Im doing AUgust again this year! Here’s the first part of last weeks AU, which was a continuation of the Prince x knight AU from 2021! ⚔️

just remembered i have the power to draw whatever i want forever

“He told me we were stars.”

day 4 @carryon-countdown

Back on my MalMage agenda

After almost 2 years of plotting and driving myself insane, I finally decided to publish the first chapter of my "MalMage is canon" fic.

A slow slow burn with a lot of angst and smut. Canon divergence.

I'm sorry Rainbow.

Cautionary Tale

Rating: E, and has MCD

Word Count: (28.5 k posted; 61 k in WIP)

Summary:

What if the adults in the Carry On books were actually Watford students? What if we took MalMage seriously and gave them a real backstory?

This is the Carry On equivalent of "All The Young Dudes", and it starts in 7th year at Watford but with other students. Perhaps Malcolm and Davy?

Read on AO3

Very very close to finishing Carry On and aaaaa, The Mage is just so fascinating. so unhinged and zealous. Lucy's chapters in the book are compelling.

3-12, day 9: Staff

I still couldn't find a description for the mage besides brown hair and a 'pencil thin moustache' so I went with that... And accidentally made him hot... I'm not proud of it...

@carryon-countdown

Getting back into The Simon Snow Trilogy uh oh

Mugler s/s 2018 rtw Creative Director David Koma Fashion Editor/Stylist Géraldine Saglio

Newest Cool

Happy Easter to all of you who celebrate! After a rotten Friday at the animal shelter where I work, I got a very pleasant surprise yesterday when a pregnant stray who came in gave birth to five live and healthy kittens! I might share some pics later on :) In the meantime, thank you @forabeatofadrum and @you-remind-me-of-the-babe for the tags this morning, as well as everyone else who’s continued to tag me on other days. I’ve been pretty slow writing lately, but I do have some shares this week!

First, a bit of kid!Baz POV from my COBB:

In the afternoons, I do my homework as soon as we get home and sometimes call my father. He never has much to say. I’ll offer to help Dev with his work and then water the herbs in the conservatory, reminding myself of the names and uses of each one. Dogtooth violet to stop gossip, bay leaves for wish making and prophetic dreams. Tarragon for confidence, St. John’s Wort to stave off colds and fevers. Basil can drive off dark spirits. I rub the leaves between my fingers, remembering Ebb’s lessons as the fresh summer scent breaks across my skin. “Basil can dispel confusion, boys. It turns back fear and weakness, and is used in exorcisms. Carry it with you to protect yourselves from danger, or spread it on the ground to keep away evil. It’s also sometimes used to bring lovers together.” Dev had elbowed me and sniggered, because of course we both associate the herb with my name. I don’t see how any of it relates to me, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s just what I’m called.

And the next is from a sequel I suddenly started writing to Field Trip of Dreams (god I still hate that that’s the title I gave it). I wouldn’t say it’s necessary to read the first fic, although it gives context for the fact that Baz and Simon are dating in eighth year, and everyone but the Mage knows it. It’s a longish share, but I’m enjoying writing so have it:

“Isolation Cabin?” Basilton is repeating in disbelief. His eyes narrow. “But Sir, whatever will we do if we get to talking and discover we were separated at birth?”

Simon understandably pales, but Davy merely snorts and waves a dismissive hand. “Unlikely, Mr. Pitch. Now, both of you grab your rucksacks while I conjure a bird to lead you to the cabin. It’s…out of the way.”

The rest of the students are in fits, but of course Davy doesn’t notice. He pays attention to nothing and nobody when he thinks he’s in the right. Simon has shouldered his own pack and is staring into the middle distance, refusing to look at anyone. Of course, Natasha Pitch’s son has to get in one last dig: “What’s next, a get-along shirt?”

Basilton’s unimpressed expression is fooling no one—I know blessed well that he’d only love that. “Davy,” I try one last time. “This weekend is supposed to be providing these students with a chance to learn how to get along as a community of mages. Splitting two of them off will deprive them of the chance—”

“Miss Possibelf.” I suppose it’s amusing that after all these years Davy doesn’t dare use my first name. “I know what I’m doing. Boys this age need a firm hand—” How does he not hear the sniggering going on behind him? “—and I’ve had just about enough.” After seven years. Seven years, and he’s had enough? Davy finally acknowledges me enough to turn and lower his voice. “Quite frankly, one of them has nothing to learn about survival, while the other doesn’t need to.” This last part is said in a hushed whisper, even though from the way Basilton’s eyebrow lifts, I’m certain he heard it.

I share his disdain for the sentiment, however, I’m not particularly concerned about his chances—here, or anywhere else. “Fine,” I snap, throwing my hands up. It’s not as though this trip isn’t always an annual excuse for all kinds of unsanctioned…exploration. Simon and Basilton aren’t likely to get up to anything they haven’t already, and I have bigger fish to fry given the amount of alcohol students traditionally smuggle on this fool’s exercise. David Cadwallader can be as blind as he likes, but some of us are left nursing the hangovers.

