Take a nap or something. Weāll handle those wings, and then maybe weāll talk more about the Mage, sound alright?ā Baz just barely glances back at Simon out of the corner of his eyes.
Simonā¦ wasnāt exactly sure he wanted to talk about the Mage, but he did want that work done. āIāll tell you what I can. If itās not enough, Iāll still do that job then?ā
āBrill,ā Baz turned back again as Simon slipped through that back door and into a wide, openā¦ wellā¦ operating room. He wasnāt sure what he should be more confused about: the operating room in what was definitely ānot a chop shopā or Basil Grimm-Pitch using words like ābrill.ā
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ā āļ½”Ė [Pancakes]
For Day 18 of Carry on Countdown 23, Hunger. @carryon-countdown
In which Simon is an actual half-dragon and he's found himself in a bit of a situation with a certain human mage. He supposes there's probably perks (pancakes) to this arrangement.
This part is rated T, mostly just for the language.
Days 9 & 15 can be found [here] and [here]
āļ½”Ė
Simon quirked his lips at Bazās threatening spatula and shrugged. He was already in this, he might as well be committed to it. Simon pushed the contract over so Baz could inspect it, his own signature prominently displayed at the bottom. āIām the āmaybe youāre a dwarfā dragon you caught last night.ā
Baz stepped cautiously towards the signed contract, picking it up carefully and squinting down at the curly scrawl that made up Simonās signature. āSimon Snow?ā Baz asks, incredulous, āYou signed this? Really? And thatās really your name?ā
āWell,ā Simon answered with a shrug, āYes. And yes.ā
āNot a terribly creative name for a dragon.ā Baz still sounded doubtful, but at least he wasnāt pointing his spatula at Simon like it was a weapon.
āYouāre one to talk,ā Simon shot back, brows furrowing as he leaned back against the seat heād taken. āWhat sort of name is Baz for a mage, anyway?ā
āItās an abbreviation.ā
āFor?ā
Baz sighed and returned his attention to his pancakesā thick, fluffy pancakesā which had somehow not been miraculously burned. Simon felt his stomach rumble again as he was reminded of that sweet smell of syrup and fresh made breakfast. āItās short for Basilton.ā
Oh, Simon would really rather be talking about the pancakes, but he couldnāt help but give to the urge to prod a little further. āAnd what sort of nameās Basilton, anyway?ā
āAn overly complicated one, and technically my middle,ā Baz answered while he plated the first batch of pancakes, making Simonās stomach rumble even more obviously. āWhich is why I like going by Baz and Basil more often, but my mother had a philosophy about mages needing overly complicated names and I loved her and her odd little quirks too much, so I suppose thatās why Iāve kept it.ā
āOh,ā Simon stopped himself short of asking if he was getting any pancakes, āSeems a good reason to keep it. That was a bit more explanation than I was expecting, though.ā
āYou asked.ā Basil was pouring more of the batter onto the pan, perfectly portioned out mini pancakes and Simon completely unsubtly licked his lips as he watched. āWell, what about Simon Snow?ā
āNothing special,ā Simon answered with another shrug, āJust what people have always called me, as long as I can remember. Seems to have stuck.ā
āSeems so, if youāre signing magickal contracts with it,ā Baz hummed back, eyes careful on his pancakes, waving his hand over the cooling stack to the side of him, āAre you going to wait for these to get cold or are you going to eat?ā
āOh! I wasnāt sure if I was allowed,ā Simon admitted, half-standing from the table but still wavering.
āYou said you signed the contract.ā
āI did.ā
āWell, did you read it?ā Baz questioned with a sideways glance back towards Simon.
