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otherpeoplesheartachept-2 · 1 month

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Whatever you do don't remember that both Simon and Baz had mothers that came through the veil for them, but they still couldn't reach their sons.

Don't think about the fact that it was Lucy's only chance to speak with Simon, that he heard her voice, but didn't know it was his mother

And definitely don't realize that because Baz found Natasha's killer, she probably won't make it through the veil again. That was likely the last possible time he could have seen his mother again, but he wasn't there

#I'm feeling totally normal how about you guys😭#carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #the simon snow series #corascrap

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otherpeoplesheartachept-3 · 3 years

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Are they, you know... just two men as God had made them ?

#surely someone else has made this joke before but I'd like to think I'm clever #my chemical romance #mcr #corascrap

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otherpeoplesheartachept-2 · 1 year

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I think it's kinda funny that we all call snowbaz enemies-to-lovers bc they were enemies only in a very performative way. Baz realized years before they got together that he loved Simon. And while Simon believed he hated Baz, I think he hated Baz all those years in the same way that he was "straight" for all those years; it was part of the Chosen One role he was playing. But there was never that truly deep hatred for the other person. Even when they would fight or say they hated each other, it was just the performative "enemy" version of the other person that they hated.

I think this is why other enemies-to-lovers never quite draws me in as much as Snowbaz does. It's hard to like believe 2 people truly despise each other, and then flipping that all around in the course of a book or movie. But it is SO interesting and rewarding to read abt Simon and Baz–not learning to stop hating each other–learning to accept the love that's been there the entire time.

Idk maybe that's also what other enemies-to-lovers stories are doing, but the ones I've seen the couple seems to start out genuinely disliking everything abt the other person

#i don't know these are just some thoughts I'm having #if you like other eneimes to lovers stories that have like similar vibes to snowbaz I'd be curious to know what they are #carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #the simon snow series #corascrap

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otherpeoplesheartachept-2 · 1 year

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Wait wait wait, what the hell was The Mage's plan if Simon had been adopted before he Went Off at age eleven??

Like was he just gonna show up to some Normal's (recently burnt down) house like "hello, I'm a strange man from a strange boarding school you've never heard of, I'd like to take your Ordinary Normal son because uhhhh, he's super smart and I know this, somehow"

What if Simon's parents had said he couldn't go to Watford?? What then?? Was Davy gonna kidnap him? And then what?? You can't put a kidnapped kid back in a care home for the summer, you'd get caught

#au where Simon doesn't go to Watford bc he's adoptive parents don't let him #or au where The Mage kidnaps him and then the school year is over and he's like 'well what tf am I supposed to do w an 11 yo for 3 months??#carry on #simon snow #the mage #the simon snow series #corascrap

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otherpeoplesheartachept-2 · 18 days

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I'm on desktop and I still don't know how to superboop or evilboop!!! help me!!

#also like half the boops I try to boop give me an error message instead #tumblr why are you like this man #boop #corascrap

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otherpeoplesheartachept-2 · 5 months

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day 1: A Record of You and I

A diary from the mid 1700s kept by a man named Simon Snow, a farmhand for the Grimm estate. He records the death and the subsequent vampiric transformation of his close friend, and heir to the Grimm estate, Basilton Grimm.

Rating: M

Length: 4,321

Warnings: main character death/undeath. non-graphic (maybe slightly graphic) depictions of violence/blood, mentions of animal death, implied sex

Read on AO3 or below the cut

September 3rd 1742

I've never had a journal before but Basilton tells me it will help with my reading and writing. He's taught me all my letters and wants me to practice on my own now. He says he’ll continue reading to me if I like. He’ll keep helping me with handwriting too, but Basilton insists that having a personal record will do me good. Even so, I do not know what to record. Though I must not waste this lovely gift. Basilton says to write about my day, my thoughts. He must have more thoughts within him than I, for I am already out of things to say, and Basilton adds to his journal at all hours of the day.

September 6th 1742

Today I milked the cows and took them out in the field to graze. I ate fresh bread with a lot of butter. I did some other chores. It is late. I do not wish to write more.

