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sucrosette · 4 months

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★— ⋆｡˚ [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~ 🖤 [Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4]

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“Why cherry scones?” 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 widow’s peak. “It’s not that complicated, they’re just good.”

He reaches up to stroke a hand soft over the side of my neck and I lean into the touch instinctively. “No nostalgia?”

He doesn’t say it, but I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that he’s noticed a bit how I’ll get just a tad bit weepy when I’m making them. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that he’s noticed how much it means to me that he always gets ingredients for more of them whenever he does the grocery shopping. “I suppose,” I admit, tugging at a stray strand of his hair, “There’s a little nostalgia.”

Baz’s hands are so soft against my neck, so gentle and soothing, he looks so soft like this. We don’t do this sort of thing often. I work too much, he works too much. Days spent in local parks having picnics and lingering just aren’t exactly in the cards for us, but we’ve been making more time for them. He’s taken me on a beach day recently too, but this one was my idea.

“Tell me about it?” Baz asks as I tug on that stray strand of hair again, soothing over it immediately after. “If you want to.”

I nod, still thinking about the sentiment of the park a little bit. It’s a park I used to frequent with Penny, back when she’d been living in the UK too. Baz knows that part, I’d told him that much when I’d planned our little date. When we’d first gotten here, we’d even snapped a couple of selfies that I could send over her way. Or well, really I’d 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 doesn’t send texts like “our old haunting grounds!! I miss you!!” 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 it’s cute.

“Simon?”

Right, we were talking.

“You know how Pen and I used to come here?” I start, and he nods, not really needing the reminder from just this morning. “We 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 honestly… it was the first food I really liked in my childhood.”

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 don’t 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. “Who taught you to make them?”

“Ahh…” I think I can feel myself flushing, “I sort of… 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.”

“Simon,” 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. “Simon Snow, you did not bullshit together a recipe when google exists.”

“I did,” I nod down at him, as disappointed as he is about it. “I did and I had access to google in the school library and I ignored it in favour of ruining Cook Pritchard’s life.”

“You’re terrible,” Baz snorts out. He also leans up to kiss me again, cupping my cheek soft. He’s so full of affection for me. He doesn’t have to say it when he kisses me like that. He says it anyway. “I love you, menace to society that you are.”

I love how he can say something like that, call me something like that, and sound so impossibly fond. “I know you do,” 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 I’m lying fully on the grass and he’s leaning above me and holding my hands and kissing me silly.

I’m 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 he’s kissing me silly like this. He still makes me so bloody giddy and it’s been well over a year and I spend all my free time with him. Everyone says that’ll change, that I’ll 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 they’re sodding insane. They probably think I’m insane for thinking it’s 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 kisses…

“Tell me more of your favourite foods,” Baz asks between my laughter and his kisses.

I’m a little caught off guard. I’d forgotten we were talking still again, but I just grin up at him. “Anything you make me is my favourite food.”

“That’s cheating, love,” Baz snorts out another laugh, “You have to give a real answer, or else I’m just going to cook for me forever.”

“I like whatever you cook for you,” I shrug under him, chasing down another soft, silly little kiss, a little giddy-drunk-stupid on his affections, “That’s plenty real enough, I think.”

He hums back at me, nipping soft over my lips. “You’ll have to give a real answer sooner or later, Simon, or else we’ll be serving basilla and fattah at our wedding.”

“Okay but I actually do love your fattah.” And I do. I love all his home cooking, but the casual wedding talk is new. Distracing. I can’t help but drift back to it. “You want to marry me?”

He laughs. Of course he bloody laughs. As if it were obvious.

“More than anything.”

He says it so bloody confidently, and I know one day he’s going to ask, and one day I’m going to say yes. I’m not even going to have time to figure out my own plan. He’s already got it all figured out, but I don’t mind. I like that he’s 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. “We’re going to have to have cherries in the cake then. That’s my only demand.”

“As if I wasn’t already planning on it.” Baz’s 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. “You’re such a bloody prick.”

Unfortunately, he’s still just as smug. “You love this bloody prick.”

“Unfortunately,” I groan back. I can’t commit though. I’m already kissing him bloody stupid all over again. “Unfortunately, I’m going to marry this bloody prick.”

#Carry On Countdown #COC 2023 #baz pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #carry on fanfiction #my writing #Bigender Nurse Simon Snow (He/She)#Lawyer Baz Pitch #soft snowbaz #domestic snowbaz #fluff fluff fluff

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erzbethluna · 2 years

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Six Sentence Sunday

Hello there! Finally, I'm giving away some ideas about this fic I'm working on! (I'm still outlining it, and still figuring out important plot parts, but here we are) Thank you for your tags @confused-bi-queer @castawaypitch @cutestkilla @captain-aralias you are gold and true inspiration!! Ok, lemme mention some ideas for this AU fanfic:

1. Simon is a baker (25 years old) and a single dad. His son's name is Oliver (8 years old). Had him really young in a teen romance with Agatha, who left him and the kid and went to live in America (her family is still in touch, but Simon doesn't want anything to do with them).

2. Ebb is Simon's godmother and the bakery owner. Protected Simon and gave him a job when he was left alone with a child at such young age. Is a grandma figure for Oliver, and let them live in the bakery's upper apartment.

3. Simon grew up with his grandparents. They helped him with his kid until they found out he had feelings for a man (after Agatha and before Baz), and his grandfather turned his back to him and kicked him out of his house, and prohibited his family to keep in touch with him (that's when Ebb came into the picture).

4. Simon was a star footballer in secondary school, with the perfect girlfriend, and a bright future. He started to catch feeling for his football coach, and Agatha found out (found them kissing). At this time, Agatha and Simon already were pregnant but didn't know. That's why she left him. Agatha's family held his baby until Simon reached adulthood and could retrieve him back (Penny was the lawyer in social services who helped him, and they became friends).

5. Simon was in love with his coach (Coach Mac) , but he just took advantage of this young kid. After all the incidents with his kid, his unrequited love and abandonment from his family, Simon close himself to love and pours all his life on Oliver and his bakery work.

6. Baz (24 years old) is the heir of Pitch Manor, a hotel and restaurant chain his family owns, among other bussiness. He was away studying economics in Oxford and just graduated. He was put in charge of this hotel in London to prove his worth (have a difficult relationshio with his dad after he came out). He used to live in the city and play football in the local team, and Pitch family is the actual sponsor of the team.

7. Simon meets Baz over a misunderstanding in a bread delivery (Simon bakes for this particular hotel) and Baz bothers Simon by being an asshole. They have their first fight, but secretly admire the other's fierce energy.

8. Simon's kid Oliver loves football, and is in the local team. He spots Baz after his training session (he was there for sponsoring and business reasons, but couldn't help himself for taking a ball and play a little). Baz was doing some tricks with the ball, and Oliver starts playing with him. Baz is a softie for kids, so he lets him. Simon spots them in the distance, and gets very surprised. This man was the same he fought with earlier that morning, and thought thay maybe he was not that big of an asshole he believes he was.

9. Coach Mac and Agatha appear later in the story D: Sooo what do you think?? I'm still figuring out a lot of things, is kinda angsty and deep but at the same time I want to portray Simon as a father and a mature figure, and Baz as a voice of reason and a support for Simon and his kid, being protective over them. I want Baz and Simon to open to each other. Furthermore, I want to mention trauma and mild comment about child abuse later in the story, just as a way to make them heal and get closer. It is an angsty story with a happy ending!! All your suggestions are welcomed, I feel a bit terrified about this!! I Tag @ionlydrinkhotwater @castawaypitch @krisrix @captain-aralias @cutestkilla @kohatenz @ileadacharmedlife @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @aristocratic-otter @confused-bi-queer @artsyunderstudy @asticou @takitalks

#sss #six sentence sunday #carry on trilogy #simon snow salisbury #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on fic #carry on fanfiction #fanfic ideas #simonsnow #simon baz #baz x simon #co/ws/awtwb

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headless-angel-writes · 1 year

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Some other name

Summary:

Simon thinks about his name. And new names.s.

Words: 523

The characters belong to Rainbow Rowell

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Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43335285

@carryon-countdown

Simon.

Things have been quite odd since I found out that I always had a family. Lady Ruth and Jamie have been very loving to me. They want to make up for the lost time. I still can't get used to their displays of affection, though I enjoy them anyway.

The last time I went to visit them she told me she wanted to officially recognise me as her grandson. Both legally and in the eyes of society.

"It's what you deserve, Simon. You're part of this family. And I want the world to know it" she said.

I burst into tears after listening to her. Lady Ruth (I still find it strange to call her Grandma) comforted me, hugging me for a long time (another thing I have to get used to). When I calmed down, we went to the kitchen to eat the sandwiches she had already prepared for me. Baz arrived an hour later, intending to pick me up.