āObviously! It was a magickal contract, I didnāt just sign it without checkingā¦ Iām not that stupid.ā Simon stood the rest of the way and but paused, not quite taking the first plate, hesitating a moment, āUmn?ā
Somehow, Baz understood him. āIf you recall, the contract said Iād keep you fed and housed. Also, Butterās top shelf in the fridge door, real maple syrup in the cupboard above, pull it down to the table for me, will you?ā
Simon took his plate and found everything as Baz had described, sitting down with his pancakes and breaking into them all too quickly, soothing the beast in his belly. āBloody hellā so good.ā
āYouāre welcome,ā Basil called back, sitting himself across from Simon with his own stack of pancakes, if slightly shorter. āSo. Youāre a dragon? Really?ā
āReally really,ā Simon answered again, more confident this time. āOr well,ā He waved his hand between bites, āIām half. Mum was normal as far as I know, never met my da though. Do know he was a dragon though, otherwise I wouldnāt be able to do this.ā
Simon sat forward, shifting up to the edge of his seat, scrunching up his nose and bending forward enough that his face was nearly in his plate. A concentrated look fixed itself on his face and great, long wings popped into existence on his back and another short moment later, a tail sprouted from the base of his spine, a dark gold leather to match the wings on his back.
āBloody hell,ā Basil grimaced, āDoesnāt that hurt?ā
āLike a bitch,ā Simon said a little too proudly, āYou get used to it though.ā
āAnd the other shapeā¦?ā Baz asked, gesturing to the basement door Simon had emerged from.
āOh, that,ā Simon shook his head, clearing the last of his pancakes. Was he hungrier than normal? Well, it had been a while since heād last had a real meal, he supposed. āNot at all by comparison. Maybe a little discomfort but itās different. Donāt worry about it, it doesnāt bother me any. Iād say sometimes Iām more comfortable like that even.ā
Baz furrowed his brows as he took in all of this information. āThis is going to be an odd contract, I think.ā
āWell,ā Simon shrugged, āIām not your average dragon, but I think we can make it work anyway. If you end up needing me in my dragon shape, weāll do that, if not, we wonāt. Simple as that.ā
āI donāt think anyoneās ever had a dragon-half familiar before. I wonder if thereās any books or records on itā¦ I wonder what resources I can find on dragon-halfs in the first placeā¦ā
Baz seemed to have forgotten a pancake and a half in his contemplation, and Simon couldnāt quite stop himself from eyeing it, wetting his lips again. His fingers tapped on the table as he wondered just how to ask if Baz was going to finish that without being impolite.
Luckily, he didnāt have to.
āOh, youāre probably still hungry, no?ā Basil asked when he noticed they way Simon was practically frothing at the mouth.
Simon nodded, fingers already reaching across the table as Basil passed over his remaining pancakes.
āI should have warned you. Familiars have a hunger. Itās the magick youāre storing now,ā Basil explained as he glanced off and out the window above the kitchen sink.
āYou havenāt done anything though? And Iāve always been hungryā¦ā Simon admitted between giant bites of the remaining the pancakes.
āYes, well, more,ā Baz continued, still looking out that window, āThe process started as soon as you signed, and it will enhance your metabolism further. So I suppose since youāre at least half a human, Iāll have to consider more than doubling what I buy when I shop normallyā¦ the costs of having a familiar, I suppose.ā
āYou were the one looking for one,ā Simon countered.
Bazās eyes turn sharply back towards the dragon half, nostrils flaring for a moment. āYouāre worth it. I can tell.ā
āAlready?ā
āAlready,ā Baz confirmed with a curt nod, āIām quite certain of it.ā
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ā āļ½”Ė [Precious Things]
For Day 17 of Carry on Countdown 23, Fluff (the streak remains unbroken!) @carryon-countdown
Simon's had a long day at work. Too long a day, but Basil's there when he gets home to get him safely into bed.
Rated T, for the sweet, nonsexual intimacy of cuddling your exhausted partner naked in bed.
This is yet another part the Nurse/Lawyer AU for this CoC... originally it was only three parts, but I think now we're up to five parts for it. I hope you enjoy them all. š¤ [Part 1][Part 2]
āļ½”Ė
Itās been a long bloody day.
My head bangs gently against our front door, my eyes closed softly against the light of the hallway that leads to our apartment, too tired to fumble with the keys until I find the right one to unlock the door and let myself stumble over onto the couch and collapse into unconsciousness.
I bloody well want to, Iām already there internally, already thinking about how nice itāll be to curl up and allow myself the sweet oblivion of sleep, of nothing. It was sixteen hours straight, and even if itās not the worst I might have to work in an emergency scenario, even if Iāve done it many, many times before, it is exhausting. I would very much like to be asleep yesterday and not be feeling my bones so much anymore.