September 7th 1742

Today I had porridge for breakfast, and some tasty stew Ebb made for supper. Charlie, the cattle dog, found a new favorite stick out in the pasture today, he hasn't stopped chewing it since this morning.

September 8th 1742

I hope Basil will forgive me for my short entries. It's not as if he’ll read what I put down here. Personal journals are to be personal, he tells me. So I’m just meant to speak to myself? I will keep at it, if only to gain more surety in my handwriting.

September 9th 1742

It is Sunday, I went to Mass. Basilton came to the cabin after the service. Brought me some scones Vera made. Sir Grimm does not approve of his son spending so much time with a farmhand, Basilton told me of another scolding he got earlier this week. I do not know why he spends time with me, against his father’s wishes, but I will not stop him. We ate lunch together. I enjoyed the food, and the company more. Basilton would call me a liar if he read that, my love of scones is rarely bested by anything, but Basilton is a good friend to me.

Everything feels so easy with Basil. He can make me laugh no matter what, even when he's poking fun at me. We talked for hours yesterday, and he listened when I spoke about my days, my observations of the cattle. Basil worries I work too hard, but I don't do much really, and I enjoy the labor. Besides, what else am I to do with my time? We discussed a poem Basil had read to me a few weeks ago. I am not usually one for poetry, but Basilton speaks about poems in a way that makes sense to me. I thought him unbearably arrogant when I first started working for his family, speaking of literature constantly and looking down his big nose at me. He still is arrogant at times, but now that we are friends I know he is also kind and caring and truly intelligent. He speaks of his sisters often, and how he worries he won’t meet his father’s expectations. He remains unmarried and this troubles Sir Grimm.

But Basilton has land to inherit and good social standing. He has many admirable qualities, and it goes without saying that he is handsome. He should have no trouble finding a wife. I said this to Basilton today but he became uncomfortable. Quickly, he brushed it off and picked up a new topic of conversation. This has happened before, I do not know if it’s the subject of marriage, or if he is too modest a man, but many times I have stated his good qualities, only for Basiton to blush and deny them, or leave the conversation.

September 20th 1742

I ate Turkey for supper yesterday. One of the bulls charged at me today because I looked at him wrong. Bastard. Gareth made me help him till the field today. Another bastard. He said he couldn’t get it done in time without help, despite the crops being his and his sons’ job, and the cattle being mine.

Went to the pub with Ebb, the goatherd yesterday. She told me a great joke about goats but I was drunk and can't remember it now. I might ask her to tell me it again.

September 22nd 1742

Today was an easy day, I fiddled with my carving knife while out in the field. Made a little wooden Charlie but when I showed it to him the blasted dog chewed it up. I tried to stop him but then I just laughed. I suppose I’m glad he found my carving nice enough to devour.

September 30th 1742

Basilton visited today. He brought me some of his books, said I could keep them, since I mentioned how much I liked the last one he read to me. I thanked him for the books, he is so kind to me. I do not know if I will ever read them though. Perhaps I should not have taken them. It’s not that I am ungrateful, I just didn’t know how to tell Basilton I mostly enjoy hearing his voice read to me, more than I care about the contents of the books. I am sad as this probably means he will not continue reading aloud to me.

October 1st 1742

I’ve not been writing as much as I feel I should. I fear my life is just not that interesting. Basilton tells me it’s plenty interesting. He’ll listen to my stories about cattle and Charlie without complaint. Gareth tells me my stories are boring though. “Who cares if a calf was born with a spot that looks just like a field mouse?” he said to me when I told that story at the pub last week. As if throwing seeds on the ground makes for great stories.

October 8th 1742

I found some poppies in the field, the first of the fall. I picked a couple of the red flowers. Gave them to Basil when he came round my cottage in the evening. He tried to resist them but I insisted. I told him it was repayment for the books he left with me. That wasn't all true, I just wanted to share the beauty of those little things with him. Basilton accepted the flowers then, I do hope he likes them. I cannot offer him much more, though I wish I had more to give to my friends.

