#me desperately holding on to every 'theory on how penny could still come back' post i see

[atruththatyoudeny]

Monthly Reads | September 2020

Happy 28th! All the love for all the authors in this fandom. Thank you for making my days better with your work! ♥ Here are all the fics I read and loved this month: 🍂 Remember Me Fondly | kiddle | enemies to friends to lovers - 1990s - historical - angst - humor - closets - 74k “You’ve told the beginning of the story so many times. I want to hear the end.” Louis laughed, scratching at his chin. “I can’t say I really know when the end happened.” “How about the tour of ninety-five?” “Alright.” Louis took a deep breath. “But it took a few steps to get there. What would you like to know?” Penny cleared her throat. “How did you first meet Harry Styles?” Grunge legends Fearless Doe topped the rock charts in the ‘90s, but they spent the decade kicking Smudge off their heels. From lawsuits to jaw-dropping scandals and a surprising joint world tour, the two bands share a complicated history. Twenty-five years later, frontmen Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles are finally ready to sit down and tell the world their two sides of the same story. Truth may vary.

🍂 you came into my life | disgruntledkittenface | Queer Eye AU - american AU - closeted character - Coming Out - pining - fluff - angst - implied/referenced homophobia - 57k They stand around talking for a minute and then Jonathan starts to ramble, “Has there ever been, like, an unrequited gay love story in here? Like a Brokeback Mountain moment where, like, someone just fell in love and they didn’t mean to?” Louis feels bile rise in his throat as Jonathan’s eyes sparkle, pleading for a yes. He manages to look around and see thoughtful looks on his coworkers’ faces before their heads shake no. “Not here,” Liam says finally. When the Queer Eye cast and crew sweep into Louis’ small town and fire station to make over his best friend and coworker Liam, Louis’ carefully constructed walls start to fall down and he has to face his fears – and the only guy he’s ever been able to see a future with.

🍂 Everything I need I get from you | jaerie | a/b/o - mpreg - strangers to lovers - emotional/ psychological abuse - sexism - unplanned pregnancy - 10k In a world where music and sound are just as vital to health as food, Harry is stuck in a town that thinks professional music is a scam and a relationship he never wanted. One chance event changes his life.

🍂 at last, at last | suspendrs | post-apocalypse - dystopia - cult - mentions of violence - mentions of death - homophobia - internalized homophobia - 41k “Come with us,” Tommo says, stopping at the other end of the gymnasium, near the doors. “Don’t let them make you suffer any longer. Come with us, and be human.” Before Harry has even finished thinking it through, he’s on his feet, gaining the attention of every single person in the gymnasium. What has he got to lose, anyway? Or, Harry is born into a cult in a post-apocalyptic world, and Louis is the leader of the rebel group tasked with the mission of shutting them down. Together, they make a rather effective team.

🍂 give me love | falsegoodnight and soldouthaz | a/b/o - past relationship trauma - past abusive relationship - slow burn - touch deprivation - touch starvation - nesting - angst - fluff - 41k Despite being an omega, Louis’ always had a blatant dislike of alphas. - Or, Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

🍂 You, Who Never Arrived | abrighteryellow | Only You AU - strangers to lovers - 90s AU - world travel - soulmates - fluff - angst - Fate & Destiny - 42k “That was him, Niall.” He claps a hand over a disbelieving laugh. “My soulmate – the person I’ve been waiting for since I was nine years old. That was him on the other end of the phone.” “But it can’t–” Niall stutters, unsure of what to do, how to put a stop to this. “That wasn’t real.” “Wasn’t it?” Louis rushes past him, zipping up his fly. He grabs a black denim jacket from a hook near the door. “Then who did I just talk to?” “Where are you going?” Niall demands as Louis pockets his keys and swings his front door open. “I just have to get a look at him. I just have to see, that’s all!” “You’re not serious. Louis, it’s already late.” “He’s at the airport. Fifteen years I’ve been expecting him around every corner, and now he’s half an hour away. I can’t just sit here.” “Bu–” “I’m not going to do anything crazy, I promise. I just–I have to see him. This is my chance. Maybe my only chance.” Louis Tomlinson is days away from marrying a perfectly nice podiatrist when he gets a phone call that changes everything. Or, the Only You AU in which Louis has a soulmate and it's definitely not Harry Styles.

🍂 Shall we sleep, my love? | givelourrylove | angst - emotional hurt/comfort - kid fic - 15k There is so much sincerity in Harry’s voice. So much that says you, Louis, I look forward to seeing you, you and your soft eyes and your petite body, just you, you, you, but Louis forces himself to ignore that. To gulp it down again, sizing up the lump that had formed beneath his lungs, possibly reappearing any time and choking him with everything he decided not to think about for the past year. or Louis loses his job as a teacher, has to move out and find somewhere to live. A certain someone named Harry offers his home to Louis and his son. Pining, crying and reading bedtime stories involved.

🍂 so much I could live for I could die | louisnights | dystopia - trans character - sexual harrassment - friends to lovers - strangers to friends to lovers - no smut - 15k “Sometimes I wonder what’s out there,” Louis confesses, tucking into his second biscuit. “I wonder if what they’re saying is true, about the Thieves, about the other compounds. Why are we not allowed to leave? Go to other compounds?” Lottie gets up, letting out a sigh as she squeezes his shoulder. “You shouldn’t think like that, Lou, it will get you killed.” “They can’t take away my thoughts,” Louis answers defiantly. Lottie pats his shoulder before she disappears to her room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. or: Louis is a transgender man who escapes his compound after extenuating circumstances, and meets the Thieves, who show him what freedom really is.

🍂 A Road To Hope | he_wants_to_write | historical - World War II - 1940s - farm/ranch - PTSD - emotional hurt - hurt/comfort - angst - mental instability - internalized homophobia - 18k “We’re far from the people and their issues, don’t hold back. Please.” It’s true. They are far away from anything that could stop them, the middle of nowhere being the safest place on Earth for them to fall in love. The sacred land where sacred love is created. However, Louis is certain that even if they weren’t safe, he wouldn’t resist the sight of Harry, his pleading eyes, his warm skin beneath his touch. or In the heat of April, 1944, an escapee soldier lost in a dirt-road stumbles upon a small farm and finds himself recovering from the traumas of World War II in the simplicity of a frugal life, with the help of a little boy's innocent soul, and a farmer's hopeful green eyes.