The keys are heavy in my palm, but I start fiddling with them all the same, despite the loud noise of them being entirely too much to handle now. I just want quiet. I want quiet and I want Basil and I want our apartment and our bed and blessed, beautiful sleep.
The door opens of itās own accord, without my help from the key, and there he is. My Basil. Heās wrapping his arms around me and tugging me properly into our apartment.
Our apartment.
Iām still getting used to that, you know, itās not like weāve been together that long, but this was our apartment now. Our apartment, full of our things, pictures of our friends and family, our food in the fridge, or everything together. Our future even, maybe.
Iād resisted at first, you know. Weād only been together six months, it wasnāt exactly a sure thing then, and something in me wasnāt confident enough to think I could keep Baz then, but heād insisted. My lease came up and I was bemoaning not being able to afford how much more they were asking for and Baz had insisted.
āPay me what you do now if it bothers you so much, that way you donāt feel like itās a charity affair or some such other nonsense,ā Heād said, all posh and snooty like he could get when he was certain he was right. I hate when he thinks his right, by the way, because he usually is right. āBesides, weāre together. We spend over half our nights together, thereās no reason to be shy about moving in to mine.ā
So Basilās āmineā had become āours,ā just like that.
Our place is much nicer than my place had been, all that lawyer money probably had something to do with it, but Baz didnāt gloat about the difference between the two. Not before it had become ours, not during the inevitable move, and not now either.
Now it was just ours, and Baz was holding me in it, petting soft through my hair and smelling faintly of woodsmoke and dark red wine.
āI told you, you didnāt have to stay up waiting for me,ā Iām trying to scold him, but itās only soft and fond and so, so bloody tired.
āI know, love,ā his voice is half a song and ridiculously calming. Iām already sighing against his chest, thinking about biting into him Iām so overly fond. āI missed you though, and Iād work I could do from home anyway, so I did that. Now we can sleep in together and I wonāt need to be ready for my first meeting until two in the afternoon.ā
I hum tiredly against his shoulder, nuzzling it softly already half asleep in his arms.
āSounds nice, doesnāt it? A nice ten hour sleep, a lazy morning, maybe breakfast in bed, maybe cocoa if Iām feeling fancy about it,ā Heās lulling me to sleep with his soft morning plans for us and I think he knows it, except heās started this while weāre still in the living room.
āBed,ā I manage to murmur, my nose still buried in that same spot against his skin. āThat sounds lovely, tell me more in bed.ā
Basil laughs quietly at me and I think I love the sound. Thatās a lie, I know I love the sound. By now I am well and truly, stupidly in love with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Heās already told me I donāt have to take his name if we ever get married. I canāt believe heās already thought wedding thoughts, we havenāt been together a full year yet.
I canāt blame him though. I have also been guilty of wedding thoughts already in our relationship. Not terribly deep ones, Iāll admit, but wedding thoughts none the less. Just soft little thoughts, like how handsome heāll look in a tuxedo, what flowers he might pick out for us, how nice an outdoor wedding might be. Basilās definitely going to be the one planning a majority of the event, heās such a bloody perfectionist. Iām partial to the perfectionist in him though, and I donāt think most of the little details will matter half as much to me as theyāll matter to him. Maybe the flavour of the cake would matterā¦ Iād like something related to cherries, maybe. Probably. Definitely.
Iām too tired to be entirely decisive on anything just now, but I do know that cherries would be delightful.
Before I know it, Baz has already gotten us to the bedroom. He mustāve carried me there, because I think my legs have well and truly given out on me. Maybe Iād been dreaming about our wedding, and thatās how I didnāt notice a single step of the way there. Itās entirely his fault, by the way, for being so comforting and soft to rest against right when Iām through the doorā before Iāve even made it through the door technically.
āCome here.ā Iām being demanding, I know, pulling at his shirt with weak arms while heās undressing me.
He slips from my grip all too easily, perking a brow down at me, out of my reach and knowing full well Iām too sore and tired and out of it to try again. āYouāre not sleeping in our bed in your work clothes,ā He says it like itās obvious.
āOur bed,ā I hum back at him, repeating his words and forgetting myself all over again.
āSimon Snow, you are too bloody tired to function,ā Basil scolds softly, his fingers working me out of my clothes with a touch too tender compared to all his sterness. I love him, Iām all too aware all over again.