October 10th 1742

I tried carving a flower out of wood but I cocked it up. I might try again with a thicker stick.

October 12th 1742

The cattle are well. The sun is shortening our days. I heard a bird song I did not recognize today, while out in the field. It was lovely. I must start saving up for a new winter coat, mine is threadbare and has not been keeping me warm enough as the world gets colder. Basilton tells me he’s going deer stalking with his cousins in a few days. He will be gone for at least a month. It will be their first hunt of the season.

October 15th 1742

Basilton left today. I tended to the cattle. I tried to brush off the sadness that seemed to hang over the day. Perhaps the cloudy days are affecting my mood, or the cold weather. I might just sleep early today.

October 30th 1742

He died. On that trip he

November 25th 1742

I went to Mass today. I sat alone. I tried to welcome the Holy Spirit but I feel so alone in this world. I grieve Basil every waking moment. I thought this would pass, it’s been nearly a month and still the wound is as fresh as the day I learned of his death. I’ve never had someone to lose before, like this. I loved him deeply, as if he were my own family I have come to realize. I find myself almost grateful that I did not know my parents, that I will not, one day, have to grieve them as well.

The Lord’s Day is the most painful, God forgive my soul for saying so. I cannot distract myself with work. I try to pray, but my mind wanders ever back to my lost friend. I grow tired of writing, but I will not put down this journal forever, Basilton wouldn't want me to.

November 27th 1742

I woke up this morning to something strange. I found one of the cows dead in the field. I hadn’t noticed any signs of sickness in the herd, but there were also no signs of an animal attack. There was no wound I could find, no blood. She looked strange, I cannot say why, though. It was as if something was missing, from beneath the skin. I told Sir Grimm, and the other farmhands, in case there is sickness in the herd. I’ll be keeping a closer watch on the cattle.

November 29th 1742

I visited Basilton’s grave this evening. It did me no good. I only felt the pain of loss much stronger standing there, reading his gravestone. It was as if there were a stake ran through my chest. I could hardly breathe through the sobs that came out of me. It was so strange, knowing Basilton was so close, only two meters or so below where I stood, and yet he was impossibly far.

It does me little good to dwell on these negative feelings.

November 30th 1742

I try to fill my days with actions. I inspect the cows twice, three times over, to check for any signs of decaying health. I pace the perimeter of the field while they graze. I help Gareth work the land when I should be resting. I chop enough firewood for this winter and the next two. I stay too long at the pub and drink more than I can afford. I imagine spots in my cabin that need cleaning, and I scrub and scrub and scrub until the pain in my hands is all that I can feel. And yet, I still ache for the companionship of Bailston. What am I to do with myself?

December 1st 1742

I cannot stop thinking of Basilton. Truly, I never stopped thinking of him, even when he was alive and with me. The Grimm family told us he was trampled by his own horse, fell off it while hunting. In quiet moments my mind creates imaginations of his last terrible moments. When I lay in bed, if I am not drunk as a lord, I cannot sleep for hours. I pray to God for a miracle, but my pleas are left unanswered. I know it to be foolish, but I cannot help myself. I would do anything for Basilton. Anything to see him again.

December 4th 1742

I do not want to write this, but I feel I must. I saw Basilton last night. I know, I know that he is dead, and God willing, he is at peace in heaven. But I came home from the pub late last night, crawled into bed, then, I saw Basil in my room, as if he were alive. He did not look ghostly, no, he looked as if he had new life coursing through him. His skin flush. His smile wide. There were no signs he had ever been dead.

I cried out, I could not help it. He came to me, to my bed. I sat up to meet him. And he held me. A hand pressed to my chest, the other wrapped around my back. His dark hair against my chin as he rested his face to my collar bone. We did not speak. I feared I would wake from the dream. And it must have been a dream.

I woke up this morning half expecting to see Basilton about the grounds, as if his death was a nightmare I could finally wake from. But he was not here, of course not. My mind has been so fixed on Basilton it only makes sense he would creep into my dreams.