🍂 With Love's Light Wings | 4ureyesonly28 and reminiscingintherain | Rome and Juliet AU - a/b/o - 1920s - marriage proposals - 12k Two households, both alike in dignity, / In fair London town, where we lay our scene... — Or something like that, anyway. On either side of the River Thames live Louis Montague and Harry Capulet, their noble packs entangled in a feud so old, nobody even remembers what caused it. As fate will have it, against all odds, they fall in love. Harder than the bricks that make up their families’ estates and faster than a Duesenberg car. AKA The 1920s ABO Romeo & Juliet AU that we desperately wanted to write.

🍂 The Very First Words of a Lifelong Love Letter | LiveLaughLoveLarry | first meetings - friends to lovers - weddings - no smut - 9.5k The prompt I picked was (lightly edited): "Harry and Louis have been best friends ever since they met through fandom (I picked Critical Role) twitter. Person A (I picked Louis) lives in New York City and Person B (Harry) lives in the UK. They’ve never met in person but they FaceTime and text daily. Person B’s cousin is getting married to a rich American who’s paying for the entire family to travel to The Hamptons for a summer wedding. Are Harry and Louis ready to meet?" ~*~ Harry thought he was just imagining things when the flower girl looked like one of the twins, but -- he’s almost certain that groomsman is Louis. The pictures he's seen haven't been the best quality, granted, but he knows Louis. He does. Harry stares wide-eyed as he walks down the aisle in step with the bridesmaid, taking their places on either side of the stage. As they turn to look out into the audience, Harry’s strong suspicion solidifies into certainty. That’s Louis. He’d bet his life on it. But Louis doesn’t look at him, and it’s not like Harry can wave. He can only stare, mouth still hanging half-open. Suddenly, as much as he loves weddings, he can’t wait for this one to be over.

🍂 promise you'll remember (when the sky is grey) | Anonymous | american AU - summer - 33k "Once you come to this town, you find that it's not so easy to leave," Niall spoke with a fond tone in his voice. "Canyon isn't a place that one leaves behind easily." "I guess we'll be able to test your theory come August," Harry spoke with a small grin, "because I'm set to leave on the twenty-ninth to get back to work in LA." Niall smirked back in reply, "I guess we will, but mark my words, you'll end up finding something to make you stay. We all did." Harry laughed, surprised at the man’s unwavering confidence in his statement. "We'll see." - a summer spent in small town Maine, filled with trips to the farmer’s market, lemonade tailgating, taylor swift, and falling in love at quite possibly the most inconvenient time ever (not necessarily in that order).

#28th appreciation #fic rec #monthly reads #monthly fic rec #my reads #my fic rec #completed fics #larry fics

[toriwest]

Goodbye Oscar

This post follows a poll and theory I made about when Oz will take over his soul.

In my theory I said by age 16, Oscar and Ozpin would’ve already merged.

Lets see how it would go

March 13th, 2 years after the V7 finale

We move to a shot at the destroyed beacon academy.

A 16 year old, noticeably taller Oscar was on his knees glowing. He was in Ozpin’s former office.

Oscar: So this it it huh?.... My time is up....

Ozpin: Oscar, I-

Oscar: It’s okay.... I know nor you, I, or even Ozma has any control over this.

Ozpin with Remorse in his voice: It is always the hardest part every new cycle

Oscar smiling sadly: It never gets better for you, does it...

Ozpin: Not once... in all my lifetimes not once...

Oscar: Maybe it won’t be so bad.... I’ll still be here... just not in control...

Ozpin: Oscar... I wish things could’ve been different

Oscar: Me to-

Suddenly a scatter of Rose petals entered the room as the doors were busted open.

Ruby: OSCAR!!

As Oscar slowly turned his head to face her, she realized that she was not alone.

He saw, the other members of RWBY, JNR, Qrow, Maria and even is own team OWPN ( Oscar, Whitley, Penny, Neo)

Jaune with much concern in his voice: Oscar, what’s going on?! You wouldn’t answer us?

Oscar couldn’t help but smile slightly as he saw his most favourite people in the world.

Penny: Oscar? W-why are you glowing.

Oscar looked down.

Qrow eyes widen slightly: We we’re too late!.....

Ren: Too late for-..... *starts to realize what is happening* No....

Nora: *getting to the same level as her son* Oscar honey... please answer us? What is happening!?

Oscar very weakly stood up.

Oscar: My time... it’s up.

Oscar could visibly see the eyes of everyone in the room widen with shock and fear.

Yang: O-ozpin is taking over!?

Oscar: Yeah.... It’s happening right now..

Blake: B-but! I thought we had till the start of the new season to stop Salem! We have the army and everything!

Oscar: Sadly... it does not change the fact that it’s over for me...

Jaune: GAH! *punches a wall again* No.... Not again... *begins to cry*

Weiss desperately asking: Oscar, isn’t they’re some way to stop the merge?!

Oscar smiling sadly: No... It’s over

Whitley walks over and puts his hands on his partner’s shoulders: It’s not over... it.. can’t... be... *slowly removes hands*

Oscar then felt a message pop up on his scroll.

Neo over the text messages: How much time is left

Oscar: .... 5 minutes....

Maria: *looks up at the poor boy as she gestures him to lower himself to her level*

Oscar does as told and comes down to her.

Maria: *hugs the boy as hard as she can* You we’re the grandson I never had... Thank you Oscar *after a few more seconds she released him*

Qrow was next. Oscar stood back up.

Qrow: I never did apologize for slugging yah at the Brunswick farm. Did I?

Oscar chuckling slightly: Don’t worry. I never held it against you.

Qrow: Oscar. I am proud to have been one of your mentors. You are one of my greatest students

Oscar offering a hand for Qrow to shake: Your teachings, we’re brutal... but they kept me alive for so long. I owe you my life Qrow.

Qrow accepted his hand but then pulled Oscar into a deep hug.

When Qrow released Ren was next.

Not knowing what to say, Ren pulled his friend into a goodbye hug as he began to tear up.

Oscar knew he had to hold back his own tears.

When Ren let him go, WBY stood in front looking up at the tall boy.

Yang smiling: It wasn’t too long ago when you would be the one looking up at us

Oscar: *chuckles*

Blake: You’ve grown up so much Oscar *Blake said putting a hand on his shoulder*

Weiss: You’ve done so much for me, my brother.. all of us Oscar.

