we are made of star stuff

aspiring fic author AO3: blackholehuman personal: celestialconspiracy

[geeksofdoom]

It’s Tom Hiddleston’s birthday today, and I’m giving away THREE Thor Ragnarok Loki posters SIGNED by the birthday man himself. Reblog this for a chance to win one of them. Seriously.  

It’s a sweet little promo that Marvel is letting me do to help bring awareness to Thor Ragnarok’s release on digital (2/20) & Blu-ray/4K (3/6). 

Hey, they asked me, man. They know I exist. So ya, rb for a chance to win!

[stoatsandwich-blog-deactivated2]

So, FYI you guys, sometimes if you go to your favorite writers and flail at them a lot about how much you love their fics with lots of specific examples, they will let you read thousands of words of their unpublished WIPs and you can flail even more. Also sometimes after that you get to be friends, too, and help them come up with ideas. And vice versa! This is pretty much the best thing in the world and it is called fandom.

[blackholehuman]

A Light in the Snow

read it here on AO3.

Word Count: 10,525

Summary: They do this every year on their anniversary: a mini vacation, of sorts, in the clearing where everything should have ended, but instead began.

This year, time seems to stop. And their lives begin again.

*note: If you want to read this story with the proper italics, head on over to AO3. For some reason, Tumblr doesn’t keep them in when you copy and paste something, and comparing two 10.5K stories to each other... sorry, I just don’t have the time. 

Enjoy!

SIMON

When people tell you that they could feel something was off about a some sort of situation, they're lying. It's bullshit. Because Baz and I felt perfectly fine as we entered the forest.

Well, as fine as we could, returning to the place where everything changed.

We do this every year on our anniversary: camping out in the clearing where Baz started a fire then promptly put it back out as soon as I kissed him. I kiss him now, too, my lips practically tackling his cheek. He smiles like I'm stupid.

“Cut it out Snow,” he says, “you'll make me drop everything.” (I made him carry all the equipment while all I have are the pillows.) (I mean, come on, he does have super strength!)

“Stop complaining,” I retort, “I know you love it.”

He stoops down to kiss my forehead, forcefully enough to make me stumble. All of the gear is still perfectly balanced in his arms. It's those damn supernatural reflexes. “I do,” Baz agrees. “But two can play at that game.”

We reach the clearing just then. Baz sighs as he drops all of our stuff into the snow. Before I can protest, he points to himself and says, “Mage, remember?” I harrumph in response. There's nothing to do while Baz casts his spells, so I go on a walk, just to survey the area a bit and keep myself busy.

It's been four years since my magic’s been gone, but the holes have just started to close. I haven't felt anything yet, not that I really expected to. If anything I’ve gotten used to being Normal again, and as long as it doesn't bother Penny or Baz, I don't really have to think about it. And how Normal can I be, really, with a dragon’s tail and wings? (Penny was gracious enough to spell them away for me on this special night, but Baz will probably call them back. He likes the tail, especially; it tends to wrap around him whenever we- well.)

I can't deny, however, that things are starting to change. Penny is about to graduate from uni (as is Baz) and she's starting to seriously consider when she’ll be moving away to America. And where they'll go. That's something I try not to think about, because I'll miss her terribly when she does go. Even if I knew this was coming. Part of me wants to follow her there- we've never been apart, really, ever since we met- but that would have to be over Baz’s dead body (which is technically also his alive body, which is terrifying enough to stay. But also, I love him.) I know he's going to ask me to move in with him, and I know he’s looking for a new place to live. He wants to be near Watford, I think, but he’s very clandestine about his computer history.

I know he’s going to propose to me though, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to do it tonight. There’s no better time or place; our anniversary, in the place where everything began.

I woke up to him last month in the middle of the night singing Beyonce lyrics. I was so intrigued that I pretended to be asleep- and then the spell ended, and I felt Baz’s fingers bring my left hand up towards him. He kissed my knuckles and held his breath as he slipped something cold onto my ring finger. It fit perfectly, and even though I couldn’t see him, I knew he was smiling. Baz then replaced my hand and proceeded to “wake me up” with a series of long, hard kisses.

“What’s this all about?” I asked when I was properly awake and covered in hickeys, pretending I didn’t already know. My heart thumped loudly in my chest.

“You, Simon,” he panted, grabbing my waist and swinging a leg over to straddle me. “Always you.”

I stopped thinking right about then.

But I didn’t forget- it’s always in the back of my mind. And I can see it in his face everytime he smiles at me, because he thinks he’s being sneaky. After four years of loving him, his plotting has been more and more easy to figure out. I mean, Beyonce. Really.

My train of thought is abruptly derailed as I trip over a thick tree root I hadn’t seen under all the snow. I faceplant, barely getting my hands up fast enough to slow my fall. I grunt in frustration, turning around to face the culprit of my humiliation.

That’s when I see her. She’s at the base of the huge tree I just fell over, bundled up in a starry blue blanket.

I crawl over to get closer and verify that she isn’t just a doll, but Christ and Merlin , it's an actual human child. A little baby girl, left out in the cold like this.

I yell out in rage. I can feel my entire chest tightening as I pick her up, because she doesn’t move, and her face is almost the same color as the blanket. The green cap she’s wearing seems to be frozen to her head.

I yell again, this time for Baz; he finds me moments later. Fucking superspeed.

He turns white when he sees the bundle in my hands and kneels down next to me, snow be damned.

“She’s gone,” I choke out, not realizing I’d been crying.

“Not yet,” Baz says softly, holding his arms out. I let him take the girl away. I’m shaking uncontrollably. “She still has a heartbeat.” Baz lifts her up and presses his ear to the general area of the baby’s chest. “Though not for long,” he whispers, barely audible.

“ Why ?” I yell out. Why would anyone do this? To leave a baby to the elements like this. To die all alone. Who the fuck abandons a child in the first place-

I realize why this means so much to me. I realize I will do whatever it takes to make sure this baby girl lives to see tomorrow.

“We have to help her,” I say, all business, facing Baz.

“Simon, there aren’t any spells for this,” he says, and it’s so strained it tugs at my soul. “We could make her warm again but it would never be enough.”

We both fall into the most sullen silence to ever plague mankind. I can hear the seconds ticking by on some imaginary watch, counting down the moments the girl has to live. Our lack of action is making my twitch, and my mind is reeling, because what are we supposed to do with adead body anyway-

Wait.

Baz’s head snaps up as soon as I open my mouth to speak. “No,” he says, loudly and firmly.

“It’s the only way to save her!”

“You think turning her into a monster is going to save her?” he yells at me, standing up. He’s still holding the baby to his chest.

“You are no monster, Baz,” I tell him. “Not if you save her life.”

He growls at me. “We have no obligation to save her, Snow.”

The reason this is so ironic is because he’s clutching at her so tightly. I stand up and move into Baz’s space, staring hard into his eyes. There’s anger, sure, I expected this, but there's also fear. Like he doesn’t know the difference between good and evil. Luckily for the both of us, I have a pretty damn good idea of what’s good.

“So what,” I say quietly, letting my features go soft, “We’re just going to leave her here to die alone?”

It’s working. His jaw clenches. I continue, “Because I know what it feels like to be abandoned.”

He swallows.

“And I think you know what it’s like to be alone.”

I move closer to him and reach out a hand. He lowers the girl so that we’re both looking into her little face. “She’s beautiful,” I whisper, and it’s true, even if the only color she’s got is the blue frost on her face and the dark curls poking out of her little beanie.

I turn my head to look at Baz, who’s transfixed by the bundle in his hands- I can see him sizing her up with his fingers, clenching and unclenching around the tiny body.

He’s still looking at her when I say, “You feel it too, right? Like we’re looking into our future.”

Baz’s eyes slide towards mine, and they’re soft and relenting but he still says, “I can’t.”

“You have to,” I don’t know what we’ll do if he doesn’t. I’m so helpless in this situation, and all I can do is hope. “Please.”

A tear slides down his cheek as he turns his back to me. “Don’t watch,” he manages to say. He sits back down, and I scoot over to press my face into his back. My fists hold onto his jacket as if I, too, were clinging to life. I feel Baz’s back straighten (he must be sitting up), but nothing happens other than that. Everything is still and quiet and it seems that the trees are also holding their breath.

Then, she starts to cry.

BAZ

I break the the promise I’ve always kept for myself because of a dream. Something akin to falling in love with Simon Snow and hoping for something in return. Something that would make me think, only fools could hope like this.

But Simon Snow loves me, so maybe the dream isn’t such a folly: righting the wrongs that had been done unto us. Being good parents to children who had none, like Simon, and raising them to be brave and accepting, like my parents weren’t.

The baby’s skin is frigid and her blood is ice; it leaves her blessedly tasteless. The feel contrasts with the warmth that Simon is- somehow- radiating into my body. I pull back after about twenty seconds of not moving.

Nothing happens at first. She lays in my hands, unmoving and unresponsive to my touch.

Suddenly, she starts to cry.

Before I can even react, Simon throws his arms around my neck and kisses my ear from behind. I pull away smiling (even through tears), trying to hush the child back to sleep. She’s squirming a lot, but the blanket’s as stiff as a board from being exposed to the cold for too long. I pull out my want to cast, but I look up to see that Simon has already removed his sweatshirt. He surprises me when he thinks ahead like this; he’s not really as oblivious as I like to think he is.

“Give her here,” he says, extending his arms out to me with his jacket draped across both of his hands. I deftly unwrap the crusted blanket and hand her over. I’m horrified that she’s got nothing but a diaper on as clothes- it fills me with rage, actually. Like I’ll gladly kill whoever did this to her with my bare hands. I look up to see my own horror reflected as a deep sadness on Simon’s face. She’s still crying as I hand her over.

Once she’s all bundled inside the jacket, I pull out and cast, “Cold hands, warm heart,” a heating spell that only works if you’ve got genuine love inside your heart, and Simon and I are both overflowing with it. I can tell that the heat from the spell extends to more than just the girl in Simon’s arms; the snow melts in front of us, paving a way directly to the car.

We both jump in eagerly, still grinning like idiots. I look to my right, and Simon’s all buckled up and has braced his arms protectively around the (now sleeping) form of the baby girl.

We leave all of our stuff behind. It’s in the past, now. And we’ve just picked up our future.

SIMON

The tiny girl stops crying as soon as Baz puts the car in motion. He keeps turning to cast warming and healing spells until I have to tell him to relax, or he’ll be keeling over by the time we get to London.

“This isn't wasted magic, Snow,” he grunts, but in the end complies.

Even though she's stopped crying, she continues to fuss and move about in my jacket. Her small beanie is thawed out enough by now to take off, so I do: and almost instantly began worrying again.

“Baz?” I ask, holding her up, “this didn't happen to you, did it?”

I'm referencing, of course, that her hair on the left side is turning white.

“No,” he rolls his eyes and looks back at the road, “obviously.”

“Should we be worried?”

Which seems like a stupid question, because of course we should be worried. I don't know the first thing about taking care of babies, much less a vampire baby, although I guess Baz can help out in that respect. And he does have four younger siblings.

“I don't… I don't think so,” he says, glancing over at us. “Besides, it seems to have stopped. Looks kind of like Fiona’s hair, doesn't it?”

“This streak is a lot bigger than hers,” I point out. “...Maybe this is where all the cold went.”

“I doubt it,” Baz replies, but he doesn't sound so sure.

Right then, she opens her eyes clearly for the first time. “Merlin!” I yell, jumping a bit. Baz pulls over. “There's no need for that,” I tell him, but he just gives me a look that says well maybe you shouldn't have leapt out of your seat . He reaches for her and looks into her eyes as soon as he's got her in his hands.

“Crowley.”

One of her two blue eyes is turning silver. The left one, same side as her hair.

“What…?”

“I don't know,” Baz shakes his head and hands her back to me. “I don't know.”

He puts the car back in drive, and we’re speeding home. After an hour or so, the girl finally falls asleep, tucked between my elbow and chest.

“She’ll be asleep for a while,” Baz says, not looking at me.

“Were you?”

He nods. And still won't look at me.

“Baz,” I reach the arm I'm not using over to touch his shoulder. “We did the right thing. You did the right thing.”

“What will my father say?” He whispers.

I don't want to think about that right now. “I actually think we have more important things to worry about,” I say.

“Like the Humdrum?” He asks, a small smile playing on his lips.

My hand slides down his shoulder to his bicep. I squeeze. And smile.

“Like, what are we going to name her?”

BAZ

Its no surprise that Simon is shit at names.

We’ve been driving around London for two hours, shopping for baby clothes and other such things we’ll need, and he has yet to come up with anything approaching sensible. On top of that, I’m knackered from driving and exhausted from the energy it takes to not drain every living thing I put my eyes on. There’s blood at home, I know this, but there's more in the streets of London. I try to pull a Simon Snow and stop thinking altogether, but he keeps interrupting with terrible names.  

While we’re in Tesco’s getting nappies and onesies, he suggests Cherry.  

“You’re just hungry,” I counter. “And besides, we are not naming her after your favorite food.”

“Why not?” He says, smiling down at her. “It’s kind of cute.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Well at least I'm trying,” he pouts. “You aren’t even bothering to participate.”

At this point, we’ve moved on to foods. I’ve already used a spell to determine her age; a mere six months. She was born on the summer solstice. As I pick up each tiny jar, surveying them based off what will most likely return her to proper health, I say, “Clementine.”

I don’t have to turn around to know he’s cringing. He doesn’t have to see my face to know I’m smirking, either. Snow’s not the biggest fan of citrus fruits.

“Not everything is Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind ,” he groans. That’s another thing he doesn’t like: thought provoking cinema.

After checking off all the essentials off our list (including a crib, some onesies, nappies, a whole month’s worth of baby food and a starry baby mobile that Simon couldn’t resist) we move on to clothes, but I’ll be damned if we don’t get clothes fit for princess Charlotte. I just- I want to spoil her. She deserves to have the best, after the state we found her in. So I take us to a high-end boutique.

“She’ll grow out of this stuff in a few months,” Simon complains, “And it's all so expensive. Why don’t we go back to Tesco’s?”

“One, there were too many people there, and it was driving me mad,” I say, and pretend not to notice that he winces, “And two, I’m paying, and I’ll do whatever I like with my money, thank you.”

“Fine. What about Oak? Like the tree we found her by.”

“No.”

“Blue?

“Gods no.” I wonder if he says it because I’m holding up a navy button up coat that looks soft and warm and is expensive as fuck. I decide we need it almost immediately.

As I’m folding it over my arm, Simon asks, “Natasha?”

I still. I can feel his eyes on me. I turn around and go back to find some cashmere jumpers. Snow follows, tripping on the carpet because he’s not paying attention.

He invades my personal space as soon as we stop, standing as close to me as he can while holding the sleeping child. He smells like cinnamon, and she smells like the forest. I look away, swallowing.

“My mother hated vampires,” I say to the cashmere sweaters. Simon shifts behind me, hoisting her up to rest her head on his shoulder and reaches for me with his free hand. I want to move away, but I never could from him. I feel his fingers intertwining with mine, and he tugs me closer so that it’s impossible not to look at him.

He takes my breath away, even now. The baby he’s holding doesn’t help.

Snow squeezes my hand. “She came back for you,” he whispers. I look down. The image is so intense. Like staring directly into the sun, even now. The light of my very own universe.

He takes advantage of my reduced height to kiss me on the temple, right where my mother would have had I been there that night. Simon does this sometimes, when I miss her. The first time he did I went out to buy an engagement ring the very same day.