December 5th 1742

It happened again, last night, I was not asleep this time. I was changing into my night clothes, when Basil appeared to me. I did not hear him come in. My candle cast his shadow against the wall. He must have been standing there as flesh and bone, not as a ghost or a vision. He wore regular clothes, not the burial shroud–made from his own family’s wool–that he was laid to rest in. He had on his purple vest with yellow embroidered flowers. It was one of his favorites, he told me years ago. Again he did not speak, but he touched my hand. He was so cool. a welcome feeling; I was so hot. I pulled him into an embrace. I whispered his name, I did not know what else I could do. I swear to God, he spoke my name in response.

Suddenly I felt so tired, so drained. Likely the day’s work catching up to me. I tried to fight the urge to sleep, but my eyes closed before I could watch Basilton leave, or say anything more to him.

December 6th 1742

Another cow, and one of the bulls have died, for the same mysterious reason as the first cow. The herd was restless yesterday, as if they could sense misfortune in the air, but I could not do anything to prevent their deaths. I do not even know what I need to be protecting them from.

I am worried, and unsettled.

December 8th 1742

The night before this last I stayed up, hoping to see my old friend again, though he never came. But last night I saw Basilton again. He spoke this time, only my name. My heart filled with joy to hear my friend’s deep voice call me Simon after I was sure we’d never be able to speak to each other again in this life. He sat beside me on the bed. I told him I had missed him. He placed a cool hand on my cheek, looked into my eyes. His were a familiar light grey, but he wore an expression I couldn't make sense of.

Then, he kissed me. I hesitate to write these words. He must be a sodomite. I have always heard such men are evil, but I could never think of Basilton that way. He's always been so lovely.

And the worst part is that I kissed him back. The best part is that I kissed him back. I have not kissed anyone before. He was so soft against my lips. So cool. His hand held my jaw, and his tongue pressed against my lips. An elation sprung up within me that I cannot describe. I held him tightly, wanting more than anything for this moment to last forever. I couldn’t help but think he should have done this sooner. We should have done this when Basil was still living.

Oh God! I weep remembering that he is dead.

Basilton kissed farther down my neck, across my collar bones, left kisses on my chest so hard they hurt. I did not stop him. He didn't go farther than my bosom, but-

I wanted him to. I felt as if under a spell, wrapped up in a world of pleasure balanced by the slightest pain. I wanted more, wanted all of him , but before I knew it I was awake, and alone, as the morning sun shown through my window.

I was slow in my work today. Gareth noticed, told me I should not be so lazy. My body betrays me, I feel so weak.

December 13th 1742

Basilton visits me nightly now. I welcome his touches, his hard kisses. I walk through my days now, dreaming of night.

The cows have begun to distrust me, they put up a fight when I try to milk them, and a few are no longer eating. I do not know why. Sir Grimm, despite having experience with livestock, seemed just as perplexed as I when I brought up the strange deaths and behaviors of his herd. Though, I know his mind is elsewhere, the mourning clothes he and Madam Grimm wear are a constant reminder of their loss.

I hear whispers at the pub of ghost sightings. I hear gossip from the house servants that the Grimm children wake up screaming in the nights now.

December 19th 1742

The weather gets worse. I feel frozen to the bone. My hands hurt daily. My work gets harder, as more animals under my care drop dead, and my strength seems to dwindle with each moment. The waking world has no joy, no pleasure left. But I go through each day, waiting for night. Only at night can I remember what happiness is. Basilton comes to me. He holds me, and we kiss for hours. Basil leaves marks and bruises on my skin but I welcome it. My hands praise the skin he uncovers for me. We commit sins I never knew could bring such pleasures.

December 20th 1742

I admit, I have not allowed myself to consider how or why Basilton appears to me alive, when I know he was laid in his grave two months ago. I just cannot think of it, I cannot search for reasons to distrust this gift I have. I may be a fool, or a doomed sodomite, but I cannot find it in me to fight what is happening. I cannot consider this to be anything but good or I might truly lose myself.