The three girls pulled him into a group hug.

WBY: You’ll always be one of us.

Next was Nora.

Instead of doing her normal bear hug, Nora wrapped her arms around the boy gently.

Nora crying: You are one of the best people, I have ever met.

Oscar: Nora...

Nora: Don’t leave your mother behind....

After a few seconds, Ren pulled her away and held her in the sad moment.

Jaune stood in front of the boy, face to face.

Jaune: You’re as tall as me now. Can no longer look down at you.

Oscar: We finally are the same level.

Jaune: Oscar... when we lost Pyrrha, we... I thought, you could fill the spot she had left. But, you didn’t... You became something entirely new... someone I couldn’t compare or look down to like Pyrrha. You helped me, to not lose my feelings for her. I developed a new friendship with you. And if it were reversed and I had met you before her. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Oscar: Jaune..

Jaune: You are my brother. Forever man. *pulls him into a bro hug*

Oscar: Thank you... brother.

It was now Penny’s turn.

She couldn’t hold back her emotions as she jumped on him and hugged.

Oscar lovingly rubbed her back. After 20 seconds she let go.

Neo took off Romans hat as she face the boy 2 and a half heads taller than her.

With her fingers she pointed to her heart. She then moved those same fingers to his chest.

Oscar knew what it meant.

It meant they’re hearts will always be one.

Oscar picked up the older yet smaller girl as the hugged deeply.

When he put her down, he placed Romans hat back on her. Neo began to cry as she moved away.

Now it was Whitley standing in front of him.

Whitley: So this is the end huh?...

Oscar: Afraid so...

Whitley: Forgive me... I am not good with.. farewells...

Oscar: Then lets not make this farewell. Lets make it a “ See you later”

Whitley smiling slightly: I see. Well then *pulls his partner into a goodbye hug* Farewell, partner.

Oscar excepting: Farewell, Partner.

Finally it was Ruby.

She couldn’t help but stare at the boy she had met two years ago. Back then he was a scared small farm hand.

Now he was a strong, tall leader of a huntsman team. She was so proud of how much he grew.

Oscar: One minute left..

Ruby: Oscar.. I don’t know what to say... you are one of my greatest friends. We’ve traveled the world together. Fought side by side. Even lead our little group here.. with Jaune of course.

Jaune: *chuckles slightly*

Ruby: Oscar. Every moment that I spend with you, is the best time of my day. You have become *starts to tear up* such an important part of my life... *cries harder* And I don’t wanna say goodbye Oscar! *Jumps on him and cries into chest*

Oscar: Ruby...

Ruby: Don’t go Oscar! I can’t do this without you! Any of you!

Oscar: Ruby.... I’m sorry....

Ruby muffling into his chest: Please... don’t

Everyone in the room we’re either full blown crying or starting too.

Oscar: Everyone... Please, don’t cry. Goodbyes are hard enough as it is.. and besides! This isn’t goodbye! I’ll still be here!... just not in control.

Whitley joking: You always we’re bad at making others feel better *sniffs*

Everyone: *giggles sadly*

Oscar: If I may ask one thing... it’s that you do not feel any resentment to Ozpin..

Ozpin: Oscar...

Oscar: He had no control over this. He wouldn’t want this to be if it didn’t have to. I’m begging you... to forgive him... *stares at Jaune, Qrow and Yang*

Everyone nodded yes.

Jaune: Okay Oscar... we promise, we will not be angry at Oz...

Ozpin: Oscar.. *starts to cry*

Oscar: It’s almost time now.. *glows a golden and green*

Ruby: Oscar... just know. We will always love you... I will always love you... *kisses his cheek*

Oscar then fell to his knees as he glowed brightest.

Everyone could see a Silhouette of Oscar when they had first met him. It the switched to him to him in atlas, and finally back to him currently. He let a few tears fall as he smiled brightly.

Then a big golden flash illuminated in the room.

Oscar then stood up.

Ozcar ( Ozpin now Oscar): It is done.....

End

#oscar pine #team rnjr #team rwby #rwby spoilers #neopolitian (rwby) #whitley schnee #penny polendina #rwby ozpin #Qrow

[baz-you-numpty]

Giving In to Snow

Soooooo, this is a fic which has been a long time in the making. It was inspired originally by @snowbazzled ‘s post about an Aridante au , but I’m so glad I can finally present it to you. It got a lot longer than I originally anticipated, so I’m going to put it into three parts so as not to crash on mobile. So, here you go. Here’s to the lovely @snowbazzled and to my wonderful beta @rabid-faery who I truly couldn’t live without.

Set during their eight year.

Genre: pure fluff

Words: 10,838 (all 3 parts together)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

January 1st, Baz

On January 1st, I wake up alone. Simon is not in his bed, nor is he in the bathroom. It is the first time I can remember since about third year that Simon has not only been awake, but out of bed (and actually out of the room) before me. 

Instinctively, I assume that I'm the reason he's gone. That he'll be doing something he doesn't want me to see, plotting away somewhere. But then I laugh, actually a little bit out loud, because I realise I'm sounding like him with all my plotting theories. (I sound like Simon Snow). (That causes a little pang of some unwanted emotion). Even so, I'm a little more wary than usual when I go about my daily routine. But after half an hour of absolutely nothing happening, I push my suspicions aside. "Happy New Year, Basilton," I say to myself in front of the mirror. New year, new beginning. Resolution One: abandon all hope of ever dating Simon Snow. If Resolution One is a success, Two should hopefully follow relatively easily: stop feeling so sorry for myself. And then I think carefully about the rest. I don't want to fall into the trap of something I know I'll never keep up, like working out regularly (I tried that in fifth year because I read that it can help clear your mind, but it was fucking hard. It turns out I don't really have any muscles there to enlarge). I come up with just one more: don't give in to Snow. If I'm honest, I don't really know what I mean by this, but it feels like something I can say to myself in almost any circumstance, as motivation in a time of weakness. I test it out as I'm doing up my last button. "Don't give in to Snow." My face is stern. The words taste firm and unforgiving. Begin as you wish to go on. Then, with a little scuffle, the latch on the door opens, and Simon Snow pushes himself through backwards wearing his frayed tartan Watford pyjamas. When he turns around I see that he is holding a tray, on which sit two small plates and two glasses of orange juice. The sight makes me a little queasy and I quickly reassume my 'stern' face. "Delightful," I drawl. "Were you planning on waking me before your little... picnic, or assuming I'd be willing to witness?" He blushes and the door swings shut, and I remind myself sternly of Resolution Three. There's a little twitch of his head as if he wants to brush a hand through the hair, but can't because he's still holding the tray. This must remind him, because he sets it down onto his bedside table. (Then he does run a hand through his hair. And I swallow and curse myself for knowing him that well). "Uh, ha, before, actually..." "Well, it seems I am, as usual, one step ahead of you. No need. I am already awake, and also leaving. Presently. You can have your little Wellbelove-and-orange-juice."