That was in August, three years ago. The whole ordeal was quite exciting, if a bit presumptuous, but at least I recognized it. Simon and and I couldn’t really get married at nineteen, no matter what some of my fifth-year fantasies said. I was going to propose tonight, but we were rudely interrupted by our future, to quote Simon.

I look back up. “Maybe as a middle name?”

Snow grins at me, and if he’s the sun, the baby he’s holding has just become all of my stars.

SIMON

It’s dinner by the time we get back to my flat, but Penny isn’t home, so Baz decides to teach me how to change a nappy on the floor next to the couch. I’m not really paying attention; I’m still trying to think of names, because so far, Baz hasn’t liked any of mine and his suggestions have only been to tease me.

For example, when I suggested Penny and he responded with, “I rather like Agatha.”

“Don’t ever use those words in that order again,” I warned him.

I’m also not paying attention because he’s being so gentle, like this baby is made of glass. It’s the same way he handles me when we’re being soft with each other, and I instantly recognize it as love.

“What about Snow?”

“That’s got to be the worst one yet.”

“Hey now, my name’s Snow,” I argue.

“Yes, and I’m trying to change that too, aren’t I?” he says, finishing with the nappy. Then looks up, horrified. “Wait, that wasn’t-”

“Oh yes it was,” I say, practically tackling him to the ground.

“Be careful,” he says, trying to scoot out from underneath me, “the baby.”

“Our daughter,” I correct him. He stops trying to escape.

“Our daughter?” Baz says it like he’s trying out a new spell. It sounds so lovely on his lips that I kiss him.

“Yes,” I say, when I remember I have to breathe every now and again.

“Wait, yes to our daughter or yes to-”

“Yes,” I repeat, pushing him down again, this time fully straddling his hips. “Yes.” I kiss his neck.

“Crowley, Simon,” he’s breathless, and aroused, and I’m pretty sure he’s also holding back tears. “Not near the baby.”

“She’s asleep,” I argue.

“Then let’s get her to bed.”

“I’m sick of her not having a name,” I say, rolling off of him and careful not to wake her.

We lay there in silence for a moment, Baz stroking the back of my hand with his thumb with his head turned towards the girl. He intertwines his index finger so that she’s holding it in her little fist.

“What about Neiva?” he asks. “It’s the feminine form of snow in Spanish.”

“Neiva,” I repeat, trying it out.

“Neiva Natasha.”

“Pitch.”

“Yes,” Baz moves his head to smile at me instead.

PENNY

I spent the night at my parent’s house last night because it’s almost Christmas and Simon and Baz were out doing their anniversary camping. Weirdly enough, the lack of their annoying flirting made me feel anxious and lonely, so I ended up Skyping Micah for hours, talking about our future.

I’m moving to America soon. Everyone knows it. I’m worried for Simon, who gets sad every time I bring up Micah, as if he’s going to lose me to him. But he’s my best friend, and I’m not going to forget that just because I’m moving across the pond. I’m grateful that he’s dating someone rational like Baz to remind him of that every so often.

He’ll get over it eventually. I happen to know Baz was going to propose to him last night; it’s like all of our futures are happening at once. And I also have a strong feeling they’re going to want to have a family of their own even if it means they have to adopt and Baz has to stop being afraid of himself. Simon would love to adopt, I’m sure of it, and Baz would want his kids to be brave.

I don’t expect them to be home yet, but as I’m opening the door, I hear voices. I wonder if their camping trip didn’t go well. What if they fought? Would Baz still have proposed? Merlin and Morgana- what if Simon said no?

I definitely don’t expect to walk into the dining room and see a baby in a high chair, smooshing mushed-up orange food into Simon’s face while Baz laughs and takes photos.

I’m pretty sure my jaw drops to the floor the same time my bag does. Both Simon and Baz freeze, looking at me guiltily. The baby doesn’t seem to notice and procedes to reach for Baz, hands covered in goo.

Baz clears his throat. “If you’ll excuse me Bunce,” he says, picking up the girl and bringing her round to the kitchen sink. As he helps her wash her hands, I turn my look of surprise towards Simon, too shocked to demand an explanation. He shrugs and gives me a sheepish grin.

“Hi Penny,” he greets, then stands up to take the girl back from Baz. “This is Neiva Natasha.”

“Our daughter,” Baz adds, and there's a bit of pride in his voice.

I walk towards Simon tentatively. The baby- Neiva- reaches up for me. I let one of her hands curl around my index finger. She gurgles, an her eyes get smaller when she smiles. I can’t help but smile back. Neiva’s beautiful- she’s got heterochromia, one silver eye and one blue, a shock of curly black hair that’s been half replaced by a strange white streak. The only weird thing is how cold her skin is.

“Is it chilly in here?” I ask, “Or is it just her?”

“It’s just Neiva,” Simon responds, then looks towards Baz, who is pointedly looking out the window with his and folded over his chest like he’s hugging himself.

“Well, her and Baz,” Simon amends.

I jerk my hand away, immediately understanding what he means. Neiva starts to cry. Simon begins to try and hush her, bouncing her up and down in his arms. “Penny,” he hisses.

“You’ve Turned her!” I yell, but I don’t know at who.

“I told you she wouldn’t take it well,” Baz mutters.

BAZ

“How could you?” she demands, her voice at a yell. “Baz, how could you? After you promised Simon and I and yourself you would never bite a living human being!”

I’m still very much not looking at her. I can tell she’s near me, probably gesturing wildly, angrily.

I want to tell her that I didn’t know how I could. That I woke up screaming from a dream where I sucked her dry. And how I wonder that if our daughter is a vampire, and we turn out to be immortal, we’ll have to bury Simon together; I would never be able to handle it. That I didn’t want to lose Simon over a decision where our moralities diverged completely. That I thought it was my only chance at a family.

“You monster!” she screams.

I don’t know what I expected. Bunce tolerates me because she’s a decent person, but how could I forget that spreading this… this disease is strictly against the rules? And worse; this is a child we’re talking about, a picture of innocence. What could be worse than altering a child magically before they even have the ability to choose? That’s the same way Simon lived until recently: born with infinite magic no one could have any hope of controlling.  What if all I’ve done is given Neiva the same burden I’ve had to carry around since I was four? That’s not saving her life, that’s ensuring she’ll live in pain.

“Reign it in Penny,” Simon yells, jumping between us. No- he didn’t jump. He fucking flew . Those dragon wings of his are actually working, and one of them moves to protect his torso, where Neiva is still in his arms, crying. “She was dead when we found her. He’s kept his promise.” He backs up near to me, and I can feel the tail curling around my arm possessively.

I allow myself to peak at Penelope. She seems to relax, but her features are twisted in confusion. “Found her…?”

“She was abandoned in the snow where we were camping,” I whisper, finally looking into her eyes. “She almost didn’t have a heartbeat.”

Bunce’s eyes soften. “Neiva,” she whispers. And looks right back at me, full of remorse. “Spanish for snow.”

“Besides, it was me who convinced him to do it,” Simon adds. “We couldn’t just leave her, Penny. Can you imagine?”

“I get it,” she says, and blushes. Maybe she’s ashamed. “Gods, Baz, I’m so sorry-”

I stop her with a hand. I’ve already forgiven her. I can’t blame Penny for attempting rational morality.  “It’s alright, Penelope. I understand. I guess it was good practice for whatever my parents will think…”

Her eyes go wide. “I didn’t even consider that.”

I turn to Simon, opening my arms to Neiva who is still crying. She settles down as soon as her head hits my shoulder. His tail unwinds, but he doesn’t look at all appeased by Penny’s apology.

“I can’t believe,” Penny starts again, a small smile playing on her lips, “that I left you two alone for less than twenty four hours, and you brought home a baby.”

I snort, heading for the couch. A quick glance over my shoulder shows me that Snow is still staring daggers at the back of Penny’s head, even though she doesn’t notice as she follows to sit beside me on the couch.

“Can I… hold her?” she asks tentatively.

I don’t even hesitate to bring Neiva down from my shoulder, but Simon is quick to intercept.

“Like hell,” he growls at Penny.

I frown. “Snow, what-”

“You don’t get to come in here,” he says, raising his voice, “and insult my family, calling my fiance a fucking monster-”

“Fiance?”

“Implying that my daughter,” he continues, speaking louder and completely ignoring Penny’s question, “Our daughter is some kind freak of nature. What the actual fuck, Penny! If we didn’t contractually own this place together, I would tell you to Get out! ”

Both Penny and I are speechless. She’s tense beside me, and there are tears welling up in her eyes. And there’s something about the way Simon said it, like there was magic attached, but not really going anywhere…

“And to think, we were going to ask you to be her godmother,” he sneers, and now his wings completely envelop his body. He turns to me. “Baz, we’re leaving.”

My frown deepens. “Simon…”

“Now,” he growls, and I don’t want to argue with him. Something about the sudden change of smell in the room makes me feel incredibly odd. It’s not the burning green that used to be accompanied with his presence, but more like the smell after the rain. Like the wind is picking it up and spreading it everywhere- I can almost feel it, I think.

He doesn’t move from where he’s standing, but Penny gets up to actually help me pack. We’re just finishing shrinking Neiva’s crib when she turns to me, still crying, and apologizes again.

“You know I didn’t mean- I could never mean-that, that-”

“Pen, relax,” I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’ve already forgiven you. Simon’s just upset, yeah? We have to give him time to cool off.”

“Yeah.” Another sad smile; she’s full of them today. “Just like old times.”

“Well,” I admonish, turning my head a bit as I pack the shrunken furniture and folded clothes into a bag, “Not exactly.”

I can hear her smirk. “True,” she says, and her tone is playfully light, “You never would have proposed to him back then.”

I roll my eyes and zip up the bag. I turn around and place it on my lap. Penny’s sitting on Simon’s bed, smiling down at me. I bury my face into the bag, hugging it close, and Penny laughs at me some more.

“Was it romantic?”

“It was an accident,” I correct. “I had everything planned, but I’d been thinking about it so much it just sort of… slipped out.”

“That wouldn’t be the first time,” she laughs again.

I look up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh Basilton,” she says, wiping a tear away from her eye, “You told me all about how you were going to marry him about three years ago on New Year’s. You were very drunk, you see- you’ve got this weakness for red wine, I swear- and Simon was already passed out on your lap.” She grins wide. “You carried him to bed and showed me the ring. You were so proud.”

“Crowley,” I curse. “I don’t remember that at all.”

“No, I didn’t think you would,” she muses. “It wasn’t the most secretive of demonstrations, either. You were being quite loud.”

“Thank Merlin he wasn’t awake,” is all I can say. “The surprise would have been completely ruined. And I’ll have you know I sized that ring without him knowing about it.”

“ Baz ,” she teases, exasperated, “You’re not very good at sneaking around.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Penny throws her head back and laughs. “You woke him up that night, he told me! I mean, Single Ladies, Baz? Really?”

“Oh gods,” I groan, hiding my blush once again in the backpack.

SIMON

Fiona’s in town this week, so there’s no chance that we can go back to her flat with a vampire baby in tow. God knows Penny ruined my entire mood on telling anyone about our new family.

Baz seems to be totally okay with the whole thing- which, really, I should be happy about. The fact that he’s finally come to terms with who he is- well, it’s pretty fucking monumental, considering the reason we’re together is because he tried to kill himself over it years ago. He’s okay with being called a monster, he’s accepted Penny’s apology, but I can’t get over it. She wasn’t just insulting him, she was insulting my family. I’m so angry I almost feel magic again;  however, instead of pouring out of me in a thick heat like it used to, it feels more like there’s a heavy wind deep inside my chest, pushing rain clouds to the surface.

There’s no way it’s actually magic, of course.  Just as Baz has come to terms with his vampirism, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll be as Normal as they come (plus a few magickal appendages.)

Anyway, Baz doesn’t try to argue with me about leaving, thank fuck. I don’t want to start an argument in front of Neiva.

Baz spells my wings invisible with a quick, “ These aren’t the droids you’re looking for ” and  checks us into a ritzy hotel despite my protests (“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right, Snow.”)

He sets up the crib and unpacks everything else for us when we get in- I haven’t let go of Neiva since we left the flat. Once he’s finished, I put her down to sleep tenderly. Baz casts a few silencing spells, probably anticipating some sort of drawn out argument.

I can feel the soft press of Baz’s hand on my back. God, I love him so much when he’s tender like this- even when all I can feel is aggression.

“She’s so beautiful,” I say furiously, “How could anyone call her a monster?”

I turn to Baz and lift both of my hands to his face. “The same can be said of you,” I whisper, and kiss him.

“Simon,” Baz manages, “I am not beautiful.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, and it comes out a lot more harsh than I mean it to, so I shove him towards the bed until it hits his legs and he’s forced to sit on the edge.

As I come closer, he scoots back, until he’s lying completely flat and I’m crawling over him, like a predator and his prey.  One of his hands is laying palm up near his head, and I pin it down with my own, interlocking our fingers.

Baz looks up at me, defiant, honest, and above all, fucking beautiful. I lean down so that our noses touch and he’s forced to look in my eyes.

“No one talks shit about my family.”

I kiss him so hard our teeth clash. When I lift up again, Baz grabs his wand out of his jeans pocket and un-spells my wings and tail, then sets the wand aside on the nightstand.

“No one.” I repeat, undoing his shirt buttons and trousers through all sorts of kisses. Once those are both off, my tail loops beginning at his ankle and ending at his upper thigh.

I’m starting to undress myself when my tail squeezes his leg and brings it to wrap around my waist. He moans filthily as his hips buck up in response. Shucking my shirt and jeans across the room, I lean forward over him to whisper, “You are mine.”

“Yes,” he’s nodding. “Yours.”

I kiss him again. “You are not a monster, Baz. You’re mine.”

He moans, arching into me. “Your tail,” he pants. It’s squeezing at his thigh again, pulling him even closer to me, and we don’t even have all of our clothes off yet.  “Aleister Crowley, Simon. The things you do to me.”

Moving to his ears, I tell him that he’s perfect.

As I’m ravaging his neck, Baz asks, “You don’t think I’m… bad?”

I growl into his throat, then nibble at it. “No.” My voice is hoarse. “Never. You’re just Baz.”