In the end, we slept over at her place. I think she'd be very happy if we moved in with her.

That was a couple of weeks ago. Tomorrow morning, we have an appointment with a lawyer: Lady Ruth is going to give me her surname. Then she's having a party, with some of her closest friends, to formally introduce me as Simon Salisbury.

Simon Snow Salisbury. I suppose that it should always have been my name.

(I will not, for one second, consider the Mage´s name as my own. He doesn't deserve such consideration.)

My name, my new name, keeps going round and round in my head.

"It's funny to think that we've always called each other by our middle names," I say to Baz.

We're in bed, he's got his head on my chest. And I stroke his hair, brushing it with my fingers. I love quiet nights like this. Especially since we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.

"I would never have guessed it. I just did it to keep my distance from you" he replies, sounding exhausted.

When we talk about our past, he tends to feel a little glum. I lean down to kiss his forehead.

"It's going to be strange getting used to a new surname... but I'm excited by the idea"

Baz settles onto his side and pulls me into the same position.

"Now you're going to have a ridiculously long name too"

"I guess we match"

I hug him, my leg is over his hip. I even have my tail wrapped around his wrist and my wings covering both of us. Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve the life and everything I have now. Being next to him proves me wrong though.

I'm about to fall asleep when I hear Baz laugh softly.

"What 's wrong?"

"I was just thinking that someday there's going to be a little Pitch-Salisbury"

Imagining our own family, warmth comes over me. We haven't talked about having babies in any serious way. Not yet, obviously, but in the future. Yes, I want that.

"Or a Salisbury-Pitch."

Then I kiss him, kiss him, kiss him...

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Hello!

My original idea was very different from what it turned out to be, but I still like the way it came out. The prompt for today was Bloodlines.

I titled it as a reference to a line from Romeo and Juliet.

Which one do you like better, Pitch-Salisbury or Salisbury-Pitch?

Thank you very much for reading

Ciao!

#simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #carry on rainbow rowell #carry on countdown #Carry On Countdown 2022 #coc 2022

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jayneen-archive · 2 years

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Critic Paper

THESIS STATEMENT

Bohemianism presents a worldview that captures the essence of living—essentially, to believe in the power of truth, beauty, freedom, and love.

SOCIOLOGICAL CRITIC ON MOULIN ROUGE (2001) AND RENT (2005)

Moulin Rouge is a 2001 musical directed by Baz Luhrmann. The story is set in the 1900s, when the world has been swept up in the New Bohemian Revolution. The people in this revolution immerse themselves in a sensate culture where art is salvation and ‘truth, beauty, freedom, and love’ is the cry on every revolutionary’s lips.

Christian, an aspiring poet moves from his home in London to a run-down hotel across the street from the heart of Paris nightlife—the Moulin Rouge. He quickly befriends a rag-tag group of actors and musicians, with Christian consequently finding a niche for his writing talents. Toulouse and company convinces him to be their stagewriter-in-residence, and to help pitch their musical, Spectacular Spectacular, to the owner of Moulin Rouge, Harold Zidler,and his leading-lady-of-the-night, Satine.

Amidst mistaken identities and an overwhelming number of whaleboned undergarments and twirling cancan skirts, Christian’s show wins both a venue and a financier. Meanwhile, Satine gets entangled in a triangle of love and jealousy with Christian, the writer, and the Duke, the investor of the show. As a clever self-conscious twist, the love triangle becomes the subject of the musical Spectacular Spectacular.

Staged with as many glittering lights and chorus lines as a night, Moulin Rouge spotlights those who have no life outside the spotlight. And no matter whose heart gets broken and whose ideals gets trampled, the show must go on.

Meanwhile, Rent (2005) is based on a Broadway musical of the same name written by Jonathan Larson. It was based on Puccini’s 1896 opera La Bohemé, which itself was based on an 1849 novel by Henry Murger called La Vie de Bohemé.

Rent tells a story about a close-knit circle of friends and their one year of experience (beginning in 1989) living in New York’s East Village, a rundown neighborhood of squatters, homeless and bohemians who would rather suffer for their art than ‘sell out’ and live a conventional bourgeois life.

The musicals Moulin Rouge (2001) and Rent (2005) both presented bohemianism, a practice of an unconventional lifestyle, often in the company of like-minded people and with few permanent ties.

Bohemianism is known for their merry poverty, for their disregard for money, and for the pursuit of music, color and relationships. It is the ethos of Rent. The characters are defiantly anti-borgeois and anti-authority—which can be seen during the opening scene of the movie.

Each of the characters in Rent have their own passions in which they pursue (Mark was an aspiring filmmaker; Roger, a frustrated musician; Maureen, a performer; Joanne, a lawyer; Angel, a drag queen; Mimi, an exotic dancer), while the cast of Moulin Rouge had theirs (Satine was an aspiring actress; Christian, an aspiring poet; Toulouse and company, aspiring actors).

Mark and Roger, tenants of the lot in New York’s East Village, adamantly refused Benny, their landlord and former roommate, on his plans to evict the homeless from the nearby lot and build a cyberstudio, even his plans to offer them free rent if they get Maureen to cancel her protest against his plans. The offers presented to them were economically sound and would have been helpful to their day-to-day living, but Mark and Roger stood by their ideals and refused to conform to a bourgeois life. Meanwhile, the same can be said to Moulin Rouge, on Christian’s ideals which contradict Satine’s on the early part of the film. Satine argues that diamonds are a girl’s best friend because it will help them get through their everyday lives, while Christian argues back that all they need is to love and believe in love.

Meanwhile in Rent, a love story unfolds between Roger and Mimi, wherein they have gone through a lot in one year, i.e., the back-and-forth between the both of them because Roger disapproves of Mimi’s heroin addiction, Roger leaves Mimi and moves to Santa Fe. But at the end of the whole ordeal, Roger realizes that he still loves Mimi and returns to New York. They both reconcile after Mimi had been near death. Their part on the film ideally explains that love conquers all, which was also shown on Moulin Rouge, in the form of Christian’s ideals, i.e., "the greatest thing you’ll ever learn is love and to be loved in return."

Meanwhile, Paris’ legendary Montmarte was once the place where artists, writers, and bohemians gathered in flamboyant, often debauched cafes and bars. The birthplace of Moulin Rouge and the stereotype of the Parisian flâneur, Montmarte gave inspiration to the likes of Picasso, and Renoir, who lived and worked there. Montmarte has been home to the spirit of an extraordinary vision of Paris; one full of wit, charm, and some larger-than-life characters, also known as bohemians.

Bohemian derives from the French Bohémien, which was used to identify Romani people who usually arrived to the French capital through Bohemia (in what is now the Czech Republic). The term was later more broadly applied to those who lived an eccentric, unusual lifestyle that was based on a love for the arts, the pursuit of pleasure, sexual freedom, and travel. A bohemian is a ‘citizen of the world’ to whom sensual and artistic necessities are primordial, and to whom norms and traditions of bourgeois society seem frivolous, arbitrary and hypocritical. In Montmarte, this type lifestyle was to find its apogee.

The Moulin Rouge forms part of the nightlife establishments in Montmarte, and is arguably one with the most bombast. It was notorious as a site for bohemian debauchery, and it is credited as the birthplace of the Can-can dance. Montmarte represents a world full of possibilities, where everyone was about to write a great novel, paint a masterpiece, or compose the most audacious symphony. This Paris was the place where ‘what if?’ was lived every day. A legacy of artworks, flamboyant biographies and historical sites still stands to confirm both the mythical legacy and the historical truth of this once legendary place.

What Bohemianism teaches us is to dream of ideals, and strive to live with these ideals. It teaches us that it is far better and far more fullfilling to live a life in poverty but at the same time in love and freedom, than to be a slave of the bourgeois world just to make it through each day.