December 24th 1742

Last night was disturbing. Basilton came to my room as usual. We kissed, and lay together, and I felt so joyous, but quickly the tides turned. He pinned my naked body to the bed. He sat over me and tore at my flesh with his bare hands. I cried out but I could not stop him. Some dark part of me did not want to stop him. Basilton lapped up the blood that poured from my chest like a starved dog. The unGodly sight did things to me. As if possessed by something, I craved his bloodshed.

I do not know what is wrong with me.

I awoke with deep wounds on my chest. A mess of horror and lust arose within me as I touched the raised flesh, the dried blood. I know this is not natural, this is not holy. I should seek out a doctor, or a priest, but I can't stand the thought of losing my dear Basil again. I would open up a vein for him. I would tie our hearts together for eternity if it meant Basilton could be mine.

December 25th 1742

It is Christmas Day. A holiday that should be full of cheer. Basil once told me it was his favorite holiday, so it holds an extra special meaning for me. I wish he had been here, enjoying the day. I try not to be too sad, he will be here soon, arriving with the stars in the sky.

Ebb spent the day with me. I gave her a small wooden goat I carved. She does not say it but I know she misses her brother most around this time of year. I tried to be there for her, as I pretended not to notice the tears running down her red cheeks. But I found it hard to care. All my thoughts were consumed by anticipation for my next visit with Basilton. I know that is terrible. I tried to fight it, to focus on the friend I had with me at the moment, but I struggled. My mind, and my heart are trapped in a world with only Basilton and myself. A world no one else could understand.

December 26th 1742

Basilton attacked me again last night. My neck, chest, and stomach are covered in signs of his violent affection. Oh my dear God, I try to feel remorse, to summon disgust at our actions, but it is just not there within me. My mind is a haze of painful pleasure, my thoughts, along with my flesh and blood, fully consumed by Basilton. He is a fallen angel. He is a monster, and I must be one as well, but I have no will to change that.

I love him. I’ll love him no matter what we become.

I found more cattle dead this morning. Now nearly a third of the herd is gone. This time they have markings to match the wounds on my chest.

I told Ebb about the deaths, she told me a few goats have passed as well. I will tell the baronet tomorrow.

December 27th 1742

I went to tell Sir Grimm about the dead cows this morning.

In the manor I overheard the baronet and baronetess speaking of another attack last night. I stopped myself short of the doorway into Sir Grimm’s study. I stood in the hallway, slowing my breath to hear them through the door.

“Mordelia saw Basilton again last night. He hurt her, picked her up and left scratches on her back,” Daphne said to Malcolm. Sir Grimm stated he’s seen their son some nights as well. I became jealous upon hearing these words, at learning I was not the only one Basil is giving attention to. A foolish thought, of course he would want to see his family. But they spoke of him in fearful tones. They do not know my sweet Basil is only full of love.

“He is a vampire,” Sir Grimm said. I had to stop myself from crying out. Madam Grimm gasped, begged him no. Sir Grimm mumbled something comforting. “It must be done. He’s not our son anymore, Daphne, he is an evil creature.”

A vampire. The livestock dying, the frightened children, and my nightly visits from Basilton, all signs of a vampire. Dear God, Basil did not deserve such a fate!! I know what they will do to him: dig up his grave, stake his heart, cut off his head, and burn him to ashes.

He will be gone forever.

I cannot bear the thought!

I know now what I must do, and I must do it quickly.

Later on the 27th

Hastily, I have made my preparations. I could not risk Sir Grimm getting to Basilton first. I am prepared to go tonight.

December 28th 1742

I went to Basilton’s grave late last night. I was the only soul awake besides the owls. I brought along a lantern, a shovel, a small pack with all my coin and what few possessions I care to keep, and a small wheelbarrow I took from the barn. The light of my lantern guided me through the familiar trees and headstones, until I found the name Basilton Grimm carved into stone.