His fingers slip through my hair, pulling my mouth back to his own. “As long as you say so, Simon,” another kiss, “as long as you- and Neiva, now, believe it, nothing else really matters. No one can ruin this for me.”

~~~~~

It’s easy to make up with Penny because she’s so damn sincere. Also because she’s been my best friend for ages, and I can’t just ditch her for one mistake. I let out all my anger that night, and Baz helped so much, just… moving with me. Speaking to me in a soothing voice.

Penny’s thrilled to be Neiva’s godmother, and when I watched how loving she was, I realized I really could trust her with my daughter’s precious life.

But now, we have to face the real challenge. Baz’s family.

We were invited to their home in Oxford for Christmas Eve, and we had already accepted their invitation, so we kind of just had to pack our things and go along with it.

Of course we’re both nervous. Baz actually looks as if he might be sick, and Baz never gets sick. He even let me drive while he rode in the back with Neiva; singing her to sleep. It was lovely, and there was a point where he had to yell at me to stop watching them in the mirror and watch the road instead.

When we get there, he takes his time getting out of the car, carefully folding Neiva’s blanket and throwing it over his shoulder. Still fucking posh as ever. The car seat comes out without much fuss this time, thank God, I nearly chucked the thing in the Thames last time I tried to figure it out, and we make our way to the door.

I glance at Baz, who’s face is a carefully stony mask. I hate it when he does this, even though I know it’s necessary when he has to deal with his dad.

“Baz,” I lean into him without taking my eyes off the door, “What are we going to say?”

His eyes slide towards me, and then he startles at something over my shoulder. Placing the car seat on the front step, he slides his wand out of his sleeve and taps on my wings.

“These aren’t the droids you’re looking for,” he says, then repeats when he taps on my tail.

I roll my eyes. Stupid formalities. “Baz .”

A smile is pulling at the corners of his mouth when he picks up Neiva’s car seat once more. “I’ll guess we’ll just have to wing it.”

I groan, but before I’m able to tell Baz that just because he’s a dad know doesn’t mean he can go around making terrible puns, the door swings open. Thankfully, it’s just Mordelia, who at twelve is just as snarky as her older brother was at that age. I love her to death, but everytime I’m here there’s always alarm bells going off in my mind, saying: oh shit, there’s two of them.

She stands there in shock, trying to take in the vision before her: a gurgling child in a car seat being carried by Baz, and my left hand clenched into a fist, accidentally showing off a silver band studded in the middle with a single diamond.

Mordelia blinks a couple times before raising an eyebrow at Baz. “Does this make me an auntie?” she smirks.

“Only if you invite us in,” Baz says pointedly.

She gets it right away, I can practically see it cross her face, but she makes no comment. “Of course. All three of you are welcome here anytime.” Mordelia holds the door open wider, then steps aside.

As soon as we’re in, I close the door and Mordelia takes off running. “Mum!” I hear her shout down the hall. “Baz and Simon are here! They’ve brought a baby!”

Baz gazes after her, seemingly rooted to the spot. I kneel down and unbuckle Neiva. “Are you ready?” I ask him, standing up and resting Neva on my hip between us.

He turns his face towards me and I’ve never seen him with such an unfiltered look of fear before, so it’s painfully obvious how not ready he is.

“Come on.”

The hall is lit with gorgeous yellow lights, floating by magic right alongside bright red poinsettias and holly branches. “Those aren’t for you,” I say, when Neiva tries to lunge out of my arms after them. To reconcile, she twists and lunges for Baz’s hair instead, landing a little fist in his long black hair (which he at least didn’t slick back, as per my request.)

That’s how we come upon Baz’s family in the sitting room: Neiva and Baz both laughing as her hands get more and more tangled in his hair. I’m smiling and holding her back, because I love his hair and I wouldn’t want her to get more carried away.

The room goes eerily silent.

Baz undoes Neiva’s hands from his hair and clears his throat. “We’ve adopted,” he adresses Daphne and Malcolm, who are sitting on a white couch across the room with glasses of wine paused halfway to their mouths. Both wearing the same frown of confusion.

“And we’re engaged,” I say, holding up my free hand, showing off the ring. I’m rather fond of it, actually.

That startles the room back to motion- Fiona, who I hadn’t even seen, sitting in a corner yells, “Finally! Basilton, you’ve had that ring for ages!”

Before I have time to think about that, Malcolm’s glass slips from his hand and spills all over the pristine couch.

“I’ll get it!” Mordelia yells excitedly, pulling out her wand from a pocket in her dress.

Daphne deters her by sending her to the room, announcing that it’s time for the grown ups to talk. Fiona’s blocking me from their expressions, however, trying to get a good look at Neiva. “She’s got wicked hair,” she grins, winking at me and gesturing at her own silver streak. “And, by Morgana- she’s got both of your eyes!” She laughs a little and places her hand on Baz’s shoulder. “She’s adorable, kid. Really.”

“Thank you,” Baz whispers, and it’s obvious he didn’t expect this reaction from her. My eyes begin to burn a little bit. Maybe this won’t be that bad.

“Can I hold her?”

It’s Malcolm who says it, standing up from his seat which has been spelled clean by Daphne. I glance quickly at Baz, whose eyebrows are just beginning to knit together in a confused look.

He pulls his wand out, making me frown. “Let me hold her.”

And it’s the way he says it, like he’s entitled to it, that makes me take a step back. Baz looks at him curiously.

“Father, what’s wrong?”

Malcolm grabs Baz by his shirtsleeve and lights the tip of his wand on fire. “Mr Snow,” Baz tries to pull away but Malcolm just brings the fire closer. “Let me hold her.”

I think I know what he’s trying to do, even if his face is a mask of controlled features. It’s written all over the fear in Baz’s face, and the shock in Daphne’s eyes.

How do I choose? Between the two loves of my life. My only real family. They’re both one and the same: my future, the other halves of my heart. I look at Baz, who seems like he’s already accepted his fate. He keeps looking at me and then towards the doors leading to the patio- he wants me to take Neiva and run.

I feel like I’m overheating… No. I feel like the wind is back in my chest, pushing the rain outwards, outwards, until it bursts forth into the room with such force I can almost smell it.

Malcolm can’t take either of them, he can’t.

I feel a slight increase in pressure from my spine, and a coinciding sizzle tells me that the spell on my wings and tail have just ended. Malcolm looks a bit frightened, anyone would, staring at a half human half dragon hybrid whose family was just threatened.

“Put it out,” I growl, nodding at the flame. One of my wings comes round my shoulder and extends the length of my arm, the one I’m holding Neiva in. The other wing stretches out completely, meaning to look as menacing as possible.

“Give me the girl!”

BAZ

I can’t fucking believe it. All this time, and my dad still thinks I’m a walking plague. (I mean, I guess I am, but I was just starting to come to terms with it. Fuck it all.) And now he’s threatening Simon, making him choose between me and Neiva.

It isn’t fair. But I’m clinging to the hope that he’ll do the right thing and pick Neiva. I’m pleading for it silently- and I think he knows, too- because I don’t dare speak. I can feel my father’s fire through my clothes. It’s close.

Right as I’m thinking I really am doomed this time, the spell on Simon’s wings and ended. Which- that shouldn’t happen. No one said anything to end it, and anyway, only Penny and I know how. But they’re there now, out in the open, moving to protect our little girl.

And then, something else happens.

Something I haven’t seen in four years, and never thought I’d see again.

The Sword of Mages appears in Simon’s hand at my father’s- no, fuck that, fuck him- Malcolm’s latest demand, and he didn’t even say anything to summon it.

Everyone in the room notices. It’s hard not too; this looks like the final fight was supposed to look like. Except for the fact that Simon and I are engaged and he’s holding our daughter.

And there’s that smell too, like the pavement after it’s just rained, exactly the same as when he argued with Penny.

Malcolm’s wand dips dramatically and that’s all I need to punch him in the face as hard as I can. I feel a bit guilty, because as he hits the floor I realize that I put all my vampire strength into it, but then I’m reminded that he just tried to kill me and my daughter, so I don’t feel bad at all. Actually, it felt good.

I turn back to Simon who’s staring at the sword in his hand like he’s never seen it before. I watch as his tail and wings retract into his back, seemingly of their own accord.

Walking towards him, I say, “Alright, Simon?”

I startled him. He looks up at me stammering, and jumps when his phone rings. The blade disappears into his hip, and I take Neiva into my arms.

“Penny?” Simon answers. “What’s going on?” he asks, as if she were here with us right now.

My hearing’s good enough to where I can listen in on the conversation while I watch Daphne kneel on the floor, attempting to heal Malcolm’s bloodied and probably crushed face. I hope it hurts.

“Simon, the magic’s back in Kensington and Hounslow! Dad’s just told me!”

“Penny, that’s fantastic,” he says, monotone and exhausted. “Let me know if there’s any other news. I’m- I’m busy right now.”

He hangs up without waiting for a reply. I can imagine that Bunce will be furious at him for this later.

He looks at me. “Fancy a road trip to Hampshire?”

I clutch at Neiva. “Sure,” I glance back to see my dad sitting up with Daphne’s assistance. “Anywhere but here. Can you… can you take Neiva?”

He nods, but asks, “What are you…?”

“Something I should have done years ago.”

I walk over and kneel next to Daphne, looking down at Malcolm. His face is misshapen (he’ll probably have to go see Dr. Wellbelove) and is in obvious pain, but he still manages to sneer at me. “What would your mother think, Basilton?” he spits, all rage. “She wouldn’t have let you live! And now you’ve gone and Turned an innocent? You disgust me. I should’ve done what your mother would have wanted me to do.”

“Malcolm!” Daphne gasps. Behind me, Simon growls.

“It’s alright,” I say. Because it really is, now. I think.

He looks like he might continue with something even more nasty, but I stop him by saying, “She came back for me, you know.”

Whatever hateful pile of shit was just about to exit his mouth dies in his throat. I watch him swallow it. “What?”

“When the Veil lifted. Mother came back for me. To talk with me.”

“Liar,” he says through clenched teeth, “‘You were in a coffin.”

I won’t wince. “She found Simon instead, obviously,” I continue, raising my voice. “She wanted me to find Nicodemus, then to find her killer. Which we did,” Malcolm looks horrified, both at the mention of Nicodemus and my mother’s killer. I had forgotten that everyone continued assuming it was the Humdrum. “It was the Mage, he really was terrible all that time. But when she was there, she kissed Simon’s forehead, telling him it was for me.”

Malcolm is silent.

“You didn’t hear her voice,” Simon chimes in from behind me. “She misses him so much. She kept shouting, ‘my son, my only son,’ only she was fading, so it came out as a whisper.” He shudders. “It was… very powerful.”

I stand up and make a show of dusting off my clothes. Malcolm seems to have been rendered speechless of my confession. I want him to mull it over for the rest of his life if that’s how long it takes him to realize she only would have come back to me if she loved me. If she still loved me, regardless of who, or what, I was and still am and will always be. It sure as fuck took me long enough.

I drive us to Hampshire. I think Simon is still in shock from the small amount of magic he just used, accidentally. Leave it to Snow to accidentally use magic, first of all, and second of all, I really hope he’ll be able to call back his dragon appendages sometimes. I rather liked them.

He’s staring directly out the window when he calls my name, questioning.

“Yes love?”

“If he tries that again, I’m going to kill him.”

I glance into the rearview mirror. There's fire in his eyes- no, something beyond fire, magic- and I can feel it even though he’s still looking out the windows as the trees fly past us.

He’s serious. I don’t have to question it.

“Okay,” I say, and Simon nods. He and Neiva both sleep the entire way to Hampshire.

When we get there, it’s all too obvious it’s still a dead spot. I wince as soon as we hit the outer perimeter, both Neiva and Simon wake up, and Neiva starts to cry. He tries to shush her, but she won’t be consoled. Not even the motion of the car is helping this time.

Once we’re properly in the driveway of the house, I unbuckle Neiva from her car seat as Simon steps out and stares at the ground with a contemplating frown on his face. Neiva stops screaming once she’s in my arms, but it’s obvious she can feel the dead spot too; she’s squirming around so much I’m almost afraid I’ll drop her.

I won’t drop her. Not ever. Not on my life.

“Simon,” I say, squinting at him, “What do you need?”

“To be… centered,” he answers, but I don’t think we’re in the same plane of existence. He looks like he’s gone into some sort of transcendental state.

“There’s a stone circle here, isn’t there? Out in the grounds behind your home.”

How could he have possibly known that, “Y-yes,” I tell him.

He nods like he knew it all along, and begins to walk towards the gate that will lead him out back. I don’t ask questions, I just follow.

The hollow feeling worsens the closer we get to the stone circle (Snow somehow leading the way, as if he were the one who lived here for eighteen years) and then I feel a tug, a sharp pull as I feel everything inside of me give way. It’s like when the Humdrum pushed his nothing into me all those years ago. “Simon,” I choke out, pitching forward. Neiva starts crying again. “We can’t go any further. There’s just- nothing here, so much nothing.” I’m panicking, I know it. But I can feel my fangs drop, and that same desire for Simon’s blood and for magic he doesn’t have returns.

He turns around with a worried look. “We’re not far from where we need to be,” he says, pleading.

I look at him dead in the eye. I know I must look frightening, with dark pupils attempting to take over every corner of my eyes. But I feel so fucking weak, too, and when I take another step forward I fall.

Simon, ever the hero, catches us both. He pulls Neiva close to him while I crawl away.

“You cannot get that close to me when I am like this,” I growl, not looking at him. I hope my tone of voice conveys that it is not up for debate.

I feel something leathery wind it’s way up my bicep- it’s Simon’s tail, helping me up. He’s already standing, holding Neiva who is screaming in his arms. “It’s not that far from here,” he’s pleading at me with his eyes, which works when I’m human, but I can barely feel it now. “Please.” I don’t know if it’s emotion or if it’s magic. I follow him at distance.

When we’ve finally arrived, it’s not soon enough. I immediately collapse in the center, too tired to go on. The emptiness seems to have taken it’s toll on Simon and Neiva as well; she’s even stopped crying out of exhaustion. He joins me in the grass, and we lay on our backs, one of our fingers each being clutched tightly by Neiva’s small hands.

I’m panting with the effort it takes not to suck Simon Snow dry.

He’s laying on his back, facing up, with stars in his eyes.

The wind picks up, rustling the trees overhead, and Simon closes his eyes- and that’s when I feel it.

It’s a cool, calming mist, spreading all around the stone circle, apparently coming from Simon’s chest. I feel it expand, and then I feel it inme- I could cast a sonnet. I could cast Twinkle twinkle little star . Like a completed circuit, again at all at once, my magic returns, flowing through my body and down my arms. I can feel it seeping into Neiva, but she’s not crying, she’s gurgling, and a glance at Snow tells me everything. It’s happening on his end, too.

It starts to rain. And just like that, the magic comes back to Hampshire.

SIMON

I can’t bring myself to move from the circle. I do, however, sit up, and pull Neiva into my lap. She grabs at my fingers and grips them tight, giving Baz and I the most charming, toothless smile. I kiss her forehead as Baz sits up too, crossing his legs so that our knees touch.

“Alright Snow?” He asks, beaming at me. I think he’s intoxicated on my-  my magic. Merlin.

“I’m grand, but what about you? How are you feeling after-”

He cuts me off with a hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “It was worth it, for this. Anything would be.” He glances at Neiva, who giggles. “How does it feel?” Baz whispers with a small smile.

“It feels like a wind tunnel,” I explain, “And every time I need to use magic, it pushes the mist inside me to the surface. Like fog seeping through my pores.”

Baz smirks. “Our magic must be compatible,” he says. “My burn to your cool.” He holds out his hand.

I take it. Instantly, I know he’s right- I feel like I’m in a state of equilibrium. Like there’s a light in my chest.

Baz has stars in his eyes when he whispers my name again. He must feel it, too.

Neiva let’s go of my hand and slumps forward a bit, catching herself before she falls too far forward. With her arms outstretched, she reaches for Baz.

“Papa?”

We both stop moving. I think my heart drops to the floor.

“Papa,” she’s still reaching towards Baz.

“That’s right, I’m right here, little puff,” He picks her up by the waist. “Right here. Papa’s-” he chokes a bit on the word. I think he’s- crying? “-here, baby.”

Neiva, unaware of the emotional moment, giggles and twists in his hands so that she’s facing me. “Dadda,” she gurgles, hands making grabbing motions towards me.

I take her delicately from Baz- he’s still so shocked. I am, too. Neiva continues to babble nonsense at me. “Yes sweetheart,” I say, “Tell Dadda all about it.”

She giggles again, twisting. “Papa!” She shouts. Baz smiles at her widely. “Dadda! Papa!”

“She’s so young!” I say to Baz excitedly, over the noise.

“Children with magic begin speaking at an early age,” Baz tells me. There are tears on his cheeks. Careful to balance Neiva  on my lap, I reach for him, cupping my hand around his jaw. His eyes flutter closed as I swipe away one tear, then bring him near me to kiss away the rest.

“Do you think she has magic, then?”

“Didn’t you feel it? When we were laying down?”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling at the wonder in my lap.

“It’s funny,” Baz murmurs, also looking at Neiva, “She kind of looks like us.”

“It’s fantastic,” I correct.

“It’s perfect,” he agrees.

Nothing can get better than this: me and Baz and Neiva sitting in this circle filled with love and magic, wildflowers poking out of the ground everywhere.

I was wrong, of course.

The only thing more perfect could only be our wedding, five years after I saved Baz and one year after Baz saved Neiva.

I walk down the aisle behind her, and she quietly waddles in her eight hundred pound dress laden with expensive lace and crystals (Baz is going to spoil her rotten, I swear) leaving flowers in her wake. She’s not holding any; this is just something she does. Neiva grew flowers in the circle of rocks that day, and now she grows them whenever she walks in grass. It’s weird, it’s magic, and Baz and I love it.

Our guests love it, too. They coo at her as she walks by, and she giggles as she makes her way up to Baz.

Who looks fucking beautiful in his dark blue suit and grey tie. He knows it too; when he catches me staring, he smirks. But I know he couldn’t take his eyes off of me my entire way down the aisle. It’s the grey suit- Baz insisted. And the navy blue tie, I’m sure, brings out my eyes.

Neiva makes it to Baz, who picks her up in a sweeping motion and kisses her forhead so much that she laughs openly. I stand across from him, and when she reaches for me I do the same. Finally, I turn completely and hand her to her godmother. Penny whispers to her about how great she did.

As the wedding officiant- Miss Possibelf herself- told everyone that they could sit, I glance towards them all:

Malcolm’s in the audience today, after several anger management and other such therapy sessions, sitting with Daphne and Baz’s younger siblings. The entire Bunce family sits on the side opposite them, as do the Wellbeloves. Behind Baz’s family is the entire Watford staff, who upon hearing about Mitali’s invitation, had to see for themselves that the two people least likely to get along in their years of schooling were actually marrying each other. Their demanding for invitations made Baz laugh out loud. Various other Watford alumni are scattered here and there; Trixie and Keris are somewhere in the crowd, both wearing matching flower crowns.

Penny, Mordelia, and Agatha all look stunning in their silver bridesmaid dresses. Niall, Dev, Rhys, and Gareth all look like they’re about to break open a crime plot in their sharp black suits.

My attention is snapped away when I realize it’s time for the bonding ceremony. Baz gives me a reassuring smile as he put both hands palm up in front of him, and whispers a spell to summon flames without a wand. They flicker and dance just above his hands.

This would be really dangerous (I can almost feel Malcolm wincing in his seat) if I didn’t play my part. I take a deep breath, summoning the deep wind inside me and feel a cloudy mist gather at my shoulders, then run like water down to my fingertips. Palms down, I place my hands on his.

It works. I feel a heavy light in my breastbone, and I know Baz can feel it too because I see it in his eyes.

In a typical Simon Snow manner (this is the last time I can think that, which is exciting. I’ll be Pitch pretty soon) I don’t really pay attention to the rest of the ceremony. I’m distantly aware of what Miss Possibelf is saying, and I can hear myself responding, but all my focus is on the light I can feel pouring out of me.

I’m shocked back into reality when Baz drops my hands, ending the circuit of shared magic, and pulls me to him by the back of my neck. And then we’re kissing, and without thinking, both of my hands move up to his head, one to cup his face and the other sliding into his hair. His free hand wraps around my back, and I’m lost, gone forever and drowning in this kiss.

Too soon, Baz let’s go. But it's for a good cause; Neiva is suddenly in his arms, and we’re both covering her in kisses as she says, “Love you Papa! Love you Daddy!” over and over again.

All the bad things that happened to us in school, the day I stopped Baz’s fire, learning how to love, finding Neiva, regaining my magic, and the constant struggle of parenthood and figuring out how to deal with it all, knowing that the future will just be all the more challenging...

I don’t regret any of it. Not for a second.

Baz and I walk back down the aisle arm in arm, with Neiva on his hip.

This is it. This is my happy ending.

[tanzanitedepths]

Fanfiction Club: The Rules

This idea came to me when I woke up first thing this morning.

[babycrawlingveryfast-deactivate]

straight men repress their feelings so severely with their friends and family, and then they come across a girl (whos been socialized to be Empathetic and Nurturing) and they find that they can tell this girl about their Feelings ! everythings great she’s The One ! in reality they just have a normal human bond but actually connecting with anyone is so foreign to men and their emotionally barren male relationships that it seems like something great and wonderful. so now girl is put on a pedestal that she’ll eventually fall from bc she’s human and not just a Male Feelings Receptacle and everyone loses all bc fathers refuse to cry in front of their sons

[antiporn-activist]

Whoever wrote this is brilliant.

[45h45]

[soracities]

George Saunders

[meret118]