#critic #paper

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carryonbydefault · 7 years

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Carry on lawyers au

-Baz is the prestigious heir to Pitch co

-He is well known for his skill as a lawyer

-He never looses his cases

-Simon and Penny are associates

-Baz and Simon had studied together at uni

-Now they are rivalsTM

-Baz is obviously smitten and Simon doesn't have a clue

(Feel free to add on and if someone writes this please tag me so I can read/find it)

#please write this #pleeaaassse #i have no skill #only prompts #haha #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #penny bunce #agatha wellbelove #lawyer au #rainbow rowell #fangirls #fanbows

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ferryboatpeak · 5 years

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HELLO i'm here to talk to you about john green!! do you have a favourite john green? i think my favourite is Paper Towns, the only one i've yet to read is an Abundance of Katherines, people say its not one of his stronger ones but i'm still looking forward to it. i'll come back another day and talk to you about e lockhart and the amber spyglass when i've read those books lol

omg a YAF ask, thank you, i live for these! (i have been reading all the new young gay love books lately and i need to do a post with some recommendations, maybe this will jumpstart me.)

i would also say that my favorite john green book is paper towns, because i really like that it upends expectations. [spoilers follow] i have honestly never read any other book where the denouement is that sometimes it’s ok for a white boy to just want to go to duke and be a lawyer. i do not support teenage white boys wanting either of those things things irl, but i fucking love that the moral of this story was all It’s OK If You Don’t Want To Live Life In Technicolor! It’s Fine If It Turns Out That Deep In Your Heart You Actually Want Exactly The Things Society Approves Of You Wanting!

i also loved the fault in our stars very very much, but it seems like that one has become less of a Book and more of a Thing as time has gone on. rather like the author himself.

also thanks to looking for alaska i use the phrase “fast and straight ahead” a whole lot to psych myself up to get through unpleasant work situations. which i guess is a little morbid if you consider the context but it works for me.

please please read the disreputable history of frankie landau banks and come talk to me about it! frankie is one of my top five literary protagonists ever (see also: antoinette conway, baz pitch, galaxy stern)

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fight-surrender · 5 years

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Chapter 2: What the F&@ Just Happened

Rating: Teen Word Count: 939 (I cannot believe I just spent the last 2 hours just editing and posting a mere 900 words, that’s pathetic.)

Read on AO3

Summary: It’s roughly 10 years after Watford. Simon and Baz are married, they have a house, domestic bliss and all that. Simon ends up in the Wavering Wood. Fighting a chimera. With a little help from Baz and the unexpected return of the Sword of Mages. What does Baz know? Simon and Baz go to LA. What do Chernobyl and Simon’s magic have in common? Let’s figure this out together.

Eternal, heartfelt, thanks to @neck-mole & @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for their beta help. I appreciate it so so much.

Baz

Well, that was nice. Fucked up on many levels, but that last bit was divine.

Simon

Jesus, Baz.

We’re in his car (BMW i8, ridiculous) racing home. I’m knackered. My mind is a whirlwind of chimeras, sweat, fire, kisses and unmentionables. I look down and realize that my shirt is not only inside out, but it’s backwards.

Merlin, how does he still get to me like this?

I shake my head.

“ Baz !” he’s staring ahead, a little too focused on the road.

“Hm?” he murmurs, still looking forward.

“ I just teleported to the Wavering Wood and fought a Chimera with a sword that I haven’t seen in over 10 years,” I snap. What the fuck just happened?

“You left out the part about our woodland shag.”

If I could go off, I would. I swear my fingers are buzzing.

Baz finally glances at me, “calm down, miracle boy, let’s discuss this when we get home.”

Baz

To be perfectly honest, I’m not exactly sure what’s happened. I mean, I know how he got to the Wavering Wood. That bit’s my fault.

Malfoy gave me a portkey as a gag gift for Christmas one year. It looks like a jar of Trader Joe’s truffle Dijon mustard. Snow has the culinary acumen of a 5-year-old, so I never thought he’d touch it. It’s been on the shelf for ages.

I heard a clatter in the kitchen. When I got there to investigate, Snow was gone, leaving the remains of a sandwich on the counter. That alone was enough to scare the fuck out of me.

I used Fiona’s finding spell to locate him. It never fails.

Watford was the last place I thought I’d end up, but then again, I suppose that’s what Malfoy had in mind. My heart stopped when I reached the clearing wood. Simon looked majestic: Sword in hand, biceps flexed, godlike jaw set, bracing to fight the Chimera.

My majestic, broken husband. About to be taken down by a Chimera.

I nearly died (again).

Simon:

We’re home. Baz lit a flame in the giant stone fireplace with his wand. Technically it’s a gas fireplace, you can ignite it with the push of a button, but you know how he is with fire. I think he likes to ignite stuff, to prove he’s more Pitch than vampire.

He fixes himself his usual gin & tonic. I don’t know what it is with vampires and gin. Although, he prefers Hendrix over the Bombay Sapphire the vamps in the club drank that awful and wonderful night, years ago. He says he prefers the floral overtones, or something equally posh. I grab a Shiner Bock from the fridge. Baz loves to give me shit about drinking American beer. I got a taste for it when we visited Penny & Micah in Chicago. Since then, Baz has craft beers sent in from Morgana knows where and keeps a constant supply just for me. That marvelous and considerate tosser.

We settle on the couch. Baz is at one end, closest to the fire, and I stretch out along the rest of it with my, feet in his lap. Baz gives epic foot rubs. I wiggle my toes, to make sure he gets the hint.

He rolls his eyes and absentmindedly begins to knead my feet. I’m wearing the fuzzy socks he got me for his birthday (That’s right, his birthday). My feet are always cold, even though the rest of me is always warm. He says it makes him happy to make me happy and that’s gift enough. Merlin, I love this man.

“Ok”, I say. “So we run out of mustard. I make an executive decision to try your crap mustard, and I end up at Watford– how are Malfoy and Potter, by the way?”

“Fine”, Baz muses, “last I heard, they were in Spain, breeding Great Danes.”

“That’s random.”

“Magickal Danes, they change color according to their mood,” he says, with a bit of a mockery in it.

“Well, alright then. Anyway,” I need to get back to the topic at hand, “Sword of Mages”.

Baz

Crowley. I really don’t have any idea why his sword came back.

Well, I have an idea, but I’m not sure I’m ready to share it with Snow yet. It’s going to require some explaining and some uncomfortable (to say the least) revelations.

I decide to employ Simon strategy # 1: Keep it simple.

“You know how I got that certificate in restoration ecology a few years ago?”

Simon

Harry Houdini, here he goes. Baz has more letters after his name than his name is long. The man can not stop learning. He’s a magickal lawyer by trade, generally sticking to business cases, but he can’t avoid dipping into politics. Occasionally he’ll take a criminal case.

“To stay sharp”, he says, “not that much difference, really, between crime and politics.”

Baz

“I have this theory that your magic came from the earth’s core.”

It’s not a theory; I read it in his fucking dad’s journals.

Try keeping that secret from the love of your life.

Six months ago, I ended up with a crate of The Mage’s effects from my mother’s old office. Mitali Bunce retired as head mistress of Watford, and Phillippa Stanton took her spot. Apparently her voice came back, years after the unfortunate tape recorder incident, and she went back to school. Being voiceless for so long gave her a keen appreciation for the spoken word. She took over elocution class when Ms. Posibelf retired, and she was an excellent teacher as well as a fierce champion for her students. She was a natural choice for headmistress.

When she got to the position, Philippa got it in her head that she wanted to start with a “clean slate”, so she had the office gutted.

I got a crate of my Mother’s books, Simon got one from The Mage. He had no interest in rehashing the past so he declined the delivery. I, having had no such qualms, tracked down the crate and have been surreptitiously going through its contents to see if anything in there can help Simon.

Little did I know that I would unearth a fucking shit show.

Simon

“… and?”

Baz replies using his you’re extra special stupid voice, “So, after a disaster, life creeps back in. Look at Chernobyl, it’s still radioactive, but the wildlife population there is thriving.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure 3 headed deer are considered thriving .”

“Well, at least there are a lot of them, that counts for something.”

I press: “What does that have to do with me?”

“It has everything to do with you, Simon.”

Baz gives me a long look then continues: “Your magic isn’t just physical, it’s elemental.”

A loud, metallic jangle cuts into the room.

“What the fuck is that?” I gasp, heart racing. It sounds like some kind of demented fire alarm.

“It’s the land line,” responds Baz, getting to his feet.

He strides to the source of the noise: an antique relic on the book shelf. A bronze and ivory monstrosity, with a rotary dial.

“I thought that was just one of your posh decorations.”

Baz picks up the delicately etched handset. He places the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“I bet that thing is made from actual whales teeth, or illegal elephant tusks,” I mumble, “You look like even more of a tosser than usu– .”

Baz’s eyes cut to me with a look I’ve never seen before. Tears shimmer in his eyes as what little color there is drains from his face.

“Simon,” he chokes, “We need to go to L.A.”

To Be Continued…

#my fic #chapter 2 #snowbaz #domestic snowbaz #omg #what am I getting myself into #this took far too long #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch

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sucrosette · 5 months

Text

★— ⋆｡˚ [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. 🖤 [Part 1][Part 2]

⋆｡˚

It’s 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, I’m already there internally, already thinking about how nice it’ll be to curl up and allow myself the sweet oblivion of sleep, of nothing. It was sixteen hours straight, and even if it’s not the worst I might have to work in an emergency scenario, even if I’ve 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 it’s own accord, without my help from the key, and there he is. My Basil. He’s wrapping his arms around me and tugging me properly into our apartment.

Our apartment.

I’m still getting used to that, you know, it’s not like we’ve 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.

I’d resisted at first, you know. We’d only been together six months, it wasn’t exactly a sure thing then, and something in me wasn’t confident enough to think I could keep Baz then, but he’d 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.