I love him so bloody bad. āMhmnā¦ Come cuddle thoughā¦ itās been so longā¦ā
āIām getting there,ā Bazās placating me. He taught me that word. Itās not an uncommon word, apparently, but it hadnāt been in my vernacular before we were dating. Vernacular. Thereās another one.
Baz finally finishes undressing himself and climbs into the bed next to me, pulling me into his arms and tucking me under his chin, tucking us both in under the sheets. āBetter,ā I mutter out, āI missed you.ā
āI missed you too,ā he murmurs back to me, running his fingers soft through my hair, āYou need to rest though. We both do. Itād been a long day.ā
āSuch a long day,ā the words leave my lips more exhausted groan than proper words. Iām too tired to care.
Itās been over twenty hours since Iāve been in our bed and I think I might already be mostly asleep. I mightāve been mostly asleep since Iād fallen through the doorway. Baz is humming a tune for me, soft and low. Heād been a music student, once upon a time, an era ago, he says, before the accident. He always calls it the accident. Someday, maybe heāll tell me about the accident. Not tonight though.
Tonight heās humming for me, his voice is quiet and deep, the perfect vibrato to pull me in deeper. āI love your voice. I love you. Youāre so beautiful, everything about you is beautifulā¦ā
Baz chuckles that dark chuckle again and I canāt keep my eyes open any longer. āYouāre even more beautiful to me, love, now rest, alright?ā
āMhmnā¦ā I think Iām half in a dream already, and he keeps petting me and humming for me. Heās tangled our legs together and every part of me feels heavy.
He always makes me feel so safe. I love him so much. Iām not sure if I said it out loud that time, but I feel it in every part of my body, in every part of my soul.
āI love you too, Simon Snow,ā Basilās voice is like a song, and I love that about him too, āI love you so much more than I can possibly say with words.ā
His song takes me to sleep, and Iām already dreaming about his pancakes in the morning and his dark chocolate cinnamon cocoa, I can already taste it on my tongue. Nothing tastes better.
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ā āļ½”Ė [Poison]
For Day 16 of Carry on Countdown 23, Smoke. @carryon-countdown
Filthy Anniversary Smut. As Simon Snow and Basilton Grimm-Pitch deserve.
Rated somewhere between M and E, for being overtly smutty. It's not the most descriptive on what's happening twixt their nethers though, so your mileage may vary.
Warnings for (consensual) smoking/cigarettes, burnplay and sexual shenanigans whilst under the influence.
āļ½”Ė
Itās three in the morning. The clock ticks loudly. Itās the only sound beyond the clink of their shared wine glass whenever one of them places it back on the bedside table. Mostly Basil. This is Basilās show and heās shameless with it. Simonās on fire all over again and this time itās not even the unnatural outpouring of magick heād been able to tap into, once upon a time.
Simonās on his back a pillow at his spine between his wings to keep them from being squashed unnecessarily, beyond what Baz might like for him. His tailās wrapped around Bazās ankle, squeezing every time Baz makes another move against him. Basil, poised perfectly above him, slotted between Simonās legs, still buried deep, not bothering to clean them up or separate between rounds.
Crowley, itās been one hell of an anniversary. Whisked off to Paris, shown about the town, wined and dined, and now heās pinned to their hotel bed, far nicer than the one Simonās got in his shitty little apartment. Willingly, of course, all too willingly. Heās let Basil tie his wrists together and to the headboard, a long silk scarf the colour of his wings to make a pretty pictureā just like Baz likes.
Basilās still rocking inside of him, slow and lazy, dragging debauched moans from Simon, his Simon with every one. His throatās gone by now, his voice raw with everything theyāve gotten up to since theyād stumbled their way back into the hotel, a little bit tipsy from after dinner drinks and lounge music, and Simonās certain Basilās got plans to ruin his voice even more.
Itās three in the morning, theyāre in their hotel, which Simonās pretty certain was a smoking free room, and Basilās scrounged a cigarette from somewhere. Had he had that the whole time? Probably. Simon was too gone to tell. Baz starts dragging the tip of it over his chest, unlit, but undeniably a precursor to something more. Simonās breath hitches when Baz shoots him a look, sends his eyelashes fluttering like some twitterpated teen girl instead of the very entwined couple they were.