No pressure holiday tags: @rimeswithpurple, @artsyunderstudy, @cutestkilla, @c0nsumemy5oul, @tender-ministrations, @nausikaaa, @thewholelemon, @orange-peony, @youarenevertooold, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @letraspal, @bookish-bogwitch, @nightimedreamersghost, @aristocratic-otter, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @hushed-chorus, @prettygoododds, @supercutedinosaurs, @shutup-andletme-go, @aceumbrellaheroes, @asocialpessimist, @wellbelesbian, @ic3-que3n, @raenestee , @larkral, @facewithoutheart, @papierhaikuphoto, @cows4247, @stitchy-queerista, @carry-on-big-bang, @imagineacoolusername, @ileadacharmedlife, @confused-bi-queer, @j-nipper-95, @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists, @iamamythologicalcreature, @bazzybelle, @valeffelees

Oh, hi. Good news: I am not dead. Bad news: my spirit is perhaps just a little bit dead. Thanks @shrekgogurt and @hushed-chorus for the tags! And to everyone else who's been tagging me over the past while.

I've been too busy dealing with school's bullshit about my daughter's behavior for the past (checks watch) six weeks to have any energy to write. But! Last night I wrote 230 words for the epilogue of my Check Please fic!

Anyway, I've been feeling very much like the amalgamation of Natalie and Zadie in Finally, (already, always) that I'll be honest, I've always known I was writing them as. For a snippet of my life, please read the two following snippets from that WIP:

Natalie:

Simon's teachers call us up to say he's a nuisance in class, but they can never say what he's done. Is he loud? (No.) Does he throw things? (No.) Has he hit anyone? (No.) Does he speak out of turn? (No.) No, no, no. He's just a nuisance, Mrs. Stephenson-Shaw. (Ms. Shaw, actually.) He's disruptive. He has to go to the office. He's risking expulsion. He's seven. Just a boy. Thin shoulders, long back, freckles, blue eyes and a smile. A tumble of energy and adoration and enthusiasm. He's my Simon. He's stories by the window, and sitting on the floor next to his bed stroking his back as he falls asleep. He's chasing after ducks in the park, climbing trees, and an overwhelming enthusiasm for knights and dragons.  I love him every way I can find. Every day I find more. I'm spilling over with love for him and aside from Zadie, no one seems to be able to see it: the things we love. The ways he's loveable.

Zadie:

I wonder if he might have seemed trustworthy. If he'd been subtle, if he'd been politic, would I have seen the monster as readily?  "We will talk with Simon about it. And we can tour the school. And if he's interested, then we'll consider it." He purses his lips. "A tour will be difficult," he says. "It is impossible for a non-magical person to enter the gates of Watford." Of course. Well, it's as good a demand as any to finish the conversation with. "Well then, I suggest that you find a way to let prospective and current students' parents visit the school, or the answer will definitely be no." I stand up and start towards the door. Nat stands and starts down the stairs. We fall in together, present a united front as I usher to David Cadwallader out of our home.  "I'll be in touch ," he says.

<3 to everyone and tags under the cut

@stitchyqueer @thewholelemon @confused-bi-queer @raenestee @facewithoutheart @cutestkilla @hushed-chorus @sillyunicorn @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @basiltonbutliketheherb @ileadacharmedlife @asocialpessimist @bookish-bogwitch @aristocratic-otter @captain-aralias @petedavidsonscock @takitalks @artsyunderstudy @yeonjunenby @carryonvisinata @takenabackbytuesdays @martsonmars @nausikaaa @nightimedreamersghost @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ionlydrinkhotwater @that-disabled-princess @shrekgogurt @forabeatofadrum  @palimpsessed @fatalfangirl​ @blackberrysummerblog​ @valeffelees @imagineacoolusername @orange-peony @j-nipper-95 @whogaveyoupermission @wellbelesbian @rimeswithpurple @youarenevertooold @emeryhall @mooncello @monbons @run-for-chamo-miles

My mate @snowbaz-parentis wrote this excellent work for @carryonthroughtheages.

Safe Harbor

It all started on an island...

It's 1956, and Baz Pitch is existentially lost in New York City. After graduating from Columbia, he's working for a wedding photographer with no taste as he avoids his inevitable fall attendance at Yale Law School, his father's alma mater. All Baz wants to do is be a fashion photographer, and when an opportunity to assist a famous photographer out on Fire Island falls in his lap, it just may be the key to helping unlock him from the closet of his family's expectations.

It's 1956, and Simon Snow is wondering if there's more to life than this or if this is as good as it gets. He's been working in construction with his foster father, David Cadwallader, practically ever since he was taken in at age 13, but there's something beyond the water that's calling for him. When Davy offers Simon a chance to manage his family's rental properties for the summer in Cherry Grove on Fire Island, Simon jumps at the chance to finally take charge of something.

What Baz and Simon didn't expect: the sense of freedom that comes from being able to absolutely surrender to the truest version of yourself, and the choices you have to make when it happens.

Chapter one is up now on ao3.