Simon tilts his head. "Wellbe- you mean Agatha?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Snow. It's really not necessary." I don't even think he notices my remark on his IQ. He's twisting his hands in front of him like I've done something wrong.

"You know Agatha... goes home for Christmas," he mutters, but the pause suggests that's not what he was going to say. It is true, though. Most students do go home, there's only a handful or so of us left. Snow normally goes with her. And I normally go back to my own family. This year I couldn't really be bothered with the whole thing; I went home on Christmas Eve and came back Boxing Day. As far as I know, Snow's been here since school broke up. For a moment, I don't know what to say. I almost feel guilty. But it doesn't matter, because Simon suddenly remembers how to speak. "It was - for you, actually." And just like that, I forget. I forget how to even stand up and have to grab the back of the desk chair next to me. "Well, you know, you don't... I mean, I just thought, well, it's the New Year. So like, resolutions and that.." He trails off again. Where is he going with this? My heterosexual sworn enemy has resolved to bring me breakfast in bed? "I just..." He looks at me almost desperately. "This.. thing between us. It's so childish. We're eighteen, for Crowley's sake." Thing? "I mean, who even has an arch enemy past the age of twelve?" Ah. That 'thing.' I look up and his eyes meet mine and it is the worst decision I have ever made. My knees buckle and suddenly, forget Resolution Three, Resolution One is now the one in danger, because Simon Snow has just brought me breakfast in bed and I am very much not over it. "So, Happy New Year, Baz. You're a pretentious arsehole, but I suppose I am a scatterbrained one, so in that sense we match. I know we'll probably never be mates -not really from the same circles- but like, if we could maybe even just be chill this year, that'd be sweet." I'm floundering. "You know. Like, that'd be good. Sweet as in good." He is absolutely a scatterbrained arsehole, and I absolutely want to be his 'mate.' I want to be so much more than just his mate. I let out a breath while I compose myself and find something to say. "Like… mutually beneficial?" Is he rewording this for my benefit? Does he think I don't understand him? Before I can stop myself I'm saying, "Yes, thank you, Snow, but I was perfectly capable of understanding the word 'sweet.' I believe you have said it enough in the past." But, amazingly, I find that I'm smiling the whole time I'm snapping. Maybe I look manic. I stop abruptly, but Snow is laughing. "Well, I don't know how much upper class vampires are exposed to the dialect of the peasantry!" "As little as possible," I reply, but I'm smiling sort of coyly. It's the weirdest feeling I've ever experienced.

Snow sits down cross legged on his pillow, and motions for me to take the other end of the bed. I do, and he hands me the plate with the least-burnt toast of the two. I take it, but don't eat. Just because I'm sitting on his bed doesn't mean I'm about to eat in front of him. I sip the orange juice instead, just to show I am still part of this bargain. "So, that's it?" He says, "we're cool now?"

"It appears that we are 'cool,' yes."

Snow laughs and his eyes crinkle, and it brings the freckles across his face into little ripples. I blush (and then blush harder because of the fact that he made me blush with his stupid face). And then drink some more orange juice to try and hide the fact that I'm blushing.

"Well, that was easy," he's saying. "If I'd known it only took orange juice I'd have done it years ago."

"No you wouldn't," I say, putting down the empty glass. "You were as invested in this hatred as I was."

"That's not fair! The only reason I hated you was because you hated me."

"It was a system that worked." Snow pauses to chew a slightly repulsively large mouthful of toast. I brush some crumbs off the bed. I'm sure I see him smirk. "It's funny, when you stop taking it seriously, to think about how pathetic everything we've ever said to each other has been," he says after a few moments. "You know, the constant insults, scowling, opening and closing the windows. It's, like, primary school-level immature." He looks at me as if expecting a response. I have to agree with him, when I think about it. And having him point that out is suddenly mortifying. Not that I'm going to let him know that. "Are you telling me I can no longer insult you?" I arch my eyebrows. "Well, I suppose that would be a little unfair," he counters, "pretentious arsehole..." We both smile. "But the windows... Perhaps it's time we did reach an agreement on that." "It's funny because until now, even though it's been going on almost eight years, I had never even thought about it being an 'issue.'" I wonder if I'm being a little too casual too soon, but Simon just nods his head. "I don't think I really did either... You know, wake up, open the window, beat Baz to the bathroom, realise you didn't so kill some time rumpling his blanket a little bit or praying he gets attacked by goblins, use the bathroom, come back out and open the window again... It's just mindless routine, really." I smile and I wonder how much of that is really true. By the time Simon has finished both of our breakfasts (I tell him I don't like toast), I'm almost certain we can never go back to enemies. We're by no means 'mates,' but I have got to know more about Simon Snow in the last twenty minutes than I have in the past seven and a half years. January 3rd, Simon

I actually can't believe how easy it was to become friends with Baz. Orange juice and three days alone. That's all it took. Cheap, if you ask me. Up until that point I'd been desperately awaiting Penny and Agatha's return to school on January 4th, but now that it's tomorrow I realise I've hardly thought of them since the new year began. It would seem Baz is not such a bad guy. We've had some quality bonding time. A few people start arriving back today so the hall is back on main meals again. But seeing as apparently all of our friends have loving families to spend time with and none of them get back until tomorrow, Baz and I actually have lunch together. We talk about football, and it feels strangely… normal. Afterwards, we head upstairs. It's nice to do things with somebody, even if what you're doing is not very much. Before, Baz and I (or at least I) used to take every effort not to be in the room when we knew the other would be, but today we sit in companionable silence, the radio on quietly in the corner. I'm laying on my bed watching YouTube and I think Baz is claiming to be working, but honestly his eyes have been on my laptop screen far more than his Greek verb sheet. He gets up and lays on his bed in the same way I am, on his stomach, feet crossed on the pillow. He's looking at me like he wants to say something, so I shut the laptop screen. "So," he says, "what's the deal? When does this all end?"