List of British words not widely used in the United States. Lists of words having different meanings in American and British English. List of American words not widely used in the United Kingdom.

[mundosdepapel]

OH MY FUCKING GOD. THANK YOU

[itsaliceaubrey-deactivated20161]

FINALLY

[delightfullyambiguous]

I smile when fanfic authors add a ‘the __________ AU that no one asked for’ note in the summary because oh buddy I didn’t ask for it but I still need it and want it and I love you

[writing-masterlists]

Synonyms For Very

This masterlist is a masterlist of words that you may use alongside the word very, very being one of the most common words that are used when writing. I hope this helps you as much as it helps me in our writing seem more sophisticated and unique. 

A:

Very accurate - exact Very afraid - fearful Very angry - furious Very annoying - exasperating

B:

Very bad - atrocious Very beautiful - exquisite Very big - immense Very boring - dull Very bright - luminous Very busy - swamped

C:

Very calm - serene Very careful - cautious Very cheap - stingy Very clean - spotless Very clear - obvious Very clever - intelligent Very cold - freezing Very colourful - vibrant Very competitive - cutthroat Very complete - comprehensive Very confused - perplexed Very conventional - conservative Very creative - innovative Very crowded - bustling Very cute - adorable

D:

Very dangerous - perilous Very dear - cherished Very deep - profound Very depressed - despondent Very detailed - meticulous Very different - disparate Very difficult - arduous Very dirty - filthy Very dry - arid Very dull - tedious

E:

Very eager - keen Very easy - effortless Very empty - desolate Very excited - thrilled Very exciting - exhilarating Very expensive - costly

F:

Very fancy - lavish Very fast - swift Very fat - obese Very friendly - amiable Very frightened - alarmed Very frightening - terrifying Very funny - hilarious

G:

Very glad - overjoyed Very good - excellent Very great - terrific

H:

Very happy - ecstatic Very hard - difficult Very hard-to-find - rare Very heavy - leaden Very high - soaring Very hot - sweltering Very huge - colossal Very hungry - ravenous Very hurt - battered

I:

Very important - crucial Very intelligent - brilliant Very interesting - captivating

J:

K:

L:

Very large - huge Very lazy - indolent Very little - tiny Very lively - vivacious Very long - extensive Very long-term - enduring Very loose - slack Very loud - thunderous Very loved - adored

M:

Very mean - cruel Very messy - slovenly

N:

Very neat - immaculate Very necessary - essential Very nervous - apprehensive Very nice - kind Very noisy - deafening

O:

Very often - frequently Very old - ancient Very old-fashioned - archaic Very open - transparent

P:

Very painful - excruciating Very pale - ashen Very perfect - flawless Very poor - destitute Very powerful - compelling Very pretty - beautiful

Q:

Very quick - rapid Very quiet - hushed

R:

Very rainy - pouring Very rich - wealthy

S:

Very sad - sorrowful Very scared - petrified Very scary - chilling Very serious - grave Very sharp - keen Very shiny - gleaming Very short - brief Very shy - timid Very simple - basic Very skinny - skeletal Very slow - sluggish Very small - petite Very smart - intelligent Very smelly - pungent Very smooth - sleek Very soft - downy Very sorry - apologetic Very special - exceptional Very strong - forceful Very stupid - idiotic Very sure - certain Very sweet - thoughtful

T:

Very talented - gifted Very tall - towering Very tasty - delicious Very thirsty - parched Very tight - constricting Very tiny - minuscule Very tired - exhausted

U:

Very ugly - hideous Very unhappy - miserable Very upset - distraught

V:

W:

Very warm - hot Very weak - frail Very well-to-do - wealthy Very wet - soaked Very wide - expansive Very willing - eager Very windy - blustery Very wise - sage Very worried - distressed

X:

Y:

Z:

A/N: If you know of anymore words I can add please message me.

[the-fenton-menace]

otp: *confesses*

me: nice

otp: *accidentally confesses*

me: n i c E

otp: *accidentally confesses while in a heated argument*

me, fanning myself with my hands: OHOHOHOHOHO N I C E

[eruriholic]

stuff that feels rewarding as a fanfic author:

when your work inspires fanart/comics

when people point out a scene/particular line(s) that tugged at their heartstrings

when people ask for your meta of your work that they enjoyed so much

when someone comments on a fic you wrote 982783113502 years ago

getting recc’d

just the small happiness in knowing you made someone out there smile on their way to work/home or at school, in knowing you warmed someone’s heart somehow

[hils79]

Getting yelled at for making someone cry

[themarydragon]

Getting called Satan

[hhhhhotleafjuice-deactivated202]

once this girl commented “this is the cutest thing ever 😭😭😭” (yeah, I remember) on something i wrote and i literally think about it every day

[crusty-the-snowman]

Every time someone comments on my stories ten years get added onto my life

[brain3at3r]

any feedback at all makes me feel like jk Rowling

[writers-are-writers]

Prompt #742

“I’m so useless.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m useless!”

“You’re wrong!”

[blackholehuman]

Meeting Those Left Behind

sequel to Keeping Good Company, on tumblr and AO3.  

read this fic on AO3 here. 

summary: Baz? Alive. Still. (What a blessing). Good company? Kept. Future? …uncertain. Because Baz has yet to meet those he left behind.

word count: 14,118

Keep reading

[fellytones]

imagine wizarding universities tho

dodging ppl landing/taking off on their brooms

also the assholes that fly too low

muggleborns that still prefer skateboards/bikes

floo rush hours

when ppl stand around in the fireplace instead of immediately moving out of the way

running late but not being allowed to apparate bc several hundred times people miss their mark and land right in the middle of a class

being near that one person that smells v strongly like the magic equivalent of weed

when ppl bring their kids and they fuck shit up have accidental magic

muggleborns taking ge muggle studies and wanting to fight the outdated instructor

so many oral exams good god

you mourn the fact that time turners were destroyed while you’re trying to finish an essay 10 minutes before class

buying your own potions ingredients?? $ y $ i $ k $ e $ s $

trying to find books for research but they’re always floating around and incorrectly reshelving themselves

accio was banned in the library but everyone uses it anyway

ppl just have to practice constant vigilance to avoid the books flying to the spellcaster

the magic fucks w the phone signal and wifi

half the teachers dont accept typed work

getting lost on campus but the maps keep telling you different things

trying to have a snack but the chocolate frog gets away

accidentally bringing weasley’s wizard wheezes as a snack

comes to class 15 minutes late with pumpkin frappuccino

[sxpositive]

imagine the magical uni classes tho

spell weaving majors which is like astrophysics or smth

the magical equations which have a thousand rules that don’t even apply half the time and the you can tell a spell-weave major because they tend to avoid using magic out of complete frustration of anything to do with spells. they will legit walk an hour instead of apparate after that one class of Discovering Magical Transportation that ruins it for everyone

wandless magic majors are stereotyped as the hippies of the uni

most of them believe in connecting to their magical/spiritual side to fully embrace the naturalness of magic without trying to structure it with spells and wands. this also includes a lot of weed. (spell-weave majors HATE them)

ritual majors, one of the most dangerous. think chemistry on crack

one wrong rune in a ritual and you’re stuck forever with hawk eyes instead of correcting eyesight, or with transparent skin (and wasn’t that kid a sight to behold), one dude got stuck in a alternative dimension for a month. to take rituals you have to first have a bachelor of runes AND a strong understanding of magical theory and crafting. the brainiacs of the school and also tend to maniacs. (everyone knows of the illegal shit they do but they’re all too smart not to get away with it)

astronomy majors are seen as drop-outs in the making

supposedly the “easy” major these kids have to stay up all night every night and spend the rest of the time begging their spell-craft friends to make them accurate magical glasses that allow them to see the stars in the day or through the clouds. (muggleborns already have that shit sorted with the internet and always excel in this study). astronomy majors are also acknowledged to hold the wildest parties because they can stay up all night. but the position of the caster in terms of the universe effects the magic and they have to work closely with the ritual majors too. don’t underestimate them. 

magic-crafting majors infuse objects with magic and invent shit

the craziest, wackiest thinkers. wayyyyy outside the box thinking. crazy shit goes down. and half the time they try and one up each other by making useless but random inventions. the professors pretend to be sick of them all but secretly love the madness. 

potion majors are badasses (if only because they survived snape)

people are carful how to talk to them because these guys will respond to anything with “was that a dare? bECAUSE I WILL DO IT!!!! watch me bitch. try and challenge me again *rolls up sleeves*” also could be utter pricks that snape favoured and got to uni to realise they don’t know shit. but a lot of the people to take potion classes want to become healers.

healing majors are kind but will have no bullshit

you think you can call your healer friend to deal with the fall out of an experiment gone wrong? a duel that broke out? you’ll be thinking twice on calling on them even to save your life because sure they’ll heal you but the Lecture™ of your Life. no exaggeration. the Mum Friend™.

magical art majors are literally the same as any muggle art major 

nuff said

history majors tend to move into runes, rituals and ancient magic studies

because DEAR MERLIN DID YOU SEE THE SHIT MORGAN LE FAY COULD DO??? and damn if you could sit in history class learning about the epicness of egyption curses, the mystery of avalon’s weather magic, the ward magic sewn together by the founders and then not even attempt to learn how to do it. most people double major history with an ancient magic subject.

ancient magic is filled with enthusiastic first years and dead eye seniors

like yes. awesome magic. it’s epic. its exciting. you also have to prepare for months to cast anything because it’s all about group casting and no one can cooperate for shit. the group projects man. the death of all ancient magic students.

magizoologist majors are the class clowns

and if you think crazy ass creatures aren’t released for the lols every week you would be wrong. too many hagrids man. wayyyy too many.

[blackholehuman]

Meeting Those Left Behind

sequel to Keeping Good Company, on tumblr and AO3.  

read this fic on AO3 here. 

summary: Baz? Alive. Still. (What a blessing). Good company? Kept. Future? ...uncertain. Because Baz has yet to meet those he left behind.

word count: 14,118

BAZ

After a month of being alive again, Simon and I felt it was time to introduce me back into society.

Simon refused to go the legal route. The Coven, he felt, wouldn’t understand if I was sprung upon them so suddenly; and without any allies but himself, there were slim chances of keeping an altercation at bay. He insisted that I go back to my family first, so I could then have my father and Fiona to back me up.

I told him that doing so would probably send me back to where I’d just come from. I realized as soon as it had come out of my mouth that the situation was too real to joke about yet. That was the first time Simon and I fought since I’d come back.

Fighting with Simon is more difficult now. There’s so much I don’t know about him (or anything, really) and even though we once thought we were going to kill each other, now there’s more at stake. Losing each other would be infinitely worse than death. Simon says he knows this because of how he felt when death took me. I know this because I can picture losing him hurting much more than the nothingness I had felt in that thick fog I came to know as death.

Neither of us wants that. But I still didn’t agree to see my family first. We agreed I would need a bit of a warm up before going to Hampshire again.

That’s how I ended up here, in an old coffee shop somewhere in London. Simon ditched me, making up a lame excuse of all the errands he had to run, as soon as we walked in the door.

My two best friends are seated at a three person table in a corner by the window. Niall spots me first and waves me over. I walk towards them tentatively, and Dev turns and smiles warmly at me.

It’s as like nothing’s happened. Like twenty minutes have passed since I’ve seen them last, instead of twenty years.

It reminds me of how they acted when I’d been kidnapped. I shiver upon remembering the darkness and stench of an underground coffin, and decide that’s something I can deal with later.

“Basil, we ordered you the coffee that most tasted like sugar, hope that’s okay,” says Niall, smirking.

I smile at them and sit down. “You two gentlemen know me so well.”

They talk politics, Normal politics, and I can hardly believe it. What could be so interesting about Normal politics? They explain Magickal Britain’s governing system over the past twenty years; that the Mage has never been replaced, and the Families have become appallingly boring. Which is why Normal politics have become so popular; mages have finally realized that they need to participate in society if they want to keep up to date with new spells.

Talking to them seems so easy, and it is, which is wonderful and terrible all at once.

That is, until Niall gets a call.  A single red heart shows on the screen.

I raise my eyebrows at him, and he blushes deeply, picking up the mobile to answer.

“Hello love. Why, I’m at coffee with-” he glances between Dev and I (Dev is looking at me curiously out of the corner of his eye, and I can’t help but wonder why he’s acting strangely all of a sudden) “...some old school friends.”

Niall looks out the window as he listens, then responds. “No, not Simon. Why do you ask?” Whatever her answers is, it makes all the blood run out of his face. He’s as pale as a vampire when he answers, “I- I can’t answer that, love. I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. See you tonight? Right. Love you too, bye.” He stuffs his mobile in his pocket and continues to stare out the window.

Suddenly, everything is awkward. The silence is so present I can hear the blood pumping through my heart (a completely new sensation, and also, it turns out I got to keep all the benefits of being a vampire: super strength, heightened senses, x ray vision. Just kidding about that last one, though).

“Niall, you alright? Who was that?”

Dev lets out a sharp bark of laughter and quickly reaches for his tea to stifle his amusement. Niall turns to me slowly, and says, “My wife,” as if he’s talking to someone who doesn’t know English.

“What’s up?” I ask, still desperately trying to pretend everything is normal.

“She- she asked if Simon had a Visiting,” he responded.

“Of course he had a Visiting. Doesn’t she know Simon’s lost everyone he’s ever loved?”

They both stare at him, before Dev shakes his head and says, “Fuck, mate, that’s exactly what Simon said.”

“I told him off,” Niall remembers, smirking.

“You have no right this time,” Dev pointed out, “seeing as you owe him an explanation.”

An incomprehensible part of me flares in anger that they’ve left me so out of the loop. Then I’m angry at myself for committing suicide without a second thought which caused me to be so out of the loop.

“An explanation for what?” I question, attempting to soothe my frustration.

“Oo, look Niall, he’s already angry. Lucky you he’s not a vampire any longer.” Dev starts laughing maniacally, Niall reddens, and I still feel out of place. We’re all acting about thirteen, which makes this entire situation even more infuriating.  

Niall’s jaw works, and I can tell he’s trying to work up the courage to say something. I elbow Dev in the ribs, reducing him to a snicker. After a moment of what looks like a breathing exercise, Niall says as calmly as possible, “That was… you know, my wife. She was asking whether or not Simon had you as a Visiting. I didn’t think it would be wise to tell her yet, so…” he trails off.

“Mate,” Dev starts, almost clucking his tongue, “Dragging this out is only going to make it worse.”

“I would be sitting on pins and needles,” I deadpan, “If I had even the slightest clue what you were talking about-”

“I married your sister,” Niall suddenly blurts.

There’s silence again. And then: “Mordelia? The girl who never knocks? Complains about everything? You’re a full ten years older than her!” I don’t even register the words that are coming out of my mouth. I’m just saying what I think. Is this what Simon feels like when he’s frustrated?

“Wait a moment, she’s only nine years younger than me!”

“Niall, that’s my sister!”

“And so what?” Niall yells, furious, “You weren’t here, were you?”

Well.

That stings.

Dev looks really uncomfortable beside me. I turn to glare at him.

“Don’t look at me,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender, “I’m not your sister’s keeper. Besides, they’re happy! You’ve got a niece and a nephew now!”

On his other side, Niall fusses with his wallet, pulling out small pictures, which indeed reveal his children. He places them in front of me. Both have dark brown hair and Niall’s unfortunate freckles.

“Elizabeth Jane is seven, almost eight,” Niall points to the photo of the girl. His finger moves to the boy with light blue eyes and continues, “that’s Oliver... He’s four. Oliver Basilton.”

Niall isn't looking at the photos anymore. He’s looking at me with Oliver Basilton’s same blue eyes, but they’re full of sadness.

I’m staring at Elizabeth. She looks just like Mordelia the last time I saw her.

“The twins are twenty four now,” Dev explains to me, “Aldora’s just gotten engaged and Cedany’s going to start at graduate school in the States next fall. Edmund finished at Watford top of his class, and has been at Oxford for two years now.” Dev tells me softly.

I can’t bring myself to lift my gaze. It amazes me that Dev can still know what I need to hear as much as it amazes me to hear that Edmund, who had been not even two years old last I saw him, was about as old as I thought I had been after stepping out of the thick fog.

All of my siblings were too young to enter the library at home when I last saw them. Now the youngest is halfway through uni.

I don’t know how much time passes before I look up again. Dev drums his fingers and finishes his tea while Niall stares out the window. The quiet isn’t comfortable, but I don’t think anything can be comforting in this situation.

I finally move my head when I feel a warm hand on my shoulder. It’s Simon, I can tell without looking (he smells like scones and bacon and butter. Like home) so I stand up.

“Ready to go?” he asks, not smiling.

“Yes,” I answer.

Before we step out of the shop, Dev and Niall both nod at me. I nod silently back.

SIMON

The car ride home is quiet. I can tell Baz is hacked off about something, but I don’t know what. I can probably guess, though. Niall did marry his sister, after all.

But how can I know for sure if he doesn’t communicate with me?

His anger could be at Niall, but it could also be at himself, which makes it all the more dangerous. Self frustration is something I’ve tried to get him to avoid in the past month, and it had been working pretty well.

Granted, the distractions ended up being erotic grope fests instead of sit down, serious and therapeutic conversations that he probably needs at this point. I guess whatever we’d been doing has worked so far, but I’m afraid it's just prevention of the inevitable.

Last week, when we fought, both of us resorted to the manner we used to fight in. What he said was fucked up, but he just made things worse by sticking to it instead of apologizing and admitting defeat. On top of that, anything he said to me I threw right back.

It got to the point where I made to draw the Sword of Mages. I said the words and everything. He froze when nothing happened. And I had to remind him that my magic was gone. We were both sad about it all night, so he held me and thanked me for avenging his mother. Even then, Baz didn’t concede an apology until morning.

I can practically feel the fight brewing in him right now. Is this what it was like to be him, back when my magic was unstable and constantly overflowing?

It’s not until I’m loading heaps of pasta and sauce into bowls that Baz confronts me. He stands at the kitchen entrance, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and looking down at me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“Tell you what?”

He sneers. I feel about fourteen. “Do you mean to say there’s more you’re not telling me?”

“That’s not what I meant,” I say, because it wasn’t.

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” He responds, because he’s still so fucking smart.

“About Mordelia or about what I haven’t told you?”

Baz scoffs, exiting the room with an eye roll after throwing his arms in the air. I set down the fork I was twisting in the pasta this whole time and go after him.

He’s just standing in the middle of the room, staring at the only wall with decoration. The fake Picasso. I step forward tentatively, ending up next to him.

“Baz?”

He rounds on me, eyes glassy and lips in a curl. “What haven’t you told me, and why?”

“Because I knew you’d act like this!”

He throws his head back while barking out a sarcastic laugh, before saying, “Snow, I think this is pretty reasonable, considering I’ve been dead for two decades.”

Merlin, he’s just so… insensitive, that’s the word. Even going back to using my last name (or rather, my middle name).

That’s fine. Two can play at that game.

“Don’t be fucking rude,” I growl at him, “I wasn’t exactly given an instructions manual, was I? ‘How to Babysit Your Recently Resurrected Roommate: For Dummies.’”

Baz steps closer to me. The look in his eyes is lethal. “Don’t even act like this isn’t the most exciting thing to happen to you in twenty years.”

Christ, another low blow. I know my face is reddening, so I try to calm down quickly, like I used to have to for my magic. Baz is pissing me off so much that I hardly even realize how close I am to him when I step forward, smirking.

I barely even register saying, “Oh, I dunno Baz, your sister’s wedding was pretty fun.”

At first, Baz is so fast in his movements that I wonder whether or not he’s still human. I’m slightly aware of his fists in my shirt propelling me backward. But then, the pain I feel and the loudest ripping noise I’ve ever heard shocks me back into reality.

I shout, “Anathema!” because I think  that might be the only thing that would work. He lets go, and I fall to the floor, gripping my head and panting hard. I can feel something fall behind me, even though I can’t hear it over the thudding of my head. I turn ever so slightly to see what it is.

Of course, it’s the fake Picasso. My head made a hole right at the base of the violin. The edges of the ripped canvas are slightly pink, and when I put my hand on the back of my head, it comes back slick with blood.

I almost want to laugh, because this is the fight we were supposed to have twenty years ago, the one that would have decided the outcome of a war. When I turn back to Baz, he’s just staring at the wall where the painting was, and where I’m now assuming is a head shaped dent complete with a slight spatter of blood.

“Simon,” he breaths.

“My eyes are down here, you git,” I say without any real venom, and then immediately regret it. Speaking takes a lot of energy when you’ve (probably) got a concussion.

Baz doesn’t speak. What he does is pick me up, carry me all the way to the bedroom, and lay me down on my stomach on the bed.

“You’re an arse still,” I tell Baz matter of factly. I can’t see him (my face is buried in the softest pillow) but I think he’s nodding.

The last thing I hear before sleep pulls from the corners of my mind is the beginning of a string of healing spells.