“Pay me what you do now if it bothers you so much, that way you don’t feel like it’s a charity affair or some such other nonsense,” He’d 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. “Besides, we’re together. We spend over half our nights together, there’s no reason to be shy about moving in to mine.”

So Basil’s ‘mine’ had become ‘ours,’ 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 didn’t 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.

“I told you, you didn’t have to stay up waiting for me,” I’m trying to scold him, but it’s only soft and fond and so, so bloody tired.

“I know, love,” his voice is half a song and ridiculously calming. I’m already sighing against his chest, thinking about biting into him I’m so overly fond. “I missed you though, and I’d work I could do from home anyway, so I did that. Now we can sleep in together and I won’t need to be ready for my first meeting until two in the afternoon.”

I hum tiredly against his shoulder, nuzzling it softly already half asleep in his arms.

“Sounds nice, doesn’t it? A nice ten hour sleep, a lazy morning, maybe breakfast in bed, maybe cocoa if I’m feeling fancy about it,” He’s lulling me to sleep with his soft morning plans for us and I think he knows it, except he’s started this while we’re still in the living room.

“Bed,” I manage to murmur, my nose still buried in that same spot against his skin. “That sounds lovely, tell me more in bed.”

Basil laughs quietly at me and I think I love the sound. That’s a lie, I know I love the sound. By now I am well and truly, stupidly in love with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. He’s already told me I don’t have to take his name if we ever get married. I can’t believe he’s already thought wedding thoughts, we haven’t been together a full year yet.

I can’t blame him though. I have also been guilty of wedding thoughts already in our relationship. Not terribly deep ones, I’ll admit, but wedding thoughts none the less. Just soft little thoughts, like how handsome he’ll look in a tuxedo, what flowers he might pick out for us, how nice an outdoor wedding might be. Basil’s definitely going to be the one planning a majority of the event, he’s such a bloody perfectionist. I’m partial to the perfectionist in him though, and I don’t think most of the little details will matter half as much to me as they’ll matter to him. Maybe the flavour of the cake would matter… I’d like something related to cherries, maybe. Probably. Definitely.

I’m 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 must’ve carried me there, because I think my legs have well and truly given out on me. Maybe I’d been dreaming about our wedding, and that’s how I didn’t notice a single step of the way there. It’s entirely his fault, by the way, for being so comforting and soft to rest against right when I’m through the door– before I’ve even made it through the door technically.

“Come here.” I’m being demanding, I know, pulling at his shirt with weak arms while he’s undressing me.

He slips from my grip all too easily, perking a brow down at me, out of my reach and knowing full well I’m too sore and tired and out of it to try again. “You’re not sleeping in our bed in your work clothes,” He says it like it’s obvious.

“Our bed,” I hum back at him, repeating his words and forgetting myself all over again.

“Simon Snow, you are too bloody tired to function,” Basil scolds softly, his fingers working me out of my clothes with a touch too tender compared to all his sterness. I love him, I’m all too aware all over again.

I love him so bloody bad. “Mhmn… Come cuddle though… it’s been so long…”

“I’m getting there,” Baz’s placating me. He taught me that word. It’s not an uncommon word, apparently, but it hadn’t been in my vernacular before we were dating. Vernacular. There’s 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. “Better,” I mutter out, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he murmurs back to me, running his fingers soft through my hair, “You need to rest though. We both do. It’d been a long day.”

“Such a long day,” the words leave my lips more exhausted groan than proper words. I’m too tired to care.

It’s been over twenty hours since I’ve been in our bed and I think I might already be mostly asleep. I might’ve been mostly asleep since I’d fallen through the doorway. Baz is humming a tune for me, soft and low. He’d been a music student, once upon a time, an era ago, he says, before the accident. He always calls it the accident. Someday, maybe he’ll tell me about the accident. Not tonight though.

Tonight he’s humming for me, his voice is quiet and deep, the perfect vibrato to pull me in deeper. “I love your voice. I love you. You’re so beautiful, everything about you is beautiful…”

Baz chuckles that dark chuckle again and I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. “You’re even more beautiful to me, love, now rest, alright?”

“Mhmn…” I think I’m half in a dream already, and he keeps petting me and humming for me. He’s tangled our legs together and every part of me feels heavy.

He always makes me feel so safe. I love him so much. I’m 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.

“I love you too, Simon Snow,” Basil’s voice is like a song, and I love that about him too, “I love you so much more than I can possibly say with words.”

His song takes me to sleep, and I’m 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.

#Carry On Countdown #COC 2023 #baz pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #carry on fanfiction #my writing #there's more of this to be posted #Bigender Nurse Simon Snow (He/She)#Lawyer Baz Pitch #nonsexual intimacy #soft snowbaz #when they caretake each other #when they snuggle #when they... i just love them #finally figured out what i'm writing for angst #part three

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purplenarwhal19 · 6 years

Text

I have an idea...

Someone please make a fic out of this!

You know how in Simon’s perspective of Carry On, his thoughts were so precise and he could form sentences that were to the point, and Baz’s were messy and distraught?

Well, I had always pictured Simon as the one who could write since his thoughts were so elaborate. So when he, Baz and Penelope went to university (Oxford), he would become a writer of “fiction”. I put fiction into quotations, because he could write his own story of how he used to be apart of The World Of Mages and that he was the Chosen One, who defeated the Humdrum ect, ect.

My favourite part was that Simon would use the pseudonym of Gavin T. Love, which would mean his initials were GTL!

Baz would be a lawyer

Penny would be a doctor

Penny and Baz would both work part-time for the Coven.

When Baz and Simon were married I thought that they would have kids. Their first two children would be twins - Bridget Rosemary and Cathleen Penelope Snow-Grimm-Pitch born December 19, 2023, and their third child, Oliver Nash Snow Grimm Pitch, born May 13, 2027.

Bridget goes by Rosemary. Rosemary’s name was a play on Basil’s first name.

Cath’s name is inspired by Fangirl’s main character and she was named after Penelope Bunce.

Oliver’s first name is a reference to Fangirl where his middle name was Oliver and Oliver’s middle name, Nash is Baz’s tribute to Natasha, his mother.

Simon calls Rosemary, Rose, Cathleen, Cath, and Oliver, Ollie.

Penelope would be the children’s God-Mother.

And of course they would have a little Yorkshire Terrier, named Cherry!

#thoughts #carry on #snowbaz #baz pitch #simon snow #penny bunce #chapter 61 #love #carry on is my life #maybe...?

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emmettspeakz · 7 years

Note

SnowBaz ficlet/headcanon where Baz is Simon's lawyer and Baz falls hard for Simon

Warnings: None

You’re Guilty, Simon Snow

Simon was on magical trial for using magic in front of a Normal. It didn’t matter that he was born to Normals, he was still on trial. At least he would only be imprisoned if they found him guilty, his wand might be put on probation as well so he couldn’t use it but at least he wouldn’t be put to death.

He sat in a cold, dark room waiting for his lawyer to come and try to make their case.

When his lawyer did enter, he wasn’t exactly what Simon had expected. He was young, around Simon’s age definitely. He wore a button up shirt with an all black tie to match his black hair, which lay in spikes flat atop his head.

“Mr. Snow,” The lawyer looked up to face him. “I’m Basmilion Grimm-Pitch, I’ve been assigned to your case.”

He held out his hand and Simon shook it.

“You’re going to be my lawyer?”

“What did you expect Mr. Snow? Someone older I’m guessing?”

“Well…yeah…”

His lawyer chuckled.

“It’s your right to request other council or even defend yourself if you wish. But I’m guessing, me being hired by the state, that I’m all you can afford is that right?”

Simon nodded solemnly.

“Don’t worry Mr. Snow. We’ll make your case. Come on let’s discuss.”

***

The day of the court came and Simon’s nerves were on edge all the time. He worried he shouldn’t eat, as if he ate anything he might hurl it back out on his lawyer’s fancy black leather shoes.

“I won’t lie to you. It’s going to be a tough case. But you just say what you have to say. You’ll be okay.”

***

“Mr. Snow, is it true you used magic in front of a normal?”

“Well yes but–”

“No but–he just admitted to it.”

The prosecution was tougher than Simon had anticipated, and when he finally got to the stand he was so flustered he could barely answer questions correctly.

“No, listen! The normal was going to die! He’d just been shot in the throat, I wasn’t thinking clearly! He couldn’t move, he’d be dead before emergency personnel could get to him so I healed him with magic. He’s the only one who saw me.”

“How can you be sure? It was in broad daylight, in a garage with the door open.”

“Okay, it’s possible someone else saw but–can’t we just wipe their memories and—”

“It would be nearly impossible to figure out who saw you with him and who didn’t. We’d have to erase the entire city block. And with dark forces trying to suck our magic away from us, that would be a waste of our rapidly depleting resources.”