"What- when does what end?" I ask, surprised.

"This...nicety. When do we resume the window opening and closing and generally miserable existence?"

"Umm... Preferably not in the foreseeable future..."

"Oh." I don't think he was expecting that.

"Dude," I tell him, "we literally spent yesterday comparing our shitty upbringings. That's deep shit. I don't just tell stuff like that to anyone. You can't bail on me now."

Baz blinks like he's not really sure how to reply. "Okay," he says eventually. "But you cannot call me 'dude.'" And, just like that, he gets up and starts playing some prelude or sonata or whatever on the violin. And honestly, now that I'm not trying to find fault in absolutely everything he's doing, he's bloody impressive. January 9th, Baz

As I'm walking back from football practice I mull over the past few days. The wind is biting cold but I'm hot and it feels nice on my skin and whips at me like it's trying to pull everything out. It sort of has that effect because all my thoughts are surging about, thick in adrenaline and blustery endorphins. The truth is, I absolutely love being friends with Simon Snow. It's so easy I find it astonishing that I have only just worked out how. 

We still actually tease each other just as much as ever, but now it's with smiles and playful hits. He'll mock the way I speak, or come up with elaborate excuses about having to go to operas, or having high tea. Or he'll point out a picture of some weird looking animal on his computer and say something like, "I didn't know you had Facebook." It's mostly him doing the teasing. I'm just constantly a little bit paranoid that it looks like I'm flirting, and sometimes I think maybe I am. But Simon seems happy enough with what we've got going, and I'm not about to change it. I thought people would make a huge deal of us being friends, but I was wrong. It turns out that people actually don't really notice much about anyone other than themselves. Other than Penny who I presume has noticed, nobody has said a thing. Agatha raised an eyebrow at me the second day back, but I wasn't sure if she was just being flirty seeing as it appears she's no longer together with Snow. (I can't help but feel responsible for that. I also can't help but feel nothing but good about it. At least they're still on friendly terms). And it's not like we've been avoiding each other outside the dorm either, Snow kept his word about that. In fact I almost feel like I've been living the easiest nine days of my life. Like it's all leading up to something, just a big build up to some elaborate trap where the tension will culminate. But I don't dwell on that too much. When I push open the door, Simon is lying on his bed with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed. He opens one eye when he sees me and I rake a hand through my hair (possibly a habit I've picked up from him) and pull out the hair bobble on the way. I'm about to take a shower when Simon calls my name. "Mm," I answer, from the bathroom door. I lean against the frame and pretend to myself that's it's not because I look really good in a football kit.

"Do you ever just feel really uneasy? Like stuff isn't sitting right?"

I was not expecting that. I think carefully about it before I answer him. "Yes."

"In what way?"

"As in, I feel a particular way but I don't act on it. Or, I have an idea of who I should be but I'm not. And so I'm letting people down who want me to be that person." Simon sits up. "Mm," he murmurs, but remains quiet.

I perch on the end of my bed casually. "You gonna tell me what's up?"

"I guess?" he says. Everything he says is always so tentative, full of 'I guess' and 'sort of' and 'like' and 'I mean.'

"You guess?"

"I dunno," he says, flopping back down again. "No, go have your shower. I can smell you from here." And I don't know whether I'm more hurt that he didn't confide in me, or the fact that he himself is hurting. 14th February, Baz Valentine's Day. When I wake up my mind is full of remnants of broken dreams of Simon getting together with Penny, Simon getting back with Agatha. Simon hitting on Dev and Niall for Crowley's sake. I'm so paranoid I can't even escape it in my sleep. He hasn't been showing a remote interest in any of them, but it's fucking Valentine's Day and Simon Snow is single. Simon Snow. The chosen one. Even if he doesn't, surely other people will take advantage. I concentrate really hard in all of my lessons just to avoid thinking. I realise I've been slacking recently so it was kind of necessary. In the evening I eat dinner opposite my usual spot, just so Simon will be behind me and I won't have to look at him. Dev takes my usual seat, and Niall sits next to him. All the way through the meal I see them watching Simon, scoffing occasionally.

When Dev goes to get us pudding, Niall sticks his fingers in his mouth and pretends to vomit. "Tosser," he says, and looks my way a couple of time as if expecting me to ask him what he's seen. When I don't, he begins to tell me anyway. "Your golden boy's quite the heartthrob," he says snidely, trying to start up a conversation. The cold irony of his words stings bitterly.

"You sound like a jealous wanker," I reply curtly.

"No, you sound like a jealous wanker, you wanker."

"That's a shit comeback."

"Well, you do. You've been pissy all day. Not got a date?" The last bit is teasing, but I'm not in the mood. I glower at him and he shuts up, and then Dev puts a jam roly poly with custard in front of me and we're eating again instead of talking. But as we leave the dinner hall, I begin the see what Niall meant. Even from this distance I can see there's a crowd (a crowd, for Crowley's sake) around Simon. Girls, from all year groups. Mostly they're just loitering, looking coy and flashing him smiles, but a few are gathered around him, laughing too loudly and flicking their hair. There's one I recognise from my maths class, Sophie, I think her name is, standing right in front of him with her hand on her hip, while Agatha glares daggers at her from his side. The giggling gets louder the closer I get. One girl with ginger hair is telling her Korean-looking friend she thinks he's gay. "He only has female friends," she says, "and he broke up with Agatha. I mean, who would break up with Agatha Wellbelove? I thought they were going to get married."

"He's got Basilton. "

"I think they're just roommates," the ginger one responds, and then there's a pause while they share a look. The Korean girl says "Ooh la la," in a dramatic voice, and they erupt into giggles. I shove past them both angrily and they shut up, but as soon as I've passed them I hear a whispered "jealous boyfriend!" and it takes all my strength not to turn around and shout at them how utterly, unfairly wrong they are (despite their pathetic logic). I was only trying to get through to the door, but Simon catches my eye as I'm passing him. He's still got Sophie and a couple of her friends around him, who Agatha is still scowling at, and his look is desperate and pleading.