The rain poured down endlessly. The wet earth offered little resistance to my shovel, but digging was not quick work. The wind put out my lantern thrice. I gave up relighting, nothing would stop me. I had a singular purpose. I felt as if I’d been guided here, to this moment, to save my love.

After hours of labor, my shovel kissed the wood of a coffin, I nearly collapsed from relief, and exhaustion. Prying the lid from my Basil’s prison was harder than I had expected. Once I had it off, I threw it from the hole.

I wept. There was my dearest Basilton asleep in his coffin. I relit the lantern. I fell to my knees, sharing the cramped space with him. The light revealed a blood-stained mouth and burial shroud. His hair was a little longer, more lustrous than in life, his skin ruddy and plump. I worried I would find his face smashed, his body mangled from horses’ hooves, but he was unmarked and as beautiful as ever. His hands were free from his shroud, also bloody.

These are all signs of a vampire, but I could not care. I had to reach out to touch his cold flesh.

I had to kiss him.

My lips met his, and in that coffin, surrounded by earth, over the sound of the attacking rain, Basil softly moaned. I swear I heard it. I swear his lips moved against mine.

Elated with indescribable joy I tried to wake him more, desperate for proof he really was living. He did not open his eyes, or speak to me, or move. But when I pressed my ear to his chest I heard the drum of his heart beat steadily.

My sweet Basilton alive! Now that I have him, I will let no harm come to him. I will keep Basil safe from those who want to kill him again.

It is early morning now, the sun is just starting to peak over the land in the East. This will be my last entry. I shall leave my journal here, in my Basilton’s empty grave, in case anyone is searching for us. I care not who reads these words, they will not find us. I will be far away, with my love, finally happy.

(A note placed in the back of the journal)

Dearest Simon,

I hope this journal will be of use to you. I do believe keeping a journal will help you continue improving your literacy. And perhaps it will aid in other ways. I find it helps to have a private place for one's thoughts and feelings. My journals are a great comfort to me.

Beyond that, I must admit I do enjoy the thought that there will be a record of you and of I. That people may know who we were, and that we were good friends.

Yours truly,

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm

#carry on countdown 2023 #coc 2023 #carry on countdown #simon snow #baz pitch #vampire #blood #blood drinking #1700s au #simon snow pov #the simon snow series #carry on #the simon snow trilogy #fanfic #corascrap

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otherpeoplesheartachept-2 · 10 days

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My plans for last night: start writing for the co sapphic week

The reality of last night: spent hours making the co gang in a stardew valley portrait maker until it was way past my bedtime

#I'm telling myself it was productive #bc it *definitely* *totally* helped with the vauge brobelove stardew au brewing in my head #and I'll for sureeeeeeee have it written in time after not writing any of it lmao #corascrap #carry on

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otherpeoplesheartachept-2 · 3 months

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I'm reading a non-fiction book and it mentions a "David Salisbury" which caught me so off guard, like The Mage is here??? In real life???? And he's a British civil servant??

#like I mean obviously some real people are going to have the name David Salisbury but my kneejerk reaction really was wait THE MAGE???#the book is The Doctor who Fooled the World by Brian Deer #in case you were curious #corascrap

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otherpeoplesheartachept-2 · 5 months

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I found an old diary from when I was 14/15 yesterday and opened it to find this gem of an entry:

I don't know why I went for the ship name like that lmao

(in case you can't read my awful handwriting it says: I am currently obsessed with the book Carry On by Rainbow Rowell, or more specifically SnowBaz (which in my opinion is the lamest ship name but whatever). I think I've added every SnowBaz fic to my wattpad)

#I wonder how 15 yo me would feel knowing I'm still fucking obsessed w snowbaz #corascrap

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otherpeoplesheartachept-2 · 5 months

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day 6: The Pearl

The war's over. So now what do you do? Or: a look at Simon pre-wayward son

Rating: T

Length: 680

Warnings: some of this could be interpreted as suicidal ideation.

Read on AO3 or down below

You slouch on the sofa.

You haven't moved for what feels like days.