Simon sat back in his chair. His testimony was over. He gulped.

***

“Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have your honor. On the charge of man slaughter on a normal, we find the defendant not guilty. On the charge of using magic in front of a normal, we find the defendant, Simon Snow, guilty.

Simon gulped, He was going to jail.

“Mr. Snow, you have a week to get your affairs in order. Until then, you are commanded to house arrest.”

Simon nodded, that same sullen smile Baz had seen on him way too often in this case.

Baz had plead his case, that he was just trying to protect the human, but he had brought the wizarding realm more trouble than could be afforded right now.

“But I–I don’t have a house.”

“You’ll be staying with me.“ Simon turned to see his lawyer standing over him. “I offered and they let me with the expectation that I deliver you into custody in a week myself. And cameras be placed in my home to make sure I don’t try to get you to escape. I’m sorry Mr. Snow.”

Simon smiled at that. This man didn’t owe him anything. He’d been his lawyer for almost a month and although he’d lost the case, his lawyer had done everything in his power to try to get him to stay out of jail.

“I don’t know what to say.” Simon told him. “Thank you.”

Baz smiled back.

“It was the least I could do Mr. Snow.”

Simon smiled bigger.

“Please, call me Simon. We have a more friendly relationship now, don’t we?”

Baz smiled brighter.

“I suppose we do. Come along now Simon.”

He took Simon by the wrist and led him outside.

Simon assumed they were going to his car, but instead Simon was pushed against the brick wall of the court house roughly.

Simon panicked for a short second, thinking his lawyer was going to hurt him, that he’s been faking this whole time and he really was just a murderer who came after his failed cases.

But he was smiling genuinely. Then his lips were on Simon’s, and then he pulled away again to speak to him quietly.

“You’re brave you know that? You accepted your fate like a true good-hearted wizard.”

Simon’s face was hot and red, surprised at the sudden attention.

“Uh, thanks.” He smiled. “Does this mean I can count on you to bail me out?”

Baz chuckled. "I’ll see what I can do.”

(Thanks for your request! It was different and a bit harder to imagine but I had a lot of fun writing it! Feel free to request more! :) Hope you like it!)

#snowbaz fanfic #snowbaz sentence thing #snowbaz fanfiction #snowbaz ficlet #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #basilton grimm pitch #anon #asks #sentence requests thingy

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elsarenard · 7 years

Text

tagged by @novachipmunk thank you!

Rules: answer the 20 questions and tag 20 amazing followers you would like to get to know better.

Name: Call me Elsa Nickname: none Zodiac Sign: Virgo Height: 5′6″ (167 cm) Orientation: Bisexual Ethnicity: American Favorite Fruit: How do I choose!?! Probably pineapple. Or peaches. Or watermelon. Favorite Season: Fall Favorite Book Series: Harry Potter probably. I prefer individual books usually over series. Favorite Flower: hmm I love roses and carnations and daffodils. Favorite color: yellow Coffee, Tea, or Cocoa: I love all three! Average Sleep Hours: 6-7 hours Cat or Dog Person: Dog person Favorite Fictional Characters: oh goodness, how do I pick? Sherlock Holmes, Hermione Granger, Cath Avery, Baz Pitch, Jane Eyre, and so many others. Number of Blankets You Sleep With: sheet, two light blankets, comforter, and fleece blanket (if it is cold... lately just a sheet or nothing). Dream Trip: My cousins are going to Hawaii and I’m insanely jealous. Would love to go there right now. But honestly, I’ll go almost anywhere. Been eyeing instagram posts of Cambodia lately. Once I have a real job and have paid off some college loans I’m going to start saving. Blog Created: Um May 2015 I believe. Number of Followers: 340 (not too shabby!)

I don’t know enough people too tag 20 so I’ll tag a few who can do it if they want! @suzys85 @the-forest-library @spongiform-encephalopathies @freya-deathstalker @consulting-lawyer-boyfriends and anyone else who wants to do it.

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wolfywordweaver · 3 years

Text

Absolute Boyfriend chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

-----

“Shepard! I am going to kill you!!!”

Slurping noisily on the last bit of his instant soup, Shep looked up to see a frazzled young woman waving her pen at him threateningly.

“’Sup, baby?”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me, you wanker!”

Another notification pinged through his speakers and he set the empty plastic bowl down.

“C’mon, Penny, what’s up? What’d I do?”

“DO YOU EVER CHECK YOUR DAMN EMAIL?!!!”

Two more notifications trilled.

“Baby, I get two thousand a day. Hell no, I don’t check them.”

Penelope threw her pen angrily at her boyfriend. “You need to read mine!”

Grinning widely, Shepard ignored the next few notification pings and held his hands out for the furious woman. “Aw, c’mon. You’d never come visit me if I actually read those.”

Groaning in defeat, Penny slumped into his lap. “This is important, Shep. I really needed you to check into something for me while I was stuck in meetings all day.”

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll look into it right now. What is it?”

“It’s about that certain model that I’ve been telling Davy for years was a terrible idea and would be a legal liability. Turns out that I’ve finally gotten another of the lawyers on my side and we’ve finally managed to convince him to shelf the model until he can get a written letter of consent.”

Shep wheeled his office chair closer to the computer while keeping an arm around his girlfriend and giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Hmmm, yeah...lemme see...the Snow model?”

“That’s the one,” she yawned. “Get it moved off the shelves and into the maintenance bay or something. Then I’ll consider not murdering you.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s-” Shepard choked on his words and leaned forward fast enough to nearly knock Penny right out of his lap.

“What?! What is it?!!!” she demanded, fear and dread building in her throat.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered.

*****

It was objectively not...bad, Basilton thought to himself. Sure, he was pressing his lips against an inanimate object, but it was an inanimate object that had soft lips. They were room temperature, which he supposed would make sense, but it was still not exactly what he supposed kissing another human being was like.

No sooner had he considered that life had officially hit rock bottom and decided to pull away from the chaste kiss than a hand cupped the back of his head and reality tilted in a quick and disorienting fashion.

“W-wha-” he gasped against the lips still inexplicably pressed against another set.

His own grey eyes stared widely at an attractive array of freckles before they were rolling in the back of his head and his body nearly seized up in shock. He was being kissed. Kissed within an inch of his life.

There was a soft pop as their lips parted and Basilton gasped and panted as he opened his eyes to blearily look at the figure hovering over him. Plain blue eyes were glowing and a blinding smile was making his neural network short-circuit.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted softly with a voice like melted butter. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“H-hello?” Basilton squeaked back.

“My name is Simon Snow and I’m here to be your perfect boyfriend.”

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” he replied automatically, offering a hand to shake.

“Wow, that’s a mouthful,” Simon laughed prettily as he took the offered hand in his own. “Would you mind if I called you Baz?”

The way he so easily said that brought a blush to the young lawyer’s cheeks. Baz was a nickname that only friends and family ever used with him.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Baz is fine.”

“I am here to fulfill all of your desires, Baz,” Simon stated easily and his eyes crinkled at the edges with his wide grin. “Now, come here darling.”

Baz whimpered as he was swept up in another hungry kiss, but this time he wrapped his arms around that warming neck and relaxed into the heady sensations. It took several long minutes for him to even remember that the person holding him in his arms wasn’t even a person at all.

And it took a few more minutes to remember that this million dollar robot was also very naked.

#SnowBaz #Baz Grimm-Pitch #Simon Snow #Shepard from Omaha #Penelope Bunce #Absolute Boyfriend AU #Wolfy writes

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sucrosette · 5 months

Text

★— ⋆｡˚ [Unexpected Things]

For Day 14 of Carry on Countdown 23, Blade. @carryon-countdown

Basil's gone and done it. Poor lad's gotten himself stabbed, and it's only taken 3 years out of law school. At the very least, his nurse seems nice enough.

Rated T for near-death experiences, excessive cussing, and Basil checking out his nurse too blatantly.

This is part 1 of the Nurse/Lawyer AU I started on Day 8.

⋆｡˚

‘Oh, bloody hell–’

I need an ambulance. There is a gaping wound in my gut. I am losing a lot of blood. I have enough presence of mind to shrug off my jacket and ball it up to press over the wound. Vaguely, as if from very far away, I think about how I should call for an ambulance. I don’t think I’ve got consciousness enough in me to make the call.

I should really make the fucking call.

I keep fumbling over the keys to my phone as I stumble my way through the alley and out onto the pavement. 999 should not be this hard to dial. My fingers should not be this bad at dialing three whole numbers. Especially not if they’re just the same number repeated thrice over. If I can manage to make it to the pavement I can dial bloody emergency. I’d never seen a blade go so deep past skin before. I don’t think I have enough strength to keep standing.

I shortly find out that I do not.