~~~~~

I wake up with Baz laying on his back next to me. He’s staring at the ceiling like he’s trying to memorize all of it’s cracks.

My head is fine. I feel lighter than I have been in weeks. I know Baz is resting after pouring all of the healing magic he can muster back into me. His thoughts are loud and all I want to do is go back to sleep.

I should probably be angry, but I can’t bring myself to care that much. It was just as much my fault as it was Baz’s. I’ve already forgiven him, but I don’t want to tell him that just yet. I just want to curl into the space between his neck and shoulder and make him fall asleep with me.

So I do. Baz’s breath hitches, but he thinks better of whatever he was going to say, instead opting for bringing his arm over his chest and into my hair. I notice the way he feels for a tender spot on the back of my skull, and it’s such a caring gesture that I press a kiss to his shoulder through a layer of cotton shirt fabric, just to let him know I’m alright. I hope it let’s him know we are all right, too.

We fall asleep.

~~~~~

The next morning, I wake up and head to the kitchen, depositing the old spaghetti into the trash bin and begin to make breakfast. This is a morning for pancakes, I think.

I try to quiet my motions, because Baz is still sleeping. At Watford, he used to be angry whenever my incessant stumbling about would awake him from his beauty sleep. The fact that I thought of it as “beauty sleep” should have given me hints for my sexuality earlier, but then again, I had a lot on my plate back then.

Just like these plates are full of delicious pancake, thick syrup, and greasy, bubbling sausage.

But fuck , even food can’t distract me from thinking back to the past. Once I start, it’s always so hard to stop.

My train of thought eventually gets to the particular moment in eighth year where I caught Baz trying to steal a book. There’s something funny about that memory, and it’s like I’ve been back to it before, picking up a small, square piece of paper…

BAZ

I’m only a third awake when Simon comes banging into the room. The sound is so jarring I sit up instantly, but he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy rummaging furiously in his sock drawer, where he previously kept my wand.

I can tell the exact moment he finds what he’s looking for, because his movements slow, and his mannerisms match those of someone who is cradling a fragile little bird. He turns towards me, eyeing a square bit of paper. I have an intense feeling of deja vu, but I can’t place where it’s coming from.

When he looks up, he stares at me so intensely I can feel myself blushing from my bare chest all the way to my cheeks. Tears form in his eyes.

“Here,” he says, handing me the paper. I take it, and a quick glance reveals the photograph of my mother’s hands holding a four year old me up in the creche.

And I remember how everything started. With a photo in the office of a murderer. How did it end up like this? With my skin the same color it was when I was born, no fangs, and no hunger for blood.

He says my name, and I know how this happened. “Baz,” he repeats, and I think, love love love, over and over.

I remember throwing him into the wall and nearly cracking his skull yesterday, and think of how I still don’t deserve him.

Instead of voicing any of this, I look down at the photo again.

Simon is not crying anymore when I look up at him. He just looks mildly concerned.

“Take me to Hampshire,” I say.

SIMON

Right, well. There’s one problem with that. It’s the weekend.

I don’t know if it was traditional before, but it’s definitely traditional now for the Grimms to be together on the weekends. They’re referred to as the Grimms now, ever since Baz died. Fiona could have kept the surname Pitch, but she decided that the world was trying to rid itself of them, so she changed her name, and I quote, “before death takes me too.” She’s got a bloody dark sense of humor (heh, bloody dark- maybe it’s a side effect of marrying a vampire).

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s the weekend, so the entire family will be there for dinner. Including Fiona, who married Nicodemus, the arsehole who triggered the darkest corners of Baz’s mind leading to his suicide. It hurts to think about Nicodemus as I knew him at the age of eighteen, because he’s really turned (pun not intended) his life around for Fiona and her family. As far as I know, they all went to group counselling to sort everything out. Although, I’m not sure how well that worked, because I seemed to receive a lot of distressed Grimms on my doorstep that year.

“He had to hide everything, Simon,” Malcolm lamented to me over a bottle of sherry, “because I never cared to acknowledge the parts of him I despised.”

Daphne used to call me and ask through tears what more she could have done. She stopped believing she could be a good mother after what happened to Baz when she had tried her best with him.

The twins, Aldora and Cedany, along with Edmund, the youngest, were forced into the awkward position of a family eternally mourning someone they couldn’t even remember.

Cedany is very philosophical about this, and eventually came to the conclusion she couldn’t hate her parents for being so disturbed (“But I do wish they would get some help,” she told me once). Aldora didn’t mind at all; she enjoyed living the high life that the Grimm family fortune could afford her. Together, they looked after their younger brother, who concerned them most.

“He’s everything Basilton was and more,” Cedany told me, on a rant, over a fancy dinner. I winced; Edmund could only ever be more because he was alive.

Aldora nodded, and said, “I’m sorry, Simon, but Baz was such a dark person the shadow he cast dampered all the light we could have had,” at which Cedany told her off for speaking so ill of their older brother, and an argument began.

Mordelia took Baz’s death worse than even I did (because eventually I decided the best option was to completely ignore it). She was so young, but that didn’t stop her from being upset that his vampirism and sexuality were hidden from her, especially because she was raised on the doctrine that family is everything. As Mordelia grew older, she began to understand more and more that her parents were partially responsible for Baz’s suicide. It made her resent them.

The other problem was her magic. It became more apparent when she got to Watford, where her spell work was awful even though her Elocution was flawless. It became dangerously unstable, worse than mine was. She wasn’t putting holes in the magickal atmosphere like I was, but it exhausted her to use so much magic at once. Dr. Wellbelove couldn’t find a solution, and by then things around her were breaking or smashing or growing every time one of her emotions changed.

She didn’t go back to Watford for the optional eighth year, the first one to do so in her family (Baz notwithstanding). Instead, she decided leave England and study magickal beings (not mages, though) around the globe, and independently. Her research led to several breakthroughs and a more comprehensibly united magickal world. Despite all of this, Malcolm tried to force her to come back home and settle down (with an arranged marriage, no less), and he threatened to cut off her funding permanently if she did not do so.

I was there for this argument. It was one of the few times I joined them for dinner, and I was only there because Mordelia was and so was Nicodemus, and for some ungodly reason I was supposed to mediate. Turns out he wasn’t the problem, though. Like I said, Malcolm was.

All she did was laugh at him. Hysterics, honestly. The noise took on magic, even though she wasn’t saying any words, and it made everything in the room vibrate until she started speaking again.

“I haven’t used that money in a long time, father.” She shook her head trying to blink away tears. “I can’t believe you underestimate my discoveries so much.”

“I don’t care! You should come home anyway!”

“Why? So you can have all your perfect littlethings in one place?” Malcolm's face went almost purple with rage. Her eyes slid to where Nicodemus and I were sitting, and she got a wicked grin on her face. “You know what? You won’t want me anyway, once I’ve crossed over.”

Obviously, this sent most everyone into some sort of rage-like fit. Edmund laughed through it, and honestly so did I, because the expressions on Malcolm and Daphne’s faces were amazing. It wasn’t so funny, however, when later that night I heard her talking to Nicodemus about how she would go about doing such a thing. I had to explain to her why it was that Baz killed himself: because he was his mother’s son, who killed herself when she was bitten. It was heartbreaking, even if I wasn’t using his name. Mordelia was mollified, though, shrugging it off and saying, “Well, it was worth it for their expressions. Aleister Crowley, did you see how purple father went?”

The only reason Mordelia was even there was because of a remembrance thing that the Grimms were throwing for Baz that week; and that’s where she met Niall. She felt that she had finally found someone to talk to about Baz who wasn’t in part responsible for his death like her parents (or I) were. He understood Mordelia’s grief. He asked her to move in with him to get away from it all, and everyone ignored Malcolm’s protests of her arrangement with a faceless, nameless man and Daphne’s warnings of unstable magic. She went, I think, to spite them, but then to everyone’s surprise, her magic settled. They got married not too long after that.

She told me about the engagement (before anyone else) over coffee where I usually met Niall and Dev. “It’s just…” she trailed off, watching her coffee stir itself with a spoon intently. “He makes me quiet,” she finished, nodding to herself.

I remember thinking about how strange it was that love can feel so differently to different people. If anything, I felt quiet back then, watching her ring glint in the sunlight. But for me, quiet had always been filled with emptiness.

It makes sense that all I can feel these days is fire.

Realizing that I love Baz is one of the most awful things I’ve had to experience. It was just a regular morning, and he rolled over snuggling close to use my chest as a pillow. His hair spilled out all over my shoulder, and I just- I felt it like a tug. Like how magic feels (used to feel). And I knew, in that moment, I was doomed. We were doomed.

People I care about never make it out alive. Now that’s a dark thought. Eons ago, when I figured this out, I decided I didn’t deserve love if all it did was hurt others. I decided it would be easier to just be empty like I was, if only to save everyone else.

Anyway, I don’t know why they used me as an emotional outlet, as if talking to me was like talking to Baz since I was the last one to see him. All it did for me was dredge up things I wanted desperately to bury, but it seemed to give them some relief. I felt like talking to me further strained the fact that they couldn’t communicate as a family, but at least they were showing some semblances of humanity.

Even after all of this ametur theraputic shit, how am I supposed to tell Baz about Nicodemus? How do I tell the Grimms about Baz?

I pick up the old photo while Baz is busy getting dressed and decide to be very “Simon Snow” about the whole thing.

As soon as Baz is ready, I get him in the car and drive to Hampshire without thinking twice.

BAZ

They say that coming home is hard because the changes are too difficult to handle. It’s been twenty years, though, and what’s scaring me the most is the lack of change.

I was shocked to see wrinkles on Penny’s face and unknown freckles on Simon’s.  The turns and twists on the road that leads to the Pitch estate, however, are the same as they’ve ever been. The forest is still, and though I used to know each branch and leaf and tree I have to look away now. It’s too quiet in there.

Simon has become the noise of my life, the thing that has made me feel the most alive since coming back. I should probably tell him.

But the feeling is too close to the charcoaled words I told him two decades ago in a forest fire. I don’t think either of us could handle that, not yet.

Despite being creeped out by the static state that I left my homeland in, I’m wholeheartedly enjoying watching Simon navigate the road with one hand with the other on the console, held firmly in mine.

SIMON

Baz’s eyes have closed by the time we pull up the driveway to his house. I can see several cars out front, including Fiona’s. No hope that she and Nico won’t be here, then.

I shake Baz awake. He starts, and grabs my hand in a death grip, but realizes it’s me and says, “Oh.”

“We’re here.”

He swallows, looking nervous.

“I don’t know how to tell them,” I elaborate, seeking his help.

“Well, you certainly aren’t going to tell them wearing that, are you?”

I look down, and I remember I’m still in casual wear, or what the Grimms and Baz would only refer to as pyjamas or garden clothes. I’m about to ask just what he plans on doing about it before he turns and reaches around for something in the back seat. He grabs a bag and throws it into my lap.

Upon opening the bag, I sigh. “Of course you’ve brought suits when what we really need is a plan.”

“But we won’t be able to stay for dinner if we don’t wear them.”

“You’re alive, Baz, I don’t think they’ll care about what we’re wearing.”

“It’s called dignity, Snow,” he smirks. I throw the bag at him. “Okay!” he shouts, “Sorry, sorry. But seriously. Put one on.”

“This was just a plot to get me to wear a suit for once, wasn’t it?”

BAZ

It’s not my fault Simon looks stunning in a grey suit.

SIMON

Baz rolls his eyes and says, “Obviously.”

Once we’re both dressed, I try halfheartedly to come up with a plan. Which is to say, I ask Baz if he’s come up with one yet.

“I think,” he starts, but shakes his head, as if he’s trying to erase an idea. “I think you should tell them you had several Visitings. Then I think you should explain the whole Purgatory thing Bunce came up with-”

“That was her colleague’s idea, not her own. And besides, I hardly remember why it works.”

“Don’t interrupt me, but fine, don’t tell them. Maybe instead tell them that your last Visiting was different. From there on, wing it.”

“Wing it? Since when do you deign to speak slang like that-” I begin to ask, but stop. Then I sigh. “Penny told you about the wings?”

“Penny told me about the wings,” he confirms, laughing, “And just for the record, I wish I could have seen the tail.”

“Don’t joke about it,” I say, almost pleading. “I worked hard to avenge your mother.”

Baz’s face softens, and he reaches for me, dragging one of his thumbs across my lips. They burn.

“I know,” he says, before pulling me into a deep kiss. It feels like I pull away an hour later.

“If we really want to do this, we can’t keep stalling. I’ll come get you when we’re ready, yeah?”

Baz pulls away, nodding, and lays against the seat. “Good luck,” he whispers, and I squeeze his hand before I leave the car, making my way to the front door.

I’d forgotten the path to the door is now lined by small basil plants. It’s overwhelming, because that’s not really what he smells like, and I rush to knock on the door.

I immediately regret this because it gives me no time to think about what I’m going to say to them about Baz.

Luckily enough for me, Edmund opens the door. When he registers my face, he says, a bit dejectedly, “Oh.”

“Yeah, Ed I know, but, look- can I come in? I need to talk to you and your family before dinner.”

His lips turn down at the corners but his eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Yeah, um, sure. You’re always welcome here,” he says, a bit awkwardly. The Grimm children were never as refined as Baz was. Edmund stands aside, holding the door open for me, and I enter.

After Baz died, the Grimms did some serious redecoration. Daphne told me she couldn’t stand living in such a dark and creepy house anymore, much to Malcolm’s shock.

“Darling, I thought you loved this place! You said it was vintage,” he had scolded.

“Of course I did!” she responded, “But it was never my home. Home, for sure, but never mine.”

Malcolm had to concede to that. Fiona especially was impressed with Daphne’s readiness to change, and was the first to volunteer to take down every dark draping or outdated wallpaper.

The house is still huge, of course, but it’s much brighter. There are skylights wherever appropriate and luxurious chandeliers in the spaces between. The entire back of the house is basically one large window with a sliding back door. All the furniture is any variance of the light, neutral colors that somehow all look good against one another. As far as I know, the only room that hasn’t changed is Baz’s; that’s where they let me stay when I come to visit. I don’t think they realized how uncomfortable it made me to lie there with all these memories being watched by forty two wooden gargoyles carved into the frame.

I’m glad now that they haven’t changed it, because he might be a little shell shocked when he gets sunburnt by walking into the house (I mean, it’s not that bad, but the point is that it’s bloody bright in here. Nicodemus really tries to avoid coming here in the mornings and late afternoons. I would have thought it was comical if it didn’t make me think of all the times I opened up the curtains in our turret just to piss Baz off).

Edmund leads me to the sitting room where everyone’s having tea. “Simon’s here,” he announces lamely, and a bit too late. Everyone is seated on the beige circular couch, gaping up at me. Daphne is the first to snap out of it, getting up and pulling me into a hug. She tugs me towards an open space and sends the maid (nurse? Nanny? I’ve never figured it out), Vera, to fetch more tea and scones.

Malcolm is looking at me with all the intent in the world, and I try to scan the room for a more friendly face, but Mordelia and Niall aren’t there, which is really odd. Neither is Aldora’s fiance, who is kind but who’s name I can’t ever remember.

In my efforts to discern where Mordelia could be hiding herself, her husband, and two children, I miss Aldora saying something and I’m suddenly being passed an envelope by Cedany. I look at her in confusion, and she murmurs, “Save the date.”

“Oh, thank you,” I respond.

“You can bring a plus one, too,” adds Daphne. She, like my old boss, is obsessed by me finding happiness through dating people. Even though this family is half the reason I wouldn’t have; dating someone else would have felt too much like I was moving on.

I decide that this is a good place to start, and ignore warming up to the topic with talks of my other Visitings. I can’t keep this secret anymore- I just want it on someone else’s shoulders, and then I don’t have to deal with it anymore.

