And everyone around me is having babies and the babies are very cute so I wanted to Simon and Baz as babies with their dads
Baby Baz is babbling away at Malcolm and baby Simon thinks being held like a floppy football is a fun game that this weird adult that hangs around his mom sometimes plays with him 😅*
*taking a page out of MRB and making it so Davy is still Simon's bio dad but I imagine he and Lucy mutually agreed she'd have full custody
Thank you for tagging me: @ic3-que3n @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @forabeatofadrum @artsyunderstudy @stitchyqueer @shrekgogurt
I haven’t been able to write too much because I’ve been READING. Real books!!! I’ve started reading AFTG. So i’ve been busy
HOWEVER, I wish I could share a bit of Chapter 12 of my Ballet AU but everything is very spoilery, so I will just show you this secret WIP I have:
It’s going to be veeeery long and very very angsty. This fic is me trying to prove the hypothesis I have with @erzbethluna that MalMage is canon.
If this is not of your like, go away!
Watford Young MalMage, everybody:
DAVY
“So, I talked to eighth year Ryan from the Old Families,” I start. “He said you were looking at Maya in a weird way, and that you were freaking her out. Do you care to explain that?”
“Maya?” he asks, finally turning to me. “Maya Bates? No, of course not. She’s not my type.”
That’s what I thought.
“But you were staring at someone?” I go on.
He looks uncomfortable. He was.
“Well…” he starts.
I raise my eyebrows, silently asking him to continue.
“You don’t like her,” he says.
“I don’t like anyone. Only you.”
“I know, I know.” He stands up, and walks anxiously around the room, scratching his arm. “She’s from the Old Families.”
“Malcolm. Almost everyone at Watford for the past thousand years are from the Families. Would you mind being a bit more specific?”
“I know, but she’s from the Old Families.”
The chair knocks the floor when I stand up too quickly.
“You fell for Natasha Pitch?!” I scream. “Are you stupid? The Pitches are the most arrogant, self centered arseholes anyone knows, not to mention elitist, racist, and very possibly clasist, and you fell for her?”
“I wouldn’t say I fell for her, but—”
I take him by the shoulders, making him focus on me.
“You can’t be with her,” I say, shaking him. “If you marry her, you—”
“Whoa!” He cuckles nervously. “Whoa. Hold on.” He pushes my hands off him gently. “Who said I was going to marry her? It’s a silly crush, Davy. I’m telling you I find her pretty, and you’re already picturing us with a family in a big house, and a dog.”
Please, tell me I’m not the only one who’s invested by MalMage
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...
“Should I weep over her death?” he asks, his voice too loud. “When it means a generation of magickal children have learned how to use their power? Am I supposed to be sorry? I’m not sorry! What is the greater good?”
Hi @rainbowrowell quick question, Jaime mentions that Ruth wanted to send Lucy to Switzerland to get away from Davy but he doesnt know why. What is in Switzerland? (Messner? Lol)
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.