Baz grips Simonās chin and straightens his neck, taking another sip of wine, and cracks Simonās mouth open, spitting it secondhand into his mouth. A little nearly spills, but Baz cleans it quick with his thumb, forcing that in Simonās mouth too. Simon writhes and moans, but swallows diligently, humming when itās all down his throat, a happy little smile playing on his lips.
āOh, you head-empty little thing, youāre loving all of this, arenāt you?ā Basil drawls above him and Simon only nods, his little smile growing. āWell, thatās good then. As you should, on our anniversary.ā
Simon hums again as Baz pulls the cigarette to his lips, lighting it on his thumb and watching Simonās eyes blow wide all over again. Tension pulls Simonās muscles taut all over again underneath Basil. āYou love that too, donāt you, Darling? Think itās bloody hot?ā
Simon nods again, even faster, earning a soft chuckle from Baz as he takes his first proper drag. āFilthy,ā Baz murmurs as he settles a little deeper, hand poised with the cigarette over Simonās abdomen. He drags his fingertips slowly up and down the center of him, the heat of the butt of it dangerously close to Simonās skin. Thereās a moment of pause between them, a fierce eye contact, an unspoken request, and Simon nods his consent all too easily.
The cigarette burns a neat circle just above his belly button and then itās leaving his skin so Baz can take another long drag. Basil blows smoke over the burn, bending deep so he can kiss it soft, cooling it with cool lips, before pressing another perfect circle into the dip of Simonās hips, on the left side, and then before he could even react, again on the right.
A low whine slips from Simonās lips and Bazās grin only cracks wider. He presses two more soft kisses to each mark before straightening again, sinking back in easy for his love, fingers tracing a small circle just below Simonās ribs. Another unspoken question. Another quick nod from Simon, begging without words for the sadistic attention.
Baz takes another drag, blowing the smoke through his nose, and marking just where heād marked for Simonās approval, and then again in the middle of Simonās chest, dead center of it. Two more kisses find their way over Simonās aching skin between Basilās lazy drags and lazy rocking, still taking his time while Simonās already twisting under him, voiceless and wanting.
āOne more, love, is that all you need?ā Basil tone borders on teasing, his grin something wicked, made of the smoke heās blowing. He knows better, but heās teasing all the same.
Itās enough to make Simon throw him a glare, enough to nearly find his voice, but it cracks again on nothing. He shakes his head furiously, sending Baz a vicious pout when the vampireās grip catches his jaw again, forcing his gaze one more time.
āWhere?ā is all Basil asks, and itās entirely unfair. He canāt point where heād like to with his hands bound like this, and his legs are useless with how theyāre tangled together.
Heāll have to use his voice.
Just like Basil likes, an exasperated version of himself reminds Simon internally. Nothing he hasnāt agreed to, nothing he doesnāt like, but that urge to riot rising in Simon as his eagerness and impatience grows.
āCollarāā He manages to crack out, despite the state of him, despite the growing desperation and the glower settling on his face, but before his mood could sour properly, Basil catches his lips in a searing kiss, almost unnaturally hot.
āFine,ā Basil mutters through his smokey kiss, āThree more, then Iāll take care of us. If youāre still good to go that is?ā
The hand not holding that cigarette massages at Simonās wrists, a careful moment of tenderness, and Simon nods again as his jaw is freed. āMāgood,ā he mumbles out, barely audible, āMāso bloody good.ā
āAlright, Darling,ā Baz rumbles out, already dragging from that dangerous cigarette all over again, āThatās enough out of you for now, rest that pretty voice until I make you scream all over again.ā
Itās all too easy a command to follow.
Tears start gathering in Simonās eyes when the first burn hits him, just at the dip of his collarbone against his neck. He squints when the second hits, a mirror of the last, attempting to blink them away while Baz takes his last drag of his cigarette. The final burn presses into the hollow of his throat and Simon moans filthy even as his tears spill over properly onto his cheeks.