“I will, thank you.”

Fiona narrows her eyes at me, and Nicodemus raises his eyebrows. His eyes are too intense for me right now, and I feel like he’s reading my mind, even though I know he can’t (do I really, though? What does anyone know about vampires, anyway?).

Nicodemus blinks, and I swear he quirks a bit of a smile. “No way.”

See what I mean? I have reason to believe that vampires can read minds.

“Who is it then?” Daphne asks, interested.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“Baz.”

For a moment, no one moves a muscle. The sun begins to set behind them, and I notice that Nicodemus has seated himself in a clever, shadowy area of the room. All I can hear is breathing and birdsong, until:

“How dare you.” Firm and low comes Malcolm’s voice.

“You’re very fortunate that Mordelia is late,” is Daphne’s shrill cry.

Malcolm stands and points to the door. “Get out.”

I suck at this.

Cedany, my saviour, and ever the voice of reason, says, “Wait a moment. Simon would never hurt you intentionally. Why don’t you let him explain himself?”

Fiona has her mouth covered with a hand, and Nicodemus looks amused. He must not have missed how Cedany subtly pointed out that she and her present siblings were not the ones grieving for a brother they never knew.

“He came back when the Veil lifted,” I say in a rush, before any of them have a chance to protest. Once I have all of their undivided attention, I begin again. “That week, I was Visited four times: the first day, by my mum, Lucy Salisbury-”

“Oh good heavens,” Daphne gasps, “I know Lady Salisbury, her mother.”

As much as I want to know more, I have to continue. “And my dad, who turned out to be the Mage-”

Nicodemus, Fiona, and Malcolm all jump to their feet and begin to yell. This is why I didn’t forgive my father. The lasting impression he’s made brings out the worst in people.

“Stop!” I yell over them, but none of them are listening.

“Simon says,” Edmund whispers, pointing his wand at me.

Almost at the same time, but a bit delayed, I yell again, “Stop!” but this time, it comes out with magic and forces them to shut up and sit down.

Despite the positive outcome, I glare at Edmund. “That spell is dangerous. They could have died.”

Edmund just shrugged, leaning back in his seat while tucking his wand back in his pocket. I realize that they’ve always been dead to him, because he was never important enough.

In fussing over what went wrong with their eldest, the Grimms and Fiona neglected to right their wrongs by raising the younger children better. Maybe this is why Mordelia is always so up in arms with her parents.

“And Ebb. Not for secrets, just for company. I think,” I swallow, “I think she knew he was coming. And he did. Just, showed up to my door the last day of the Veil being open and walked right in. He wasn’t misty or white or anything- he was alive.”

“If he was alive, he couldn’t have done that,” Nicodemus chided. “We have to be invited, remember?”

I shake my head, searching in my pocket for that old photo. I take it out and pass it to him. “His skin looked like that. Full color.”

The photo is passed around before eventually landing with Malcolm, whose eyes become a bit blurry at the edges. “I took this,” I hear him whisper to Daphne.

“I had this old cross that burnt him just before-” I don’t want to say it, so I continue, assuming they know what I mean, “Before. He touched it that day and felt nothing. I also gave him back his wand-”

“His wand?” Malcolm’s voice is strained. “His wand disintegrated years ago. You told us that.”

“Yeah, well, I lied, didn’t I?” I snap. I can’t believe they keep finding excuses. It’s like they don’t want to believe that Baz is back. “It takes a lot more heat than that to ruin ivory.”

Malcolm sits back, stumped.

“I wanted to keep it,” I say tenderly. “I’m sorry. I should have given it back- but then, he wouldn’t have been able to practice his magic, would he?”

“You mean, he stayed after it closed?” Daphne gasped.

“Yes.” Everyone takes in a breath.

I’m the first to let it out. I allow myself a small smile. “I know. I woke up, and he was still next to me, and I was so spooked I actually fell out of bed.”

“But the Veil closed a month ago,” says Fiona, “Why are you only telling us now?”

This is kind of embarrassing. “We’ve, er, been… busy. Catching up.”  I reach my hand up to scratch at the back of my head, blushing furiously.

Both Aldora and Cedany giggle while Edmund smirks knowingly. Malcolm has his nose scrunched up in an obvious look of distaste. I wish Mordelia was here to tell him off.

“Get over yourself Malcolm,” Fiona snapped from across the room, “Your boy is back. Now is the time to be accepting.”

He frowns, and with his nose still wrinkled up, it looks like he’s sneering at me. “I don’t think I’m fully convinced.”

The family falls silent again, contemplating this. I know it’s time to bring out the big guns.

“I’ll be right back,” I promise, before turning and heading to the door.

BAZ

When I hear the front door open and close, I don’t even wait until I see Simon to get out of the car. I’m already anxious, might as well force myself to do this. The walk towards him is lined with small basil plants amongst other assorted herbs, and that kind of creeps me out, because no one in my family has ever been the gardening sort.

Simon, not paying attention, almost runs into me on his way back. I grab his shoulders to steady him, he startles.

“Baz?” he asks, as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

“Here,” I say, squeezing his shoulder and quickly kissing his cheek. I can feel his body unclench.

“What’s with all the herbs? My family’s never gardened like this before.”

“Your dad’s side is the magickal-agricultural type, remember? But these are all Daphne’s. Occupational therapy, you know,” he adds, but I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything less than why.

“There’s mostly basil in there,” he presses.

“Funnily enough, my vision works quite well, Snow. I just don’t understand why, is all.”

He’s giving me the face he makes when I’m being unnecessarily cruel or inconsiderate.

“Because the only thing on my wall just happened to be a painting of a violin, Baz? Basilton ? Come on, you’re not that thick.”

The realization makes my skin prickle. It reminds me of seeing Simon’s fake Picasso for the first time: knowing how people desperately tried to fill the Baz- shaped holes in their lives makes me feel guilty all over.

His face softens as he sees me shutting down. He reaches up to bring one of my hands to his lips. “I’m sorry we never told you sooner, how much you meant to us.”

“Aleister Crowley,” I meet his gaze, “You understand.”

Simon just nods and leads me towards the front door. “Are you ready?”

I just look at him. “Coming home has always been hard.”

He nods. Opens the door.

And I’m home, I’m finally home-

Except.

This is not the place I knew twenty years ago. Everything inside is shining brilliantly with the light of the setting sun; I’ve never seen so many windows and skylights in my life. The antique furniture remains, but modern pieces have been mixed in. The walls are a simple shade of light brown, making everything look warm but pristine. Pale blue and green colors are everywhere, different hues spattered against them as the sun sets. I feel like I have to squint to move to the next room.

“Different, isn’t it?” asks Simon, looking around.

“That’s an understatement,” I murmur, but I don’t know if it’s the house I’m mourning or my childhood.

He squeezes my hand and says, “They left your room the same. The bed’s still got those weird wooden gargoyles all over it.”

I grin. “You’re tasteless, Snow.”

Simon gives me a sad smile. “Come on, they’re just finishing up tea.” When we walk into the sitting room, the light is so intense (an entire wall is missing. They’ve just replaced it with huge glass windows and a sliding glass door) that I only see my family silhouetted against the dying of the light. And then they all move at once, way too fast for my vision to react (which is saying something, considering that I kept all the extrasensory perceptions that a vampire has). The next thing I know, six arms are groping for me, and three voices apologizing all at once. Then I hear something I’ve never heard before in my life, and never could have even imagined.

I hear my family, and myself, crying into each other’s shoulders.

SIMON

Even though everyone moves when we arrive, it’s only Malcolm, Daphne, and Fiona who move towards Baz. The rest step away from the emotional scene. The group hug they’re giving him is breaking my heart, and the way that they’re all collectively crying is beautiful. I want to join in, but, for once, I need to think one step ahead. What’s going to happen when they release him and he sees Nicodemus standing five meters away?

I slip my hand between the tangle of bodies until I find Baz’s wand where it’s sticking out of his pant’s pocket. I grab it and hide it in a vase full of eglantine roses and then walk towards the other group.

“Is that really him?” Cedany asks. I barely have time to nod before Aldora adds, “He’s a lot more handsome than I imagined.”

“He better not leave again,” is all Edmund contributes before folding his arms and frowning.

Nicodemus is silent but is intently watching the group, waiting for Baz to react.

“How is it even possible?” Cedany questions me.

“You’ll have to ask him or Penny. I’ve stopped remembering all of it.”

“I mean, he looks really good for being forty,” Aldora continues.

“Hey, watch it. We’re both thirty eight.”  

“Ugh, who even counts after twenty nine?” Aldora says, waving me off with a hand.

“Rational people,” answers Cedany, and they begin to bicker about the relevance of age in society. Edmund says nothing, but when I notice that his attention has waved between the twins and something beyond my shoulder, I know Baz must have turned around.

Baz and Nicodemus are having some kind of stand off. In all reality, it just looks like a really intense staring contest, but I know that Baz’s eyes can feel lethal. I step closer to him so I can stop him if I need to. He reaches behind his back, presumably to draw his wand, but doesn’t show on his face that he can’t find it. He lowers his hand back down, casually, as if he wasn’t about to duel a wandless mage.

I swear everyone now is holding their breath. Cedany and Aldora have stopped their argument for the sake of watching this tension unfold.

Then Nicodemus does the stupidest thing he could have done in this situation. He relaxes, crossing his arms and looking Baz up and down.

He says, “Well, look at you. Somehow still living the dream.”

I don’t even register what Baz picks up from the tea table beside him. All I do is jump in front of him, grabbing at his hand to stop whatever it is he’s about to throw. Whatever it is hits my skin with a sickening sizzle and pop and I hiss while Baz tries to pull away from my grip. At this point, all I can do is hope that Fiona has-

“Stand your ground!”

-her wand. She’s a fierce magician, I don’t mind saying.

Baz stops struggling with his arms and instead tries to shake his legs to get his feet unspelled from the floor, to no avail. I look at my left palm, and am astounded to see a deep burn, already oozing blood and another clearish liquid. Shocked, I look to see what Baz picked up from the table.

Of course. One of the long candle stems.

He was going to set Nicodemus on fire.

“That was stupid of you,” chides Fiona. She looks rather pissed.

“I couldn’t help it, I’m sorry,” Nico says, pained.

“You couldn’t help being an arse? Jesus, Nico!”

“He tried to throw a candle at me!”

“And he set himself on fire because of you! Now you’re even,” Fiona deadpans sarcastically.

“Fi, don’t be like-”

“Not now. You should probably leave.”

Nicodemus just grunts and shuffles out of the room. When he passes by Baz, who still tries to lunge after him despite being stuck to the ground, he mutters, “It’s actually good to have you back, kid.”

Baz watches him leave, sneering in a way that makes me think he’s forgotten that he doesn’t have fangs anymore. When the front door shuts, he turns to everyone and says, “What the fuck, Fiona.” Not even asking questions.

“Baz, please-” but he cuts me off with a scathing look, full of hatred.

“That was the other thing you weren’t telling me, wasn’t it?”

I shrug, and it pisses him off. “Snow, you imbecile,” he scowls loudly.

I look up to the ceiling as if strength will fall from the sky. “Don’t start this again, Baz. There’s no paintings to throw me through.”

Instead of sobering him instantly, like I thought it would, he deliberately looks toward the window wall.

“You’d better be joking,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

He mimics my expression, clenching his jaw. “Fucking try me,” he growls.

“You’re being,” someone says from behind me, “a dick.”

I turn slightly, and Edmund is suddenly standing with his fists clenched at his side.

“Simon is just trying to help, because Nicodemus is our family now,” he continues, moving closer to where Baz is stuck to the ground. “And what a relief, too, because he was the only one who never wanted to talk about you. The only one who took interest into Cedany’s studies or Aldora’s love life or, hell, anything I did, because everyone else was too busy mourning you.”

Baz looks stricken.

“I don’t know you, and neither do the twins. As far as we’re concerned, you’re a stranger. Don’t ever try to attack our family again. People who do that don’t have much of a lifespan, I hear.”

I wince, and everyone knows he’s talking about the Mage.

Edmund waits a moment for Baz to respond, but he’s been rendered speechless. He huffs, and says, “Look, what Nico said- and did- was fucked up, okay? I won’t deny that. But at the end of the day, it comes down to family, like it always has. It’s not Nicodemus’s fault you were raised to hate yourself, is it? It wasn’t him who made you feel,” Edmund looks a bit choked up, “like… like you’re never enough. Alright? It’s not his fault.”

And he stalked off, tears threatening to fall down his cheeks.

Baz turns to his father, brow furrowed, and asks, “What did you do to him?”

Malcolm sputters indignantly, but Cedany answers, “Nothing.”

“And that’s the problem,” finishes Aldora, “they never did anything.”

BAZ

Nicodemus aside, I can’t believe how dysfunctional our family has become. Its somehow worse than when I left them.

Edmund stomped off in tears after projecting his own emotions onto me, and the twins (I don’t know which is which; they have the same face, although one is sporting a stylish pixie cut and designer clothes while the other has a messy bun and trackies) are defending him against their own parents. My own parents.

They look as though they might explode, actually. Which makes me realize that they’ve never even talked about this issue before, much less sorted it out.

I guess the interior decor is the only thing that’s changed about this family.

“So, you all continued to make the same mistakes you made with me.”

My father, Daphne, and Fiona all wince. I fall forward because Fiona’s spell loses hold.

Simon’s at my side immediately, even after I’ve threatened to throw him out the window.

I’m not good for him.

I use my right arm to push him away and stand up on my own. Simon follows, but his jaw is clenched, and he won’t look at me. I wonder if he’s just realized I’m no good for him, and also just what in the fresh hell is he doing here defending me to my psychotic family.

“I feel like this would be better to discuss over dinner,” my father says.

Simon laughs bitterly. “Postponing the shitstorm won’t make it any better, Malcolm.”

“But it will allow time for Mordelia, Niall and the kids to arrive,” Daphne argues, “And we might as well have the whole family here for it.”

“The whole family?” Fiona scoffs. “I think Nico and I will pass. I’d rather not bring home his ashes.”

I growl at her, but Simon clutches my arm, “Baz and Nicodemus will both be on their best behavior if anything is going to be solved tonight.”

Fiona scowls, but Simon seems to take this as an agreement. “Let’s go,” he whispers into my ear, and the way he says it sends shivers down my side. He’s angry.

I let him pull me upstairs.

SIMON

I’m taking him to his room so he can at least feel comfortable when I yell at him. But almost as soon as we get there, he starts crying.

I swear I’m not pathetic. I have a reason that I find it so hard to be mad at Baz.

I’m in love with him.

That’s scary, because everyone (except Penny, because she’s invincible) I’ve loved has died, but there’s something even worse: I think he loves me too. And I’m terrified that he’s going to say so, and then disappear.

Disappear because that was his truth. Just like my mother’s was that she loved me, the Mage’s was that he was my father, and Ebb’s that she was still my good friend. They all left soon after saying their truths.

I fear that Baz will look me in the eye and say, whole heartedly, “I love you, Simon.” because it will be just like last time he said it except worse because I was teased with the hope that he was alive, and real, and that he would stay. I fear that he will say those words then fade away just like everyone else I loved did.

That’s why I can’t stay mad at Baz: I don’t want that to be my last emotion towards him.

And also, I just can’t bring myself to dislike him, because it makes me feel cold and empty inside, just like before.

Anyway.

There’s a dried and shriveled amaranth under a layer of cobwebs on his antique dresser, and he picks it up, frowning.

“Why is all this still here?”

“Nobody’s touched this room, except me, in twenty years. And even then, I’ve only slept on the couch.

His eyes cut to the couch, and something about it makes his stare hold, and the flower drop. It’s delicate branches snap off and scatter across the floorboards, leaving small broken petals in their wake.

I have to remind myself I’m mad at him as I start to see tears form in his eyes. Whatever it is, he walks towards it and snatches it off the couch.

I’m behind him, so he’s shielding whatever it is. I take care not to crush the fallen flower even further when I get nearer to him. In his hands is a large book with the title “Remember the Magic.”

There are tears streaming down his cheeks, and he can’t stop looking at the book.

“What happened,” he whispers, “after?”

“Penny and I figured out that the Humdrum was just me taking everyone’s magic, and on the way to tell the Mage, we figured out he was the one to kill your mother. He was withdrawing his sword out of Ebb’s body when we got there, and I just-”

“No I know that part, I mean directly after.”

I start to shake. I knew he would ask me this eventually, but it breaks my heart to replay it all in my mind anyway.

I close my eyes.

What happened, indeed.