"Thanks, Soph, really, but like... it's maybe a bit soon after my breakup-"

She cuts him off. "Oh no no, not a date," (stupidly high pitched laugh) "just a movie. As friends."

"Right. Well, I usually go to see movies with my friends, like you say," Simon tells her. "My friends Agatha and Penelope."

Agatha raises a pointed eyebrow. I glance round quickly and see that Penny has been sidelined and is engaged rather heatedly in a deep conversation with a girl with short spiky hair about gender roles.

Whilst Simon has Agatha at his side, it seems to me she's more the figurehead of the trio, while Penny is the driving force behind it. And with Penny distracted, I take his desperate look to heart.

"Well they're only showing it tonight," Sophie is saying, "as a Valentine's speci... Well obviously that's not why I want to go with you... Hey, maybe you could bring a friend and I'll bring a friend too?" she offers.

"Really, Sophie, thanks for thinking of me, but I honestly have got to... I've got..." Simon's eyes flash towards me again, and without thinking, I step in for him.

"Simon and I always play chess on a Friday night. It sounds stupid, but it's just a thing we always do. No exceptions."

"Okay..." Sophie replies, looking a little taken aback. "Can't you just, like, postpone it or something though?"

I give her my best withering look. "No. Our timings have to be submitted by midnight tonight."

"Timings?"

"For the national chess championship league," I answer fluently.

She's looking sceptically at her friends by this point.

"Sorry!" I offer, perhaps a little too brightly. "Chess?" Agatha asks as they disperse slowly. "That's totally lame."

Simon's eyes meet mine and I feel the smile behind them. "To be honest," he says, "I couldn't care less what they think I do in my spare time. In fact," he adds, hurrying around a corner to avoid what looks like another girl trying to catch his attention, "the lamer the better."

Simon Back inside our room I actually begin to laugh.

"The fucking... champions league of chess?" I splutter, and Baz kicks his shoes off and rolls onto his bed.

"How the fuck do you come up with this stuff?" I ask, stretching myself out next to him. On his bed.

He smiles to himself. "I don't know... You looked like you needed help."

"Yeah, but. Chess?? Have you ever even played chess?"

Baz rolls his head to face me and our noses are inches away from each other. His bed is bigger than an average sized single, so there's room for us both, but it's by no means big.

"Yeah," he says, like it's obvious. "Haven't you?

I don't respond because I don't feel like telling him that in most of the care homes I grew up in you'd be lucky to find a Connect Four game with more than four pieces.

He squints at me for a second, and then jumps up. I rock slightly from the impact.

"Then let's play," Baz says. "I'll teach you." He pulls out a chess board from one of his desk drawers and sets it out next to me on the bed.

I sit up without saying anything and watch him arrange the pieces, and then cast The game is afoot. "You think I'm going to cheat?" I ask him incredulously. "I don't even know the rules!"

"Then it'll make sure you don't get them wrong, won't it."

I cross my legs carefully, so as not to jog the pieces. Baz notices, then casts a Stay put on it too, and after a moment Yeast will help it rise, and the board levitates several inches above the duvet. Then he sits down opposite me.

"White or black?"

"What's the difference?"

"White starts."

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"White."

"Okay." Then he begins to explain the rules. There's a lot. And they're really confusing. Each piece has it's own specific rules about which direction and how many spaces it can move. And there are, like, six different pieces. And then sometimes their rules change.

"Can you write this down?" I ask Baz, "I'm going to forget it."

"I'll remind you," he says, but he casts a See what I mean anyway. His handwriting is swoopy and pretty, and it really suits him. So I tell him.

He stops abruptly. "Okay," he says again. And then "Thanks," and I think it's maybe the first time he's ever thanked me. And then I feel stupid because he's trying to teach me to play a game because he helped me out earlier on and I'm not even concentrating. I try harder after that. And actually, it's really fun. I get it wrong almost every time: trying to move pawns two spaces every time as opposed to just their initial move, or trying to move the rook diagonally rather than the bishop. And Baz has me in check pretty much every other turn, but I'm enjoying myself.

"I think I'm ready for the National Champion Chess League," I say, knocking down one of his pawns and sitting it next to his other one on my side of the board. "Look, two prawns down already."

He looks up sharply, probably ready to tell me they're not called prawns, but shakes his head at my twisted smile. "I'm starting a shrimp army," I tell him.

"I'm starting an army-army," Baz replies, smoothly knocking down one of my horses and adding it to my already lost rook and three pawns.

"Oh."

"And check," he adds.

"Oh."

"Still ready for the National League?" he smiles. And forget the chess league, I'm not ready for Baz to be smiling at me like that. When did he even learn to smile? How can the mouth responsible for such a snotty sneer be capable of producing this? Brilliant white teeth tucked almost shyly behind curling lips, dark and thin, and almost sinister but for the glimmer in his eyes. Deep eyes, the grey of the night meets the blue of the ocean. Positively fucking glittering at me. I shake my head and return to the board. "Why won't it let me put my horse here?"

"Because you're not getting out of the check. And it's called a knight, Snow, not a horse."

"Fuck."

"You could put it there."

"Why would I take advice from my opponent?"

"Because I'm also teaching you how to play. I'm going easy on you. This is a practise game, Snow."

"You called me Simon before."

"When?"

"'Simon and I play always play chess every Friday...'"

"Fuck."

"Check mate."

"Yeah," he nods. "Check mate." And it's not check mate, it's not even check. But I've got him. Because he did call me Simon.

#snowbaz fanfiction #snowbaz fanfic #snowbaz #simon snow #basilton pitch #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #Penelope Bunce #penny bunce #agatha wellbelove #watford #rainbow rowell

[sadlittlenerdking]

I’ve Got You Carved On My Heart

The Magicians, Quentin and Eliot

Word count: 2,700

Summary: For the anon who prompted me with “queliot + post-it’s” like three weeks ago. Post season 2.

The first one Eliot sees is on the throne room floor. He furrows his brow, bends over and picks up the bright yellow post-it note ambiguously thrown to the floor. Part of him wonders how it got here because post-it notes don’t exist in Fillory, or at least, not that he’s aware. But another part figures Quentin dropped it sometime before Magic disappeared, and it’d somehow been swept through the castle to find itself to him. The theory seems even more valid when he unfolds the crumpled ball, and reads, in Quentin’s handwriting,

There has to be a solution.