I am flat on the ground. Did I pass out? Maybe for a moment. Apparently, I’ve managed to get through to emergency though, because someone is asking me to answer on the other end of the line. Someone is Asking my name and situation. Vaguely, I pull my phone closer to me, close enough so the operator can hear.

“Stabbed…” is about all I can mutter out, but she asks for my name and location, so at least I know she heard me. I sigh out, laying flat on my back and staring up at the moon in the sky above.

I manage my location. The moon is blinking at me, blurred morse code messages I can’t quite decipher. Or my eyes are closing and my consciousness is slipping. I can’t really tell which it is, but the latter seems more likely.

I repeat the intersection one more time into the phone. I think the operator is talking me through keeping consciousness, but I don’t think she’s going to succeed. Somehow, I give my name, or at least part of it. The operator sounds really worried for me. What was her name? Crystal? Maybe Krystal. Krystal with a K is such a choice of a name– Kardashian fodder stuff. Not that I’m judging my only link to potentially surviving this whole situation. I will judge her parents though.

“Is your name Crystal with a C or with a K?” The operator stops talking for a whole two seconds, and I cough out a laugh in the moment of silence. I am not doing well, but at least she confirms her name starts with a C. “That’s good Crystal, your parents aren’t shite people.”

The moon is still flashing its blurred morse code at me. Probably, it’s also trying to tell me how to stay conscious. The moon is worse at this than Crystal is.

“I’m sorry, darling, but I think my capacity for staying alive might be a touch dodgy at the moment–”

Crystal keeps talking, telling me to keep pressure on the wound, not to move, ect ect. I don’t register all of it. Distantly I hear sirens.

The world goes dark.

⋆｡˚

I wake up in a hospital bed and for a moment I’m surprised enough that I woke up at all that I fail to see the pretty nurse next to me. I apparently managed to skip the whole ambulance ride and repair process too. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I’m also starving. I also really need a drink. I also really need to take a piss.

Alright, body, calm the fuck down, one step at a bloody time.

I start sitting myself up, groaning the whole while, and the nurse who had been diligently taking my vitals drops everything to stop me in my tracks. “Hey, there, Handsome,” the nurse says with her hands on my shoulder, gently keeping me in place, and I can’t help but notice that they’re stronger than they look at a glance. Either that or I’m especially weak in my freshly stabbed state. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Bathroom?” My voice cracks on the word. Lovely. I’m making a lovely first impression. Fuck.

“Well, let’s get you into a chair. You’re not quite standing ready just yet.” Their voice is terribly gentle despite the seriousness of their tone, sweet and steady, a comforting thing, and in my probably still somewhat drugged state I almost say as much.

Instead, I keep my head enough to respond in a very smart and on topic way, “That bad?”

“Not as bad as it could’ve been,” they answer lightheartedly. And then I see their name tag and pronouns neatly displayed on their chest. Simon.

Alright, Simon.

I roll the name around in my head while she fetches my chair. It’s not a bad name, a bit simple though. Mother wouldn’t have picked it, but then again her chosen husband had an equally boring name, so I suppose that doesn’t really matter, does it?

Crowley, my mind’s all over the place. Where the bloody hell do I get off on comparing Simon to my father right off? I mean clearly he wouldn’t be a homophobe given he was at minimum an out part of the community. That didn’t outright exclude bigots or internalized homophobia but, you know—

I should probably stop thinking so much. My head’s starting to hurt with the liberties it’s taking about someone I’d exchanged a whole five lines of dialogue with.

Oh, thank fuck the chair is here. I start sitting myself up again, but Simon’s quicker, already there to guide me up and over.

…It’s a process.

I feel so bloody betrayed by my body, but Simon talks me through it and I suppose that’s help enough. Embarrassing still, though. Even more embarrassing how I can’t stop myself from noticing how soft his sun-streaked hair looks, how striking his eyes.

As if meeting someone via stabbing was a great way to start a relationship or form an attachment. Fuck’s sake, she’s a nurse, Basil! This is her place of work, I literally know better. I’m just asking to catch a harassment case at this rate.

I just sit for a while in my chair after the whole affair’s done with, my head leaning probably too far back and my gaze intent on the ceiling.

“Do you want to stay there a while?” Simon interrupts my fugue and I realise I’ve probably been holding him up from the rest of her patients.

I shake my head, “No, I’m bloody starving though. Thirsty too.”

“Well,” she starts, not stuttering a second while she’s helping me back into bed, “Technically it’s past supper, but I’ll see what I can manage for you, Tyrannus.”

“Baz,” I correct, even though I’m never this informal with strangers, “Baz or Basil, please.”

“Baz,” Simon repeats, taking a moment to note it on my chart, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“And water?”

“Already done,” she gestures to the bedside table and there it is, already poured in glass for me and everything.

“Delightful,” I manage without an ounce of sarcasm. It’s an achievement, actually.

“Press the button if you need me,” Simon says with a warm smile.

My heart does a stupid flip-flop despite the risk such a thing would be to my life, what with the whole recently stabbed and nearly bleeding out bit. Really inadvisable, heart, let’s just kill us after just barely managing to survive a direct attempt on our life. Don’t be such a numpty, heart, I’d like to live a good while longer.

I manage a nod despite my internal argument with my circulatory system. “I’ll see you back then?”

“More than probably,” Simon answers, “Don’t forget your water.

My heart does another flip-flop when he gives me another smile full of sunshine. Rather against my earlier advice. The idiotic bloody muscle’s practically trying to kill me.

⋆｡˚

I don’t see Simon back for a while, but I also haven’t bothered to press the button. I’d finished my water and my phone was right there next to it, and I’m not sharing the room so I can have the tv on if I like even despite the late hour. I’ve plenty to entertain myself with, or at the very least plenty to distract myself from the pretty nurse trying to invade my mind with his skin painted in freckle constellations and copper curls.

It’s not enough, somehow, and I find myself having to actively resist the urge to push the button for no reason. I’ve not needed much for the painkillers, I’m not popping stitches or going anywhere, and I’m not exactly dying of hunger, so there’s no reason to call Simon unnecessarily.

Still.

I want to.

Thankfully I don’t have to. Simon shows up sometime near three o’clock in the morning with a sandwich in hand and a side of apple slices. I’m pretty sure it’s her lunch.

“Are you allergic to anything?” He asks as he plops himself in the chair next to my bed.

When I shake my head Simon proves me right by keeping half the sandwich for herself. I bite in without thinking about what might be in it. I’m too hungry to be particular right now, and I polish off the sandwich before I can even properly figure it out, washed down with a fresh glass of water and a sigh.

“Fuck…” I sink back against my pillow and let my eyes close, tenderly poking around the stitched up wound in my gut.

“Stop that,” Simon scolds with a swat in my direction, “Just because it’s not that bad doesn’t mean you can just poke at it.”

“How bad is not that bad?” I still stop, even if I ask the question as if I wasn’t going to.

“Not bad enough to need surgery,” Simon answers between bites, “You’re lucky enough your assailant didn’t knick any arteries or organs, but bad enough that if you put too much strain on it or pop a stitch the doctor will be Very upset with you.”

I can hear the capital in his voice. I don’t press further, letting my eyes slip closed in the moments following.

“So who’d you piss off enough to end up in this state anyway?”

“Is that normally the sort of question you ask a patient, Simon?” I can’t help cracking my eyes back open to serve them an incredulous look. At least I hope that’s what it comes across looking like. Who’s to say what I actually looked like, between the tiredness seeping into my bones and the ache in my gut.

Simon snorts out an amused laugh at me and my look only turns more sour. Or, again, I hope that’s what comes across. “Maybe if I were on the clock I’d be more tactful.”

“You’re spending your off hours with me? How unprofessional. I’m a lawyer, you know, I know how that could come across.” Even as I say it, there’s no threat behind the words. I’m leaning up to look at her more properly and she’s still smiling that sunshine smile and I can’t help but smirk back.

“It’s just my lunch, we’ll see about off hours later,” Simon’s being coy, but I can’t help but notice that he looks good doing it.

“You’re really toeing the lines of respectability, I’ll have you know.” Even I think I sound pompous at that, but Simon just keeps grinning over at me, so maybe she likes pompous sorts anyway.

“Is that how you got stabbed? Pissed off a client? Got on the wrong side of the mafia then?” He asks it like a flirt, tone all low and sultry, and I can’t help but laugh.

This is definitely not how one normally flirts. “Not exactly,” I answer as I settle back down in my bed, letting myself relax before carrying on, “A client’s ex-husband. I’m a divorce lawyer, and some men don’t handle that too well, it seems.”

Simon lets out a whistle of surprising length as he starts at his apple slices, “I was thinking criminal lawyer would be hotter, but I think I could be into a family court kind of guy.”

I shift as carefully as I can onto my side and perk a brow at this too pretty nurse ineloquently munching her lunch beside me. I’m still unreasonably attracted to him. “That’s incredibly unsubtle, Simon.”