~~~~~

What happened was that though Baz’s spell was effective enough to get me out of his fiery circle of hell without breaking any bones it was nothing compared to what came after.

I’ve always known what it feels like to have a star go nova in your chest; it happened back then all the time. But I’d never actually seen it. I knew the instant Baz was gone because I felt the shockwave hammer straight into my soul, and the bright fire shining like silver shooting into the trees, and it seemed to ignite the night sky.

I was still surrounded by flames. Hyperventilating from the smoke and the shock of it all.

I kept thinking, You idiot, how could you, over and over and over. I thought I was going to die, and I was pissed that he wasn’t there to do it, even if it was overtly his fault.

I kept thinking, I never even knew he was gay. And then, I never even knew, full stop, because at that moment Baz seemed more like a boy than a villain or a monster.

I kept thinking of all the ways I should have stopped it, because he loved me, because I was the last thing he held on too, but I wasn’t enough, even though he promised me I would “save us all.”

Save who? The world of Mages? Baz himself told me I was the worst Chosen One to ever have been chosen. Well, it bloody well wasn’t my fault. It’s not a title I asked for or even wanted.

And I couldn’t have even saved him.

It all made me feel like a failure. I couldn’t stop shaking and I couldn’t stop feeling my lips and forehead, the last places he touched-

That’s when I went off; but it was different this time. I went off and I sucked all the fire into me, and the trees went back to the way they were. Nothing was charred or burnt.

I was immediately sick, though, as if I had not only sucked in the fire but also the very magic that created it. That's when the Humdrum showed up, saying that he was so close to becoming a part of me instead of just an echo. All it took for Penny to figure it all out was those few words.

Before I left the newly restored clearing, however, I walked over to where atop a huge pile of ash lay an ivory wand with a singed leather handle. This is around the time Baz stopped being Baz and became simply him. I buried him in one of my lists.

I wish I could say that telling his family the news was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but it wouldn’t be true in the slightest. I walked into the Pitch mansion dirty and splotchy red insisting to Vera that it couldn’t wait. She directed me to the dining room, and what a shock that was for them (probably) to look up and see me smeared with ash and clothing partly singed off- without Baz. The plate of eggs Daphne had been passing to Mordelia dropped and shattered on the ground, eggs sloshing onto the carpet.

They probably assumed the worst. And of course, the worst did technically happen, but I think they were picturing the End Fight that was supposed to happen, the one that would have decided the outcome of a tedious war.

Malcolm rattled off “Tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!”

That’s why it was so easy to tell them. I just sat in a comfy chair and let the spell take over the story. It’s why they know everything, including his secret pining for me.

We were all crying once my truth had been told. Malcolm’s usually expressionless face sunk tenfold and dry salt stained his cheekbones because the tears all but ran out. The twins had left the room a bit before, but Edmund as a baby just looked bored.  Mordelia started screaming and was in complete denial until she insisted I show them all the ashes, and I did.

That was the first time Mordelia’s magic went awry, although we didn’t know it was her back then. I showed her the ashes, and a tree branch fell behind us.

Mordelia… I don’t know how she’s going to take seeing Baz again.

Oh well. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

BAZ

Simon opens his eyes after a few moments of heartbreaking storytelling. His shaking is slowing and his breaths are becoming more even by the second.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, because I don’t know what else to do. He gets up off the couch and goes to sit on my bed. I walk over with him and lean on the bedpost.

“I’m still mad,” Simon replies, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. But he doesn’t look mad, he just looks really tired. Like I’ve exhausted him.  One of his hands looks a bit mottled as he brings them back into his lap and turns slowly to look at me.

“It’s just-” he blusters, but I cut him off by grabbing his hands and pulling them toward me. I end up sitting cross legged right next to him. I look at the hand he was cradling, and am shocked to see that there are second degree burns on his palm.

“Is this just from the candle?” Simon nods and I curse. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat.  

“I won’t say it’s okay. Because it isn’t- but I’ve already forgiven you,” he answers.

“How can you be like this?” I whisper. “After I’ve hurt you so bad?”

“Because hating you for it is harder, and I don’t want to spend whatever time we have left fighting.”

My eyes snap his. “Simon. Are you saying-”

“Don’t!” He’s shaking. “Please.”

I stare at him because he’s looking away so it won’t matter what I do. “You have to help me understand. Because I promise,” I scoot closer to him, winding an arm around his waist and pulling him against me, “that I am not going to leave you.”

“Not willingly ,” says Simon dryly.

His blue eyes bore into mine. I’m suddenly reminded that I love him.