He checks to make sure there’s nobody else in the throne room before silently slipping the post-it in his back pocket and heading down the hall.

*

The next one is a little harder to explain away. It appears bright pink and on the cloudy, sad excuse for a mirror in his chambers. He wakes up to it, sticking there, like it belongs there, or is waiting for him to find it. He runs a hand through his hair as he sits up, tilting his head at it. Even across the room he can tell it’s Quentin’s handwriting on the face of the paper. He pushes himself up from the bed, makes his way across the room, and plucks it off the mirror with a frown. It’s an equation for a spell he’s never seen before. Not quite powerful enough to be a battle spell, but it has some of the same aspects a battle spell would possess.

He sighs, pulls open the drawer of his dresser, and shoves aside some of his clothes, so he can place it at the back of the drawer with the yellow one. Hidden from view, but easy to reach should he feel lonely enough to want a reminder of Quentin.

*

It happens more than a dozen more times in the coming weeks. Sometimes it’s doodles on neon green, or spells on vibrant orange. Every once in a while there’s a little sad ‘I miss him,’ written on a blue post-it that appears and reappears over and over again. A sad attempt at a doodle that looks vaguely like him appears on a yellow post-it once. This one stays on the top of his dresser. When Margo see’s it, he doesn’t even bother trying to explain it, he just shrugs, and continues on with their conversation.

There’s a scratched out messy list on a purple post-it once. He thinks it’s a list of every possible way into Fillory.

Button

clock

penny

Dragon?

spell?

Dragon throws him off, but he just sighs and puts the post-it in the back of the drawer with the rest of his growing collection of the rainbow post-it’s filled with Quentin’s handwriting. He notes the blue one is gone again with a sad roll of his eyes, as he looks into the mirror.

He misses Quentin.

And the others, obviously.

But mostly Quentin.

*

It’s two months later, when an orange post-it appears on his lap in the throne room that he really starts to suspect magic isn’t as gone as he and Margo have come to believe. He nearly jumps out of his throne when he glances down. It almost looks like fire, until he zeroes in on it. He picks it up, and can barely hold in the gasp when he reads it.

In big, black letters, scratched so hard into the orange paper that it’s nearly torn through, is:

ELIOT?

His heart races as he jumps up from the throne, rushes through an excuse to Margo and Tick, and storms out of the throne room and through the halls to his chambers. He slams the door shut behind him, falling up against it as he lifts the post-it up in front of him and stares into it so hard, he half expects it to disappear, and for this all to just be a vision of him losing his mind.

But it doesn’t disappear. Doesn’t turn to dust. And the word stays the same.

It’s probably nothing, he tries to justify, but if the pile of post-it’s in his drawer are anything to go by - this isn’t just some case of Quentin’s belongings flying around the castle. It can’t be. Especially when he looks at it, and the ink still shines as if it’s just been written.

Shaking, he makes his way over to the dresser and pulls open the drawer.

*

There aren’t any post-its for a week.

And then, on a fresh blue post-it, rather than the crumpled up and overused one that disappears and reappears:

I don’t know if this is going where I think it is. But if it is - Eliot, I miss you. We’re figuring something out. Margo, I miss you, too, if you’re seeing this. Please be careful.

Part of him wonders if he should take the post-it seriously, and be careful, or if he should curl up in his bed, clutching it to his chest like it’s his only remaining lifeline.

He does the latter.

*

There are more blues over the next two weeks. All with similar messages. They flutter over his bed like butterflies, and he plucks them from the air as he sees them. Pulls them to his chest after he reads them, and whispers his own messages into his empty room. He knows nobody’ll hear them, but it gives him a small peace of mind.

One day, he finally sits up and calls for a servant. Demands a pen.

He doesn’t expect anything to happen when he writes ‘I miss you, too,’ on the post-it that performs it’s own magic trick on the daily. But he does it anyway, because something inside him wants an answer.

Because he does miss Quentin, and even though he can’t actually tell him, it soothes some of the ache in his chest to put the words on paper. To give them existence somewhere other than inside him. To let them be, rather than to watch the words fade into the air as soon as he utters them.

And mostly, because, as much as he hates to admit it, he desperately wants it to be real.

*

The next post-it has tear drops, or rain drops, he’s not quite sure, still wet on the surface when it appears next to his dinner plate. Margo see’s it flash into existence and fall next to his food. She’s quick to dart around the table and pick it up before he can even register that it’s appeared. She gasps, and the green paper falls from her hands, flutters down in the air, until Eliot can grab it and read it for himself;

Eliot - was that you? Are you really getting these? We’re figuring something out. We love you guys. It shouldn’t be much longer.

It’s a long conversation that he can’t escape, when he pushes his chair out and Margo follows him back to his room. He empties the drawer out onto his bed, and lets her read through each of the notes. They have their first real, friendly conversation in weeks. And when they fall asleep, they do so together, overtop Eliot’s blankets, holding each other, the post-it’s piled up in between them.

*

There’s a new one every day after that night documenting . . . something. He hasn’t exactly figured out what Quentin’s up to. But he’s emptied the top drawer of his dresser of everything except the post-it’s, so he can order them chronologically - with an empty space at the center of the drawer for the mysterious reappearing blue I miss him.

On green, he gets -  Kady has an idea.

On purple - Kady was wrong. But we might have something else.

On yellow - Penny reappeared. We’re doing something right.

He’s not sure what that means, Penny’s reappeared, but he doesn’t question it too much, when he places the post-it in the drawer with the others.

Margo starts sleeping in his room, the two of them barely leaving for anything more than important meetings about ruling Fillory - and only ever one at a time. One of them always stays behind just in case a new post-it appears with answers. They realize they can appear anywhere, but more frequently they pop up in Eliot’s room. So it seems safest to stay there, and not risk any of the servants finding any and throwing them away.

*

One night, when Margo’s curled up on the bed, crown haphazardly falling off her head from where she’s drooling on Eliot’s pillow, another blue post-it appears;

I’m sorry I left you behind. I broke my promise. But I’m going to fix it.

He lies down next to Margo, setting the post-it on the pillow between them for her to find when she wakes up. He’s not entirely sure what promise Quentin thinks he’s broken, but it doesn’t matter. His eyes flutter shut, and the image of Quentin and the others barging through the castle doors commands his dreams.