Basil leans up to ash the mostly dead cigarette in their mostly empty wine glass and then back down to kiss Simonās tears away, trailing all the way down to lips to kiss him languid all over again. Their kiss tastes like poison, like smoke and ash and a hint of blood, probably Simonās. Their kiss tastes like danger, like suffocation, like all the fire and fight theyād ever shared between them. Their kiss tastes like love, like tender velvet and soft rose petals, none of the thorns they both used to wield against each other.
Simon loves it, all of it, swallows down those kisses as greedily as Basil gives them, whining when Baz breaks their kiss to press their foreheads together.
āReady?ā Basil breathes sometime after three in the morning, barely above a whisper. Barely a nod answers him before Simon is reduced to breathlessness all over again.
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ā āļ½”Ė [Pillows]
For Day 15 of Carry on Countdown 23, Familiar. @carryon-countdown
In which Simon is an actual half-dragon and he's found himself in a bit of a situation with a certain human mage. He's not exactly unhappy about it, somewhat surprisingly.
This part is rated T, mostly just for the language.
Part one (for Day 9) can be found [here]
āļ½”Ė
āPerhaps youāre a dwarf,ā Simonās would be captor mused, flipping through a giant tome from his safe place out of Simonās binding circle. A safe distance from all the nipping and biting and fire breathing that would have been happening if Simon could just bloody leave.
Simon circled anxiously in his circle, pacing along the edge of it once, then twice, and a third time before curling up on himself, blowing more smoke up at the studious mage out of his reach. His chin settled on his claws and he closed his eyes, determined that if the mage wasnāt going to pay attention to him, he may as well nap.
āYou certainly donāt appear as a fairy dragon would have,ā The mage kept talking as if Simon was listening at all, āBeyond just your size, your wings and scales are all wrong. Much too sleek and far too unkempt. A fairy dragon would never allow themself to become such a mess. Not to say youāre not a very handsome whatever kind of drake you are, but youāre certainly not the kind I was seeking.ā
Simon cracked his eyes open just to shoot a glare at the pacing mage standing at the edge of the circle. He flicked his tongue to express his discontent at being called unkept. Not that his captor was wrong, but it was impolite to just call someone that before you even knew them.
āNot to mention the language barrierā¦ I wonder where I went wrong with the summoningā¦ā
Simon squawked up at Basil and that seemed to finally draw his attention. Sure, it hadnāt landed him a blanket and a pillow or anything like a proper nest, but it was something. He raised his head and flicked his tongue again, watching as the mage came to a halt in front of him.
āWait,ā The mage breathed, a hand running through his raven locks, āCan you understand me, then?ā
Simon raised a wing as if to say, yes, of bloody course he could. It wasnāt perfect, but it seemed to do the trick.
āOh, well maybe we can work something out after all,ā The mage declared, āLet me explain what Iād been intending, and we can figure out where to go from there.ā
Simon scrunched his nose up at the larger, his discontent clear.
āOkay, clearly I need to not parse my words. Let me start over.ā Baz set his tome down on the floor, kneeling just on the other side of the circle.
āI go by Baz,ā The mage started, āIām looking for a familiar, and itās all supposed to be entirely consensual, despite how it might seem from in there. If you werenāt able to consent to it in the first place, I was going to set you free. Further, if you didnāt want to abide to the contract, Iād set you free. I just need something toā¦ mmnā¦ essentially serve as a magickal conduit for me. Something that can channel and hold for me. Perhaps a sort of equilibrium in the matters of my work.ā
Simon just gave the mageā Bazā a confused look.
āRight,ā Baz laughed a little when he realized heād been about to go into theory, āYou donāt have to understand it, I suppose. Itās just when I need to do magick thatās bigger than me and my body alone can handle, a magickal assistant can take the impossible and make it possible. Fairy dragons are particularly good at this, which is why I was specifically seeking one, but really, any magickal creature with capacity to consent will serve. Do you understand?ā
Simonās tongue darted out over his little dragon teeth and he nodded. He guessed he got enough of the meaning behind the words Baz had rambled out.
āOkay, great. Now, the next part. Iām going to break the seal, please donāt fry me.ā
Simon uncurled himself and shook himself out, stretching as he stood. He circled another moment, as if considering, before finally nodding his agreement.
Baz broke the seal with a quick swipe of his thumb through the chalk lines of his seal. Simon crawled himself forward slowly, eyeing the lines with mistrust, hissing as he crossed. No invisible force struck him back or kept him bound though, so he strode through the rest of the way all too confidently.