“I know, Basil, but you’re not too subtle yourself.”

“What gave me away?”

“Heart palpitations,” Simon answers simply, “And I caught you staring at my bum when I left the room.”

“I was not!” I have to deny it, even if I had been.

“Sure you weren’t,” Simon hums, head quirked to the side and watching the guilty flush that was surely on my cheeks spread, “But how do you feel about the idea of shared off time? When you’re not such a vulnerable stabbing victim at some point even.”

“Is that how you’re asking me on a date, Simon?”

“Is that how you say yes, Basil?”

I purse my lips at him, a little bit of dramatic flair showing while I stretch out the moment in unnecessary anticipation. We both well know I’d already agreed. “That depends on your taste in the theatre. Are you a musical sort of person at all?”

“I could learn to be,” Simon answers, almost too earnestly.

I like that earnesty too much. “Well, I can appreciate someone who’s willing to learn for me. Give me your number and I’ll call you when I’m less recently stabbed. I’d like to be able to walk properly if I’m going to take such a pretty thing out on the town.”

“You’re really pushing for that lawsuit now, aren’t you?” Simon teases.

I’m a little too proud of the fact that I still managed to get his number programmed into my phone by the end of her shift though. I know full well I’m going to call him before I’m done healing though, even if I try and tell myself to not rush into things.

When I do call, a mere two days after I’m discharged from the hospital, Simon doesn’t seem to mind my blatant approach in the least.

#Carry On Countdown #COC 2023 #baz pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #carry on fanfiction #my writing #there's more of this to be posted #Bigender Nurse Simon Snow (He/She)#Lawyer Baz Pitch #general sickfic fluff #Reference to the extended Grimm family #this is part one #i saw this prompt and said 'oh let's stab basil!'#i also said 'oh let's make it a comedy!'#please enjoy

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sucrosette · 5 months

Text

★— ⋆｡˚ [New Things]

For Day 8 of Carry on Countdown 23, Sick. @carryon-countdown

Basil's nurse partner takes the best care of him when he's sick, even if he's a touch infuriating about how much he'd rather be working.

Rated T, for canon-typical banter and casually dropping the fuck bomb. Nothing really offensive though.

This is the second part of three I've planned for a Nurse/Lawyer AU for this CoC 🖤

⋆｡˚

“You’d think–” Simon calls from the kitchen, banging about in Baz’s cabinets, “My hot lawyer boyfriend would know when to cut his losses. I mean that’s half lawyering, isn’t it? Knowing when you can win or something. I’m pretty sure you’ve said so to me before~!”

Baz groans into his pillow, trying and failing to push himself out from under the covers. Simon wouldn’t be able to hear him if he tried to argue from this far across the house. Between Simon’s hearing, her habit of avoiding her aids in the house, and Baz’s voice being most of the way to gone, he’d have to at least be in the same room to stop her smug talk.

He manages to get up onto his knees, chest heaving with the effort, but before he can slide himself off the edge of the bed, Simon’s already beside him, gently but firmly shoving him back down onto the mattress. He looks utterly disappointed in Baz, but for all Baz tries to win the staring contest, he only manages to look a bit pitiful.

“Stop trying to fight the urge to rest, you twit,” Simon raps his fingers soft against Baz’s forehead, “You need more sleep. And I can’t be here to monitor you 24/7, as much as I’m sure you’d love that.”

Baz doesn’t miss her sarcasm. “Let me at least have my laptop,” he rasps out, a cough trailing at the tail end of his sentence.

“Absolutely not. You’ll end up on some conference call and then you’ll be researching for a new client, and then you’ll be putting together a case, and then it’ll be twelve hours later and you’ll be that much more worse for wear,” Simon shakes his head as he says it, only reinforcing his position.

“What am I supposed to do with myself if I’m not working?” It comes out more a whine than Baz cares to admit, but Simon pets through his hair in answer, the soft comfort easing the ache in his lungs, eyes fluttering closed momentarily.

“You have your books. The remote's right there for the tele. You’ll live without meetings for a couple of days, love. You know your boss already knows I’m going to rip her a new one if she lets you tune into work anyway.” Simon presses a kiss to his forehead, and then another, softer, “I have to go out for a bit. Promise me you’ll stay right here. And try and drink your tea too.”

Baz groans at the thought of swallowing, but he sits up enough to take his tea in hand and breathe in the steam rising from the cup. At least that much is soothing. He’s not quite up for the sipping part yet though. “Where are you going?” His voice is so tired, but he asks all the same, his neediness showing when he’d normally hide it.

“I’m got to get you more soup from Soph. And tea from that speciality place you require I get all your tea from. And honey, surprisingly, from a regular grocery–”

“Make sure it’s local at least,” Baz interrupts.

It only earns him an entirely unamused look, “–Local honey, from a regular grocery. And I’m going to call out again while I’m running errands your errands. I can’t really work with you like this.”

Basil huffs, finally bold enough to take that sip of tea, and he feels it all the way down his oesophagus, spreading out like ripples of heat over his chest, almost painfully. Crowley, he really was bloody weak right now. “You’ll come back soon?”

“As soon as I can, love,” Simon reassures, running her hand through his hair one more time before stepping back from the bed, “Take care of yourself for me, okay? No. Work.”

Simon’s face leaves no room for argument, so Baz just nods. He’s too bloody exhausted to argue much anyway. He figures he can at least finish his tea and maybe throw on something mindless to watch while he waits for his love to return.

Hell, Basil hates being this needy though.

⋆｡˚

At some point he must’ve fallen asleep, because Basil wakes up to a soft hand running over his arm and and a quiet hum. He’d been dreaming something nice, something soft, he just can’t quite grasp it in the moments of waking. He curls in closer to that warmth sitting on the bed, that soft voice of comfort, hands snaking out of the covers to wrap around Simon’s arm, clinging to it.

“Finally up then, babe?” Simon chimes at the contact, but Baz shakes his head, clinging tighter to that arm. “That’s alright. Have you been asleep all that time?”

Baz nods, cracking one eye open to look up at Simon before snapping it back shut. “Think so… everything aches.”

Simon’s spare hand presses coolly against Baz’s overheated forehead and a little displeased sound escapes him. “Well, let’s feed you. It’s been hours and you could use it. Also, Mordelia scoffed when she heard you didn’t have a heating pad and sent over hers with Sophie’s soup, so we can set that up for you after food, yeah?”

“Already so hot…” Baz grumbles, hating the idea of more of the same.

“I know, but we’ve got to do something for those aches, no? We’ll get you meds too, and once things settle down, you can toss it across the room for all I care,” Simon argues, annoyingly logical for her.

“Could do that for Mordy…” Basil huffs, “Send her a text for me? And Soph too…”

“Of course,” Simon agrees all too easily and Baz hums his own soft thanks, curling tighter around that hand. “Should we set you up to eat in here?”

Basil sighs all too loudly and there’s no mistaking the annoyance on his face at the thought, “The bed…”

“You’re so obsessive-compulsive sometimes,” Simon teases lightly, but there’s no fire behind it, only soothing familiarity, “I’ll bring in a chair. You can sit there for eating. I don’t think you could make it to your kitchen like this.”

“It’s only down the hall…”

“Am I wrong then?” Simon challenges Baz’s weak protest, only to be met with a shake of the head. “That’s what I thought. You’ll cooperate then, won’t you?”

“Regrettably,” Baz agrees again, rolling his eyes but fighting to sit himself up and drink the water Simon had side on the bedside table for him.

For all his huffing and puffing, Baz listens terribly well to Simon when it comes to the things he knows his partner knows better than him. Bloody fuck, she was a nurse professionally, of course she’d know how to treat a common cold better than him. The problem was simply that he was more used to taking care of himself and everyone else around him, rather than giving anyone an inch towards helping him.

Fuck.

He might be in love with her. They hadn’t said it yet. Basil’d been so cautious in it, but here Simon was, caring for him in every intimate way no one else had ever bothered to before. Baz was fairly certain this was love. And no, he wasn’t being delusional about that. He should say it soon. He’s going to have to say it soon, he decides, and despite the way his muscles were screaming in protest to his every move and despite the burn in his throat with every effort to work through Sophie’s soup, that decision at least feels good.

That little bit of serotonin pushes him the rest of the way through dinner, and through Simon Snow’s bad (or incredibly good, if technical) commentary on medical dramas. Baz is falling asleep with his head in Simon’s lap just about two episodes in, but with those soft touches over his hair and neck, it was only a matter of time. Simon’s fingers are so terribly tender with him, and they always are, his fingers are always precious with Baz, and there’s something new about that too. Unfamiliar, but in no way unwelcome.

He falls asleep when the third episode of Simon’s drama had only just started, but that was for the best. It was as his love had said, he needed the rest, and there’s no one else he’d rather be resting with.