*

Everything goes quiet. There aren’t any new notes for nearly a month. Margo starts leaving the room more and more, angrier and less kind to the servants and visitors from other kingdoms. Her temper leaves no person unsinged. Even Eliot gets a taste of it, but her eyes flicker to the dresser, and she falls silent, sitting next to him on the bed, and she’s forgiven.

There’s a thought that neither of them dare speak aloud. That they can’t bear to bring into existence, but it flutters around at the back of their minds, loud and repetitive, buzzing angrily.

What if Quentin’s dead?

Because that’s where their minds go first when anyone disappears anymore. With their life and track record, what other explanation could there be for the sudden, resounding silence?

*

Idri’s visiting when the pink post-it appears in the middle of the throne room and floats down to the floor, soft and careful. Nobody moves for a few long beats, but before Eliot can react, Margo’s jumping up, running down the steps, and scooping the note up to read it. She stares at it for a moment, before looking up at Eliot with furrowed brows.

“What’s it say?” He asks.

“‘We’re coming home.’”

*

Something inside him buzzes back to life, like somebodies flipped a switch. It’s familiar and hungry, coursing through his veins like it’s been a part of him that’s been dammed off from the rest of him. Hesitantly, with trembling hands, he makes the familiar motions of the fire bringing spell. His breath hitches as a small flame appears on the tips of his fingers and fizzles out.

He pushes up from the bed and races through the castle, searching for Margo. When he gets to the throne room, he slams the doors open. “Margo!” He exclaims, looking down at his hands as he makes his way in. “Magic is back.” He casts the spell again, grinning for the first time in months as the fire explodes in front of him again.

“Yeah,” Margo says, her voice hoarse and choked up. He looks up, and his heart stops. “That’s not the only thing that’s back.”

Standing in front of her are Julia, Penny, Kady and Alice.

He frowns, lowering his hands as the flame extinguishes itself. “Where’s Quentin?”

Penny scoffs, “How did I know -,”

“He went looking for you,” Kady interrupts, shoving Penny with a slight smile. “As soon as we got here, he split, said he had to find you.”

He stares at them for a few seconds before Julia sighs with a roll of her eyes, “Well? Are you just going to stand there or are you going to go look for him? He’s exhausted, I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets lost in this castle.”

Nodding shakily, he turns on his heel and makes his way through the castle. He has a feeling he knows exactly where Quentin is. His footsteps echo loud and kind against the hallways as he follows them towards his room. His door is open, and there’s a shadow dancing in the candle flames when he finally gets there. He moves through the doorway, stopping at the sight of Quentin standing over his bed, post-it’s in his hands.

“You’re here,” He breathes.

Quentin turns around, wide eyed and breathless. There are bags under his eyes, and he’s so pale, Eliot worries he hasn’t been in the sun in the six months they’ve been apart. His hair’s grown to an almost unacceptable length, and he’s too skinny. He stares at Eliot for a few moments, before the post-its are falling through the air and he’s running across the room. He crashes into Eliot with a smoldering hug before they even hit the ground. Quentin’s arms wrap around Eliot tight, holding him so close to him that Eliot can feel his heartbeat pulsing against his own chest.

“I wasn’t sure,” Quentin says into Eliot’s chest. “I wasn’t sure.”

Eliot’s arms move around, hesitant and gentle as they gather Quentin up, holding him. He closes his eyes, leaning into the hug. They stay like that for a few minutes, until Quentin slumps, and Eliot pulls away to see his eyes have fallen closed, and he’s snoring softly. A soft, disbelieving chuckle falls from his lips before he uses his - rusty - telekinesis to float Quentin over to the bed. He lies down next to him, unable to fall asleep, just amazed to see him, to feel his radiating warmth.

He flicks a hand, and all the candles in the room go out, leaving them in darkness.

*

Four hours later, Quentins eyes flutter open, gazing sleepily into Eliot’s. His right hand comes up, rests on Eliot’s cheek and he smiles wide, his eyes crinkling and his nose wrinkling. “It’s you,” He says, soft and sleep riddled.

“I could say the same to you,” Eliot murmurs. “I’ve been staring at you for hours and I still can’t believe it.”

“You were watching me sleep?”

“Creepy, yes. But I don’t really care.”

Quentin’s eyes fall shut as he laughs, thumb sweeping over Eliot’s cheek. “I missed you. I almost forgot what you sounded like.”

Eliot takes a deep breath. “I sound the same as always. Probably a little disappointing.” Quentin hums, shaking his head, but his breathings slowed, and he’s halfway asleep. His hand falls from Eliot’s jaw, slides down his chest, until it’s resting on the bed between them. Eliot chuckles, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his forehead, before sitting up and heading towards the throne room for some answers.

Quentin needs his sleep anyways.

*

It takes a few days for any of them to start roaming the castle or the grounds. They’re all exhausted, and sleep for the majority of the time. But when Quentin finally sits up, awake and excited, Eliot’s there, eyebrow perked. He starts to ask what’s got him so excited, but then Quentin’s pushing forward and suddenly they’re kissing.

He pulls away after a moment, pressing his forehead against Eliot’s. “By the way,” He whispers, squinting his eyes, “It’s good to see you.”

Eliot laughs, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, less talking more kissing.” And then he’s leaning in, pressing his lips against Quentin’s.

*

A week later they’re all in the throne room, planning the speech Tick’s going to give to announce the return of magic. Margo’s talking when he feels something thin and scratchy appear in his hand on his lap. Frowning, he turns his palm upwards and finds a blue post-it there. It’s the same one that appeared and disappeared, all crumpled and torn.

But beneath where he’d written ‘I miss you, too,’ Quentin’s added something:

I love you.

He smiles, lifting his gaze to roll his eyes jokingly at Quentin. Quentin just shrugs with a grin, and turns his attention back on Margo. They’d already said it, time and time again in Eliot’s bedroom over the past week, but it still sends a pleasant chill up his back.

Especially when he thinks about the fact that he’s not the only one who kept the post-it’s. There’s a reason this one kept appearing and disappearing and reappearing. He shakes his head as he closes his hand around it, and looks back up at Margo to pay attention as well.

Apparently they’re both sentimental saps.

#the magicians #queliot #quentin coldwater #eliot waugh #i hate the ending #but i couldnt figure out a decent way to end it so #whatever #sorry if its a disappointment anon