āCan you read?ā Baz propped the open book up so Simon could see itās lettering more clearly.
The look Baz got for the question was absolutely dead inside.
āOh, donāt look at me like that. I donāt know how common it is for dragons to read human languages.ā Baz paused for a moment, brushing his hair back out of his face, and Simon huffed at him, rolling his eyes in a terribly exhasperated way that could only be expressed in such a tiny shape.
āOkay, so obviously you read,ā Baz corrected, āWould you consider a contract with me? Itās not all one way. Iād keep you fed and housed and such. Give you enrichment activities.ā
A small moment of extended eye contact passed between them.
āAlright, fair, I realize how that sounds. But thereās a lot of nuance to a familiar contract. You wouldnāt be like a pet, more like a partner in magick.ā
Simon sat up on his haunches so he could look more properly at the awkward expression his proposed partner was wearing. Maybe he wasnāt all bad.
āOkay, so yes, you caught me,ā Baz sighed out. Simon, on the other hand, had no idea what heād caught in the first place. āI was about to say partners in crime. Not that it would be magickal crime weād be committing. Or any kind of crime. Do you even have a concept of human law and crime? Bloody hell, this really isnāt how I was expecting this to goā¦ā
Simon hissed out an almost laugh, as close to the sound as he could get his vocal cords to manage in this shape.
āOkay, good. So I am being ridiculous. Iāll leave the contract here for you to go over. If you like it and want to sign it great. If not. Weāll figure out how to teleport you back from wherever you were before this. You can crash here for the night.ā Baz gestured to a small bed shoved up into the corner of the room Simonād been summoned into.
He took a moment to really take it in, since heād been too distracted by being unwillingly bound in a circle before. It looked like it was a basement, a bit dim for lighting, but not particularly dready or unkept. In fact, it was a very, very neat space. Overly neat. Too neat. Shelves lined the walls, filled with either meticulously colour-coded magickal components or diligently alphabetized books. Baz was scuffing more of the circle up with the toe of his boot, and Simon figured he could take the contract and hop on the bed and give it a proper look over.
It didnāt seem like a bad deal. He was a bit in dire straights about food and shelter most nights, and he knew he had a wellspring of magick he couldnāt quite tap into. Maybe this mage boy could help him figure out some of that nuance too. They could be mutually beneficial. And, as Simon read further down, there were ways to break the contract without death of either party involved. That was good. He wasnāt sure he had the stomach for death if he wanted out, if he found out Baz wasnāt the sort of person he wanted touching his magick.
He huffed again, but quieter, resting his head on the pillow heād been provided. A pillow ā Simon could die happy now. Itād been months since heād last rested in a proper bed. Apparently Baz had managed to sneak past him when heād been going over the details, but that made sense. Simon had never been the strongest reader, even if he was completely capable. He just required a little extra concentration to get through things.
Well, why not? He figured. He flitted his way over to Bazās inkpots, dipped a claw in, and signed his name on the dotted line. There were worse places to end up than at someoneās side as their familiar. Besides, Basil seemed nice enough.
Simon had even gotten the blanket and pillows he was due. And a mattress! Morgana and Merlin, bless, a mattress. There were far worse fates to be tied to, and it was with that thought that Simon passed out on his newly provided bed. A not so temporary bed.
He woke to the intoxicating smell of pancakes. Itād been a bloody era since heād had proper, fresh pancakesā¦
Simon slipped from the bed thoughtlessly, snatching the contract as he went and drifted his way up the stairs, following that heady smell all the way to the kitchen. āBloody hell, that smells delightful,ā Simon declared as he plopped himself down in a chair.
Baz turned to look at him.
Simon blinked cluelessly back at Baz.
They stood their like that for a moment. A long, long moment. And then Basil was pointing his spatula very threateningly in Simonās direction. āIām sorry, whomst the fuck?ā
Simon blinked again. He looked at the contract, exactly as he remembered from the night before. He looked to Baz, also exactly as he remembered from the night before. Then Simon looked at his hands. Then down to his legs. He waved his fingers. āOh,ā He said dumbly.
Well, at least the reaction made sense.
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