#Carry On Countdown #COC 2023 #baz pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #carry on fanfiction #my writing #there's more of this to be posted #Bigender Nurse Simon Snow (He/She)#Lawyer Baz Pitch #general sickfic fluff #Reference to the extended Grimm family #technically this is part two

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sucrosette · 4 months

Text

★— ⋆｡˚ [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. 🖤 [Part 1][Part 2][Part 3]

⋆｡˚ 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 I’m 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 can’t do that now.

I usually manage ten to fifteen minutes before my bow hand starts shaking and my neck’s screaming for relief. Oh, there are workarounds, sure. I’ve tried the extended neck braces that eliminate the need for the chin rest. I’ve used the mobility bows that have the wrist straps, removing the need for my grip entirely. It’s 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 and… it’s not that I couldn’t have gotten to my old skill level with enough time, enough practice, but… I started to hate playing. I don’t want to hate playing, but every time I’d 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 don’t 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 I’m better for it. I don’t hate my grandfather’s violin every time I look at it. I don’t feel frustrated just existing in a room with it. I don’t 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, it’s like I’m no different than I ever was, and I find that beauty I make in music and let my violin sing for me. She’s my oldest friend. I can’t hate her.

When Simon first hears me play, it’s a bit of an accident. I don’t really play for people anymore, since I can’t play long and sometimes I have to conclude a piece early when I start to feel my body react, so of course it’s a bit of an accident. It’s just my sisters I play for when I play for people now. Otherwise, it’s 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 it’s not something I feel most people particularly need to witness. I aim to play alone.

It’s not that Simon doesn’t know I still play, he does, I’ve told him. Besides, she’s seen the violin, she’s seen me rosin the bow and tune my instrument. She got me a custom rosin case for it for my birthday, the very first we’d spent together— Simon is more than aware that I still play.

it just feels intimate in a way I haven’t quite been ready to share. Fifty-fifty odds I’ll cry at the end, or even halfway through. I like Simon seeing me strong, confident, and maybe a little cocky. I’ve been vulnerable, of course, I met him freshly stabbed and all, but this is a different thing.

So it’s a bit of an accident. Simon's been stateside for a friend’s wedding— she’d been her best mate in school— and I’m not expecting him home that day, let alone these ten minutes of the day I’ve 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 work’s been busy and I’d’ve had to fly separately, Simon's invested in his tickets an era ago and I don’t particularly want to fly over the Atlantic alone. I’ve 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 they’re not so busy with pre-wedding and during-wedding and post-wedding.

Simon tumbles through the door about two minutes after I’ve started but I don’t hear him. He’s still at the door when I finish. Thirteen minutes later. I can feel my hand aching a little but my neck’s doing alright, so I’ll take that as a good day. I blink over at Simon, realizing he’s really there as I carefully settle my violin back into her stand.

“You play beautifully,” Simon says as she closes the door, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

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 hadn’t. I find my confidence and breath and ultimately find it’s not uncomfortable for me to have Simon seeing me play. That’s a relief. Unsurprising, ultimately, but no less a relief. “You’re early?”

“Ah, yeah,” Simon answers as she kicks off her shoes. I’m already moving to help with his bags while he explains, “Pen’s already on honeymoon and originally I’d 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.” She does a silly little wave of her hands and it makes me impossibly bloody fond.

“You missed me that much?” There’s a touch of teasing there and Simon punches my arm for it, but he doesn’t use any strength to do it, and just sort of scrunches his nose in annoyance.

“Of bloody course I did, you prick. It’s been a whole week already…”

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. “I missed you too.”

It’s an easy admission. “Of course you did,” Simon says it like it’s 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. I’ll ask him all about everything after he’s gotten some sleep in him, reset properly from the jetlag over some food. I’m just as happy to have Simon home again too. I missed existing with her the last week.

“I’ll let you hear me play again,” 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. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, whenever I play next.” It’ll be tomorrow. I play almost every day, so long as it’s not a snow day.

“I’d like that,” He answers with a soft smile, “I’d like it a lot.”

I love this about Simon. He’s just so bloody understanding. I don’t understand how he doesn’t press or complicate or assume anything. We just finish getting through his unpacking and collapse into our bed and cuddle close.

I think he’s fallen asleep already when his voice catches me off guard, but maybe I’d been the one closer to sleep. “Are you gonna tell me about it?”

“Not tonight,” I know exactly what he means without asking, “But soon, probably. After you tell me all about how the wedding went.”

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. I’m too tired for anything else, he’s too tired for anything else, and it’s so bloody easy for us to fall asleep like that, tangled up in one another.

⋆｡˚ SIMON

He doesn’t tell me the next morning, not after all the talking I can manage on Pen’s ceremony and dress and everything. It’s a lazy morning. He called in to work from home (“No court days?” “No court days.”) and we slept in and stayed in bed hours longer and I still had three whole more days off work. I’m not in any rush to find out, I’m just happy I’ve gotten to hear him play now.

I ramble on and on about the States and everything that I’d 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 I’m not mad he didn’t come with me. I just missed him.

I don’t ask. I don’t need to ask. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.

I’m happy to linger in lazy mornings like this forever, if he’ll be here with me for them.

⋆｡˚ BAZ

I keep thinking I’m going to tell her, and then I don’t. I keep thinking I should bring it up, but then I don’t. It’s just such a bloody happy day and I’m 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 I’d said I would. I only just make it through about eight minutes today, but Simon smiles so beautifully for such a simple piece.

I’m 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.

⋆｡˚ SIMON

It’s about two weeks later when Basil wakes up in a cold sweat next to me. It’s not the first time I’ve witnessed his night terrors, we’ve 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 must’ve been particularly visceral. I sit up beside him and he still hasn’t 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 don’t stick to his sweat-slick skin and hum.

I hum whatever he’d played me last. Something by Bach, I think, but I’m not good at classical music. I am learning, a little, but I still can’t tell Beethoven from the Greatest Showman and apparently the latter is a musical, not a classical composition. I’m 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 I’m a security blanket made just for him.

“Bloody nightmares…” His voice comes out in rasp, dry and angry, but I don’t 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. “Think you can sleep again?” I ask it as gently as I can manage.

Baz shakes his head against my chest, but it’s alright, I just keep humming while he sinks deeper into my arms and the tangle of blankets around us. If there was less time, I’d even call out, but there’s plenty of time.

“I think I want to talk about it.”

⋆｡˚ BAZ

I’ve surprised him, I can tell. His mouth is doing that little ‘oh’ thing that she only does when she’s caught off guard. Maybe that’s fair, I haven’t talked about for long enough that maybe she was never truly expecting me to, but I have wanted to.

⋆｡˚ 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. “If you’re ready.”

Basil hums again and nods along, “I’m ready.”

I press a kiss to his temple and wait. I have time. I can always wait where Baz is concerned, but he doesn’t make me wait long. It spills out in chunks, but I fill in the blanks well enough. Trauma’s like that, I know, sometimes memories just don’t come back clean.

⋆｡˚ BAZ

I was twenty when it happened. It was winter break and I was driving back home for the holidays. 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 I’m 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 must’ve started hydroplaning at the exact right moment to cause him to swerve right into me.

There’s no time to react, no time to brake or swerve or anything at all.

There’s only the truck’s 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.

Simon’s 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. She’s patient through it all and it’s not until the lull in my story that I realize I’ve 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. I’m not sure where I was in the story, or where to pick up, it’s 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.

“Is that what your nightmares are about?” Simon asks when my tears start to slow and I’ve worked myself further out of that ball of stress.

“No,” I answer, and it feels a bit silly, but also not at all. “My nightmares are… they’re about the first time I picked up my grandfather’s violin, after I’d supposedly healed enough to try again, and I dropped it.”

⋆｡˚ 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. “You don’t have to say more if you don’t want to, you know. It’s okay to be done talking.”

He hums low and shifts our hold so he’s more holding me now, wrapping his legs around mine and practically clinging. I don’t bother to resist. I don’t mind comforting him like this either. It’s plenty comfortable in Baz’s arms too.

“I don’t think there’s much else to say,” Baz breathes out when he finds his voice again, “If there is I can’t recall right now.”

I nuzzle his chest and tangle us up that much more thoroughly. “It’s alright, love… if you want to talk more later, I’m always here for you, alright?”

“Alright.”

“I love you.”

⋆｡˚ 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 it’s 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 we’ve had together so far, of the time we’re 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. That’s just Simon, sugary sweet.

“Hey, Simon?”

She murmurs her own soft, unintelligible acknowledgment against my chest and I can tell from the weight of him that she’s drifting back off already.

“Thank you,” 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. “I love you too.”

Simon’s 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.

“Rest well, love,” my words fall soft and Simon’s already gone, and I think I can manage the same. I think, probably, without dreaming terrible things all over again.

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