Your boyfriend Baz brings you Chinese takeaway. It's from your favorite restaurant. He is still your boyfriend, only because you're a selfish coward. And Baz is too nice to do the right thing when you're like this.

You mumble a thank you. The food sits on the coffee table until it goes cold though. Once again you waste money, and Baz’s time, and your life.

You stretch your arm that's falling asleep–and Merciful Merlin, when was the last time you showered? Wednesday? No, Monday? No, what day is it today?

Saturday your phone tells you. Right. That's why Baz is here in the afternoon instead of in class. God, he must find you repulsive.

Your hoodie hasn’t been washed in ages either. Penny offered to do your laundry, but you refused to let her. Made you feel like a baby, like you can't function on your own, need Penny to pick up after your mess. But Penny’s always had to clean up your messes. You can’t function on your own.

But you should. You should be able to be a fucking functional human being.

Maybe after you tackle the boyfriend problem you’ll free Penny too. Then you’ll have no one. You’ve had no one before, it’s no excuse to be a lazy piece of shit. And yet you are.

Baz sits in the chair beside the sofa, watches your tail as it whips restlessly. He used to sit on the same cushion as you. Then the one next to you, then the arm of the sofa at your feet. Now the chair. You wonder how long until he's sitting in the kitchen on the weekends. How long until he can't stand to be in the same room as you?

You can't stand to be in the same room as yourself now , but Baz has always been the better person out of the two of you.

Penny enters the room, says something to Baz.

You stare at the telly.

They have a conversation, but you don't hear the words. Your dry eyes don’t focus on the old western playing on the screen.

Sometimes it's like you're underwater, trying to look up at everyone else above the waves. Sometimes it's like you're a bird watching from behind your own head. Sometimes it’s like you’re a building that’s been hollowed out, burnt to nothing but concrete and rebar, and you’re expected to act whole.

Sometimes you wonder if any of this is real, or if your body is still lying in the weeping tower–dead when you were supposed to die.

You said that to your therapist once and she wanted to unpack it. You didn't. You've been trying so hard to pack everything up. You've been shoving memories down like trash in the bin when you don't feel like taking it out yet.

You imagine those things, everything you don't want inside, as a novel; you rip out the pages, crumple them beyond recognition, then throw them as far away from yourself as you can.

But it's all still there. And you don't see the therapist anymore.

Useless piece of shit, can’t even do the one thing that might help you.

At midnight–when Baz is gone, and the lights are all off, and Penny's fast asleep, and the room flickers with the changing scenes on the television–only then do you let things surface, certain no one else will know.

You think of Watford, and the Mage, and the monster that was you the whole time.

You heard once that pearls start out as sand irritating a clam. So you let the sand in. You think of Watford, and The Mage, and all the ways you ruined the world. You roll it around, thinking maybe you can turn it into something beautiful. Maybe if you look at it the right way, it’s all fine, and you’re fine, and you can be normal.

But that's bullshit , you laugh at your own stupidity.

You don't stop picturing the pearl.

#simon snow #pre-wayward son #angst #ow ow time #mitski: a pearl #carry on countdown #coc 2023 #fanfic #the simon snow series #corascrap

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otherpeoplesheartachept-2 · 5 months

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day 6: That Sort of Love

Agatha's trying to figure herself out, and why she can't seem to love like others do.

Rating: T

Length: 921

Warnings: none

Read on AO3 or below the cut :)

I thought that dating Niamh meant I was normal.

She's handsome and smart and wears her heart on her sleeve even when she's trying to be a tough prick. She's great at kissing, and sex, and she stopped holding doors open for me when I told her I hated it. I thought I could love her.

I should love her, but there's something wrong with me.

I thought dating Niamh, and wanting to kiss her, meant the rest would come to me. But I was right when I said I don't have the right kind of love inside me. I didn't love Simon in the way I was supposed to, and now I don't love Niamh in the way I should.

It's worse because I know she loves me. She hasn't said it, but she's fixed up a leak in Ebb’s barn roof. (I guess it's my barn now). And she told me she's drawing up plans to fit the bathroom with a claw-foot tub, after I mentioned I’ve always wanted one of those. And who else would Niamh leave the clinic early for just to get a bite to eat?