Signs Of The Past

A @carry-on-big-bang collab with @palimpsessed

Find the art here

Rating: Teen and up Word count: 11k Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, late 1890s England, not historically accurate, cursed!baz, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, haunted house vibes, Insomnia, mentions/discussions of death

Simon lifted his shaking hand, pointing the switchblade at the man slowly backing away. “That man—He—The cabinet—” Simon stumbled over his words, unable to get a coherent sentence out. Ebb’s gaze followed the pointed tip of the blade, but as she turned back to him, her brows only creased with worry as she slightly shook her head. “Simon, calm. There’s no one there,” she said, her voice meek as lowered his hand. “What, no—He—” As Simon’s gaze snapped back to where the man had just stood, all he had been met with was an empty kitchen.

Simon is a down on his luck twenty year old, struggling to survive on the streets after he was thrown out of the orphanage with no higher education or a job to fall back on. So, when he stumbles onto an ad, promising a handyman job at the Pitch Manor, one that offers him not only money but also a place to stay, Simon takes it without a second thought. But as he begins his work for David Cadwallader, the owner of the estate, things quickly begin going sideways; the house is never quiet, groaning at night as if it is alive, lamps lighting up with no one around, and most unsettling of all, a ghostly figure that seems intent on scaring Simon into an early grave.

A massive massive thank you goes out to Pal, who created incredible art for the first chapter, as well as the cobb mods for putting this entire even together. Putting this together has been a pleasure :)

I gotta look up to the sky and tell the lord I'm leaning on you and I just make edits for each child each person in family and friends that passed away and went to heaven to be angels watching over the world Jesus I'm leaning on you rest in peace to those in this second edit Gracie Perry Watson, Inez Clarke Briggs, Annie Kerr Aiken, Annie Oakley, Alice Liddell, Larisa Ratmanski, Mania Halef, Anne Frank, Eva Munzer, Nellie Gray Bundy Johnson, Colleen Marie Applegate, Connie Lynn Taylor, Emilie Marian Bromundt, Robert Ferdinand Bromundt, Julia Allison Wise, Kimberly Michelle Adaway, Jason Alexander Black, Shirley June Tolle, Emmett Till, Violet Geneva Setty Tolle, Nora Mae Setty Boldman, John Setty, Maude Abanade Cadwallader Setty, Yvonne Mary Cayeaux Devitt, Karen Ann Culp, Phyllis Rebecca Crowe, Stacie Lee Swofford,Devan Brooke Duniver, Mary Louise Lehman Carman, Grace Leona Lehman Krout, Clara Alverta Myers Lehman, Adam Henry Lehman,Anna Catherine Roby, Russell Thomas Roby, Ricardo David Arterberry, Linda Therese Jones Arterberry, Traytease Lanette Arterberry, Clarence Edward Moore Jr., Meagan Lindsey Bradley, Peachlyn Bradley, Finey Ynfante Mechell, Lucas Ynfante, Jane Mora Ynfante, Francis Ynfante, Katy Ynfante Martines, John K Ynfante, Rozell Lucas “RL” Ynfante, Yolanda Rosamond Lombardo, Serena Daniel Aiken Simons, Martin Laurence Amos, Polly Bixby, Rosalia Lombardo and more Angels

Cadwallader David Colden, Mayor of New York City. ca. 1825. Credit line: Gift of Mrs. Frederic F. Durand, 1930 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/394429

Fiona: welcome to the Fuck David Cadwallader Club! Where we all take turns saying "fuck you!" to David.

Lucy, awkwardly standing to leave: I think there's been a misunderstanding...

For the WIP Game... The Dose is the Poison! 👀👀

i see you have taken an interest in My Baby (this fic is my baby)

it is ... not pleasant.

for anyone involved. AU where natasha is alive, Baz is human and the mage's heir (with his snazzy little rapier, i have a headcanon that the sword of mages is different for whoever wields it), and the vampire attack on watford happened but was unsuccessful.

INSTEAD, david cadwallader (after trying and failing to make his own chosen one, realizing that the baby was a broken nuclear-battery and more trouble than he was worth) gave his infant son to the vampires. a bribe, if you will. like a realtor sending you a gift-basket so you'll consider making an offer.

he thinks they're going to eat him (and that would solve two problems; win their favor and dispose of the evidence of his mistake, so he can try again as many times as it takes) but they don't. they turn him, and simon is raised by a ramshackle coven who think they can use him and his magic to get revenge on watford and natasha pitch for killing their comrades in the attack.

when he's finally old enough to go, they kill another student for his wand and uniform and send simon in his place, shabby and hungry and way too good at picking locks and hotwiring cars the normal way.

you can imagine their excitement when they find out that the crucible put him ten feet away from natasha pitch's only son, every single night.

(penny is still his friend an probably the only reason he hasn't been caught yet. nobody knows where he came from and he could be dangerous, but he's still simon. ebb knew right away that this poor kid was a vampire and there's an extra layer of worry for him, because he reminds her so much of her brother.)

RELATED BUT NOT DIRECTLY: one of those untitled documents was 'What Could Have Been', and i think i've mentioned that one before. similarly painful. for simon specifically.