I don't deserve her. I try to pay her back: I bought her hair-styling products, I put kissy emojis in my texts even though it makes me feel like I’m lying, I moan extra breathy when she eats me out because I know it turns her on.

But I don't love her.

People speak of romantic attraction like it's this huge, magical (Normal type of magical) thing, and I just don't get it.

What's a girlfriend beyond a friend you like to fuck?

(I know there must be more to it though, asexual people exist, and they can have romantic feelings).

I asked Keris once how she knew she wanted to be with Trixie. She said things just felt different with her. But I don't feel different about Niamh. I like her like I like Penny. (Okay that's a bad example, I definitely like her more than Penny.) I like her like I like Ginger; like I liked Minty. Except I’ve never imagined what it’d be like to sleep with either of them.

I told Niamh we should break up, because I can't seem to love her in the same way she can love me. She was pissed about that. I know she's insecure about ending up as nothing but an experiment for straight girls. I’m not straight though, I don't feel romantic towards men either. And after trying once with Simon I think it's safe to say I don’t ever want to sleep with a man.

We didn't talk for two weeks after I said we should split.

And I cried for most of it.

I felt so stupid. After all, I’m the one who called things off, I’m the one who said I don't love her. But Niamh’s still my friend, I do enjoy her company. I wish I could be normal for her.

I turned to Penny, (because who else do I have? I’m not about to go to Simon with my girl problems), told her what was going on with Niamh and I, how I want her, but I can’t make myself love her the right way. I don’t want to build my life around her and get married with two kids, I don’t want to feel like we have to go on dates often enough or we’re failing, I don’t want her to treat me like a girlfriend.

Penny’s American asked why there had to be a right way to love. I wanted to slap him. I refrained though, and he asked another question: if I’d ever considered I was aromantic.

And well, no… I hadn't. Seven Snakes, maybe I am. But what does that solve? I can’t very well tell Niamh I just want to use her for sex, can I?

The American tried to tell me that’s not how it has to work. He’s annoyingly emotionally mature and knowledgeable about ‘alternative’ relationships.

I thought about what the American said for a bit. And I tried preparing this big long explanation to give to Niamh, but then I got scared and deleted it off my phone. And then one of the goats got a rusty nail stuck in his hoof, and I thought it was infected so I had to go to the clinic. And of course Niamh was the only one that could help.

She didn’t say anything about us while she examined the hoof. It hurt a bit how coldly professional she was.

I tried to play along, I wanted to, coward that I am. But I thought about going home alone and feeling the loss of my closest friend for the 14th night in a row. I didn't want Niamh to be a stranger again. So I made myself say something. And then I was saying too much. I started rambling on and on like: I’m not straight and I do like you but I might be aromantic and it’s great when we fuck, and I worry I can’t give you what you deserve but it’s not that I never want to see you it’s just I don’t know exactly what I do want. I know I want it with you though, is that okay? Can you trust me? Can you follow my lead on this?

Niamh said she had to think about it. And she let me kiss her when I left.

Fair enough.

So, I guess, now we wait.

#I wrote this very quickly bc I didn't have anything for the wlw prompt and I'm not sure it's any good #but I tried to do aromantic agatha justice #aromantic agatha wellbelove #carry on countdown #coc 2023 #agatha wellbelove #Niamh Brody #brobelove #fanfic #corascrap

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otherpeoplesheartachept-2 · 5 months

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Given the chance I think I could fix Lucy Salisbury.

I've helped friends leave shitty men many times, and I could introduce her to lesbian sex. I mean, what else could it take to dump Davy's ass?

#this is my way of coping with writing davy/lucy smut #imagining what I could be doing so she'd NOT be with him #Honestly we don't talk enough abt how cool and sexy Lucy is #like broad shoulders long curly hair cares about marginalized ppl in her community 😍😍#hellooooooo #she's hot #corascrap

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