And Crowley, I want to tell him. So much. But what if he reacts badly because it’s pretty much the last thing I said to him?

Simon is still a bit shaky. I use my strength to sit him up properly against the headboard, then kneel between his legs. He’s got a curious expression on his face, and I feel a bit silly too, seeing as I’m about to kiss him senseless as if we were teenagers instead of thirty eight year olds.

Oh well.

He tastes like the expensive, exotic tea that Daphne always buys. The kiss is like the one on the first day I came back; like we were both remembering. Remembering something so important and surreal.

When I pull back and rest my forehead against his, he’s still got an odd look in his eye. I put my hands on either side of his face and kiss his forehead. His breath hitches, and I know he’s thinking of how I did this in the fire, because I am too. Simon’s hands fly up to capture my wrists, but nothing could push me back now. This emotion has been inside me almost the entirety of my life, and not even Merlin himself can stop me from saying it.

Simon’s eyes have squeezed shut in this process, and I wait for them to open. When they do, it’s slowly, and his breathing is shallow. My hands hold him fast.

“I love you.”

He stops breathing

“Hey,” I say, shaking him. “Breathe. In and out. With me, come on now.”

Simon’s looking at me like he’s terrified, but he matches our breathing anyway. He’s moving his burnt hand up to mine, the one with the cross in it. He chuckles, but his eyes are wet.

“What?”

He looks at me through misty blue eyes. Smiling.

I’d do anything for that smile.

“We match.”

“Why?” I turn over our hands and examine them. “Because we both have burns on our palms?”

“Nah,” he smiles again, casting his eyes down as he blushes. “I mean, yes- but that’s not what I was going to say.”

Simon stops talking, but he’s doing that thumb on hand rubbing thing that makes anyone in a relationship week.

He looks up at me again, and relief is spread all over his face, although I don’t know why.

“I love you too,” he says, and it feels like my insides are burning as he tackles me onto the bed.

SIMON

“You didn’t disappear,” I say, exasperated, between kisses.

“You’re literally on top of me, Snow. How could I have disappeared?”

He’s being cheeky, and I love him for it. I love him for it. What a relief that I can say it now.

I push up on my elbows so that I’m looking down on him. His dark hair is splayed against the satin red duvet, and silver eyes are gleaming up in amusement like happy diamonds. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“All the other Visitors disappeared,” I started, and he frowns. “You weren’t- aren’t- like them, I know. But I thought- maybe you didn’t express your love enough. That maybe it was your truth.”

He’s still frowning at me, brow crinkled and everything.

“But I tried to feed you to a chimaera,” he pouts, “I thought that was really romantic.”

I’m shocked out of words, and I push up again so I’m on my hands and knees, still straddling him. Baz is looking at me with a stony serious face, but after a moment he breaks into laughter, a smile literally splitting across his face.

“Oh Merlin, Simon. Your face.”

I know I’m turning redder by the minute. “Shut up. You’ve got a funny face yourself.”

He snorts. “Excellent comeback, Snow. Points for creativity.”

I lean down to kiss him again to wipe the smug expression off his face (and because I love kissing him. Honestly, it’s hard to stop). Baz responds immediately, lifting his entire body up by tucking his elbows underneath himself and pushing, more like shoving, his face into mine. I mean, really, it’s like he’s trying to attack me.

Just as suddenly as he starts, Baz stops. One of his long fingers comes up to trace my jaw. He nudges his nose against mine, turning my face until his lips are pressed against my ear. When he speaks, it sends chills throughout my body.

“I will never disappear again.”

I shudder for multiple obvious reasons.

“I love you, Simon, and that’s what binds me to Earth.”

He lays back down, and even though I’m above him, I feel so vulnerable and open. He uses the hand that’s on my face to turn me back towards him. Once we’re having what feels like a staring contest, his hands slide into my hair and my eyelids flutter closed.

“Gorgeous,” I hear him whispering out in one breath, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud, like the words crawled out of his lips and straight into my heart of their own accord.

I look at him. Baz has the softest smile and the most cloudy eyes on the planet.

“And you… Well, your love brought me back, didn’t it?”

He’s right, as always. I kiss him as a mini reward. Kissing Baz is other worldly. Quite possibly literally. But it’s lovely all the same.

The next time we stop to take a breath, Baz hugs me close and tight. “You do know you deserve this, right? That you, out of all people, deserve to love and be loved in return.”

“Oh Jesus,” I say to his shoulder, “You understand.”

He nods into my neck and presses a soft kiss to my throat.

I scramble (I don’t know why I’m rushing) to get my hands on him, anywhere   on him. Making out is one thing, but actually having Baz’s arse in my hands is quite another. All of this is pushing us closer to the edge of the bed opposite to the headboard, but neither of us notices (or cares). He lifts one of his knees, hooking one of his legs around mine, and presses his hips forward.

My moan is so loud that he laughs at me. “Shh,” he chides, “My entire family is downstairs. We don’t want any unexpected visitors, now do we?”

“Fuck it,” I curse, kissing his neck since he’s so intent on mocking me, “they already know.”

“Yes, but- fuck -” Baz hisses as I bite softly on his earlobe. He really likes this. I can reduce him to a pile of gush if I continue. “Get back here,” he demands, but not unkindly. I oblige.

It’s almost funny, making out as if we’re sneaky teenagers. I’m half expecting someone to catch us going at it, just like in the movies.

I say almost funny because it’s not really that funny when it actually happens.

BAZ

It really shouldn’t be a surprise that someone caught us, and it shouldn’t be a surprise who caught us.

I mean, honestly, has the girl ever fucking knocked in her life?

If she has, she isn’t doing it now.

Mordelia is opening the door while saying, “Simon? The family said that you needed to talk to me before di-” but not finishing the sentence.

I can’t blame her for staring because I’m sure we look ridiculous. Simon, flushed above me, mouth open in shock (and because no one ever taught him to close it), and me, head hanging over the edge of the bed looking straight at the door. The hair, I’m sure, is creating a halo around my face, but there’s also a giant hickey on my neck (probably) and since there is a man straddling me and obviously turned on, I doubt I look very saint-like.

When Mordelia peels her eyes off of me and puts them back onto the specimen above me, all he says is, “Um.” And somehow it’s eloquent (maybe because I could not have done any better myself).

“Simon. Who is this?” she asks sharply. It stings a bit that she doesn’t recognize me, but then I think maybe she’s in disbelief.

I certainly am. Mordelia has seriously grown up. She must have gotten braces at some point, her teeth are perfectly straight and her pink lips close over them easily. Brown hair falls shoulder length in waves. Her eyeliner looks sharp enough to cut anyone who looks at her the wrong way, and the clothes she’s wearing look comfortable (she does have two kids, after all) but obviously designer.

Mordelia, in short, looks great, and it’s infinitely worse than seeing Penny aged, because Mordelia was young before but she’s still so young but yet so mature. It’s hard to explain.

“Um,” Simon tries again, “This is Baz?”

She looks at us both with the most unamused and unimpressed expression on her face. She turns to leave, and “Mother said to bring you down for dinner,” is casually thrown over her shoulder (with her eyes narrowed into slits) as she stalks out of the room. We listen as the sounds of her heeled thigh-highs melt into the background.

Simon and I are both staring at the door where Mordelia had just been, but we’re put back into reality when there’s a childish scream and giggle from somewhere downstairs, presumably coming from one of Mordelia’s kids.

“Um,” Simon repeats, “why was that so odd?”

“What was so odd about it?”

“I just mean that she was totally fine with you being here, almost like she expected it to happen. And her magic- I expected her magic to…” he trails off noticing something on the floor. He climbs off of me in a hurry, running to crouch and grab at what I can’t see because I’m too busy rolling onto my stomach.

Simon stands slowly, a full, blossoming amaranth in his hands, the very one that was on my dresser when we came in.

And suddenly, I remember who gave it to me.

As soon as I came home for winter holiday that last year, Mordelia handed me a flower and said, “I saw this at the park, and it was so pretty it reminded me of you.” It was this very flower. I remember being extremely touched, even giving her a hug in thanks.

“She gave this to you, didn’t she?” Simon asks.

I nod, resting my chin on my hands.

A slow, sad smile grows and stretches across Simon’s face until it’s become my world.

“You know,” he says, tucking the long flower in my hair behind my ears, “This is the first time I’ve truly felt that everything was going to be okay.”

~~~~~

Dinner, to my surprise, is actually quite pleasant. Daphne and Vera have cooked up some sort of Spanish feast, and it’s delicious. Everyone is getting along, even if that’s only because I haven’t even glanced at Fiona’s side of the table yet (Simon says that it’s okay if I need time to sort out my issues with Nicodemus).

Mordelia and Niall’s kids are wonderful. I can just tell that they’re great parents, because the way my niece and nephew take to me is fantastic. They want to know all about my adventures with Simon from our school years and how it feels to not be a vampire anymore. Father stiffens at this a bit, it’s clear he’s still not comfortable with magickal beings that aren’t mages. But the kids, Elizabeth and Oliver, were raised with stories of their mother’s travels and the research she’s done, and it all gives me this sickeningly optimistic outlook for the World of Mages.  

“Speaking of your research,” Simon interrupts at some point during a conversation about the existence of cave nymphs in South America, “why weren’t you surprised at all that Baz was-”

“Underneath you and sporting a giant hickey?”

Father actually spits some of the wine he’s drinking back into the glass and Daphne tries unsuccessfully to not let a laugh escape at the sight of it. Simon blushes cherry red, but I just snort, because she’s not wrong, and because Mordelia’s smirk looks like she stared at photos of me doing it until she got it right. Good on her, I’m very proud.

“Well, who do you think funded Penny’s studies?”

He’s gaping at her. “I thought it was just the university.”

“Oh please,” Mordelia scoffs, waving a hand, “UC San Diego is filled with Normals in the administration. They hardly even accept magickal students, supposedly on accident, since that’s not actually part of the application. And it’s not, but it is kind of a weird coincidence.” She chews a lip thoughtfully, “Maybe we should look into that.”

After a moment, she shakes her head. “I digress. What I meant to say is that I gathered a team of people interested in studying the afterlife, the Veil, the Visitings, and other such phenomenon and asked politely if UCSD would give them a place to perform their research. They couldn’t tell me no once I said I was willing to pay for the new building.”

“So they were really just conducting those tests for you?” I ask.

Mordelia’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nah,” she says, less formally. “It was for you.”

I don’t know what to say to this.

“So you knew about Penny’s colleague's hypothesis?”

“Well it’s a theory now, isn’t it? They’ll have real proof once Baz lets himself be known and gives them an interview. But yeah, I knew. I didn’t allow myself to get my hopes up, though. They said the arithmancy checked out- even if it was in a weird way- but I never studied arithmancy so the rest of the theory all just sounded like a Greek myth to me.”

“You might have understood the arithmancy if you stayed in school,” grumbled Father at the head of the table, and everyone ignored him. Edmund rolls his eyes so hard I fear they’ll stick in his skull.

“Anyway,” Simon says, clearing his throat. “Did you say they don’t know Baz is back.”

She nodded the affirmative. “Why not?” Simon asks. “I told Penny.”

“But it wasn’t her truth to tell, was it?” Mordelia responds, eyes gleaming. “It’s yours.”

“How could that be my truth and not his?”

“Because you’re the one who’s been telling people, Simon!” Mordelia yells, gesturing with her wine glass at the table full of people before them. She frowns. “Come to think of it, Basil has probably already told his truth. The Veil’s magic would’ve compelled him to say it sooner rather than later.”

“I told him I love him today,” I blurt out, and the noise my father makes involuntarily makes me wish he was just a Visitor.

Simon is giving me a fond look that’s so cheesy it belongs in the movies, but Mordelia is shaking her head like we’re both idiots. “No, that’s too long. Did you ever feel something so deeply that you had to say it out loud?”

I think about that for a moment before remembering that I have.

“Never again,” I whisper, because it kind of hurts my heart to have to say again. The entire family is eavesdropping into the conversation shamelessly at this point, and they all lean closer to me to hear what I have to say.

“Never again,” I repeat more loudly, then meet everyone’s eyes (Yes. Even Nicodemus) before saying, “I really am so sorry.”

Mordelia beams at me, and her children jump out of Niall’s lap where they were previously perched to give me a huge hug. It’s adorable, and I feel like my heart is swelling.

SIMON

Malcolm is trying not to cry and Daphne is sobbing but I barely notice. As Vera clears the dishes away, pausing to give Baz a blank faced look like she’s seeing a ghost, all I can concentrate on how well he’s doing with his niece and nephew. They’re climbing all over him, begging for stories, and he’s just letting it happen. I suppose I expected him to be disgusted with such ill mannered beings, but I was wrong, obviously.

“You’re really good with children,” I tell him later on the ride home. We didn’t spend the night at the mansion because it probably would have been awkward, seeing as the first thing Baz whispered to me as we exited the dining room was, “I’m going to eat you so hard tonight.”

And also because it’s important for Baz to feel like he’s not being suffocated by his various family members. I’m just really excited for the former.

Baz just hums his acknowledgement and looks out the window. We’re out of the countryside by now, and the lights race each other past the glass. One of his hands rests on the center console where a long finger is slowly tapping. I think this is some sort of signal for physical contact wanted, so I oblige. Our fingers slide together easily.

He smiles like he’s trying not to, letting out a small laugh.

“What?” I ask, putting my eyes back on the road before I accidentally drive us into oncoming traffic.

“I just think I realized how much I’ve missed out on,” Baz says, speaking to our hands. My smile falls- I thought the laughter was in joy, not in sorrow.

“Like what?”

“I want what Mordelia has.”

“Success? Happiness?”

“A loving family,” he corrects.

Oh.

“Baz. Are you talking about children?” I look straight at him because this is a very serious conversation, driving be damned. I trust Baz’s reflexes with a wand anyway (which I had returned to him after dinner).  

“Maybe,” he replies, eyes boring straight into mine.

My insides flip over, and then flip over again. It takes all my strength to soothe my outward appearance. I don’t want to look panicked, because even though I am, it’s for all the right reasons. I don’t want to scare him off when I genuinely like this idea.

So I shrug and turn back to the road. Try to contain my smile.

“We’ll need a bigger place to live,” I point out.

“And the city isn’t really a proper place to start a family, is it?”

I peak at him through my peripheral vision. He looks soft.

“You’re right. We need somewhere they can see the stars.”

“We can make it ourselves,” Baz points out.

“House building? You sure know how to woo a man.”

“I’ve had loads of practice, love. Remember that time I pushed you down the stairs?”

~~~~~

Less than an hour later, I’m parking the car in the lot. Baz gets out of the car stretches with his arms over his head, exposing a sliver of his lower back. My mouth waters (just a bit). He catches me staring and smirks- then saunters up the walk to the flat. He's even swinging his hips, the bastard.

It’s a miracle I can even think straight, but I must be able to, since something’s just occurred to me.

“Hey!” I call, running to catch up. As I get there, I start to say his name, but Baz receipts my incoming self and spins me in his arms. He then proceeds to lower me into a dip.

“Yes love?” He asks, kissing my nose. Fuck. He's so distracting.

I try to wrestle out of his grip, but Baz just stands is up and puts a had in my back pocket and another at the behind my neck. Rocking us, only a little.

“How did you find me?”

Baz stills.

“I mean, you don't have to answer right now,” I rush to say, “I didn't mean to upset you, I was only wondering-”

He kisses me forcefully, which is a relief, because I couldn't stop from blabbering otherwise. It's merely a peck, so he's quite quick in responding, “I was called here.”

“To this building?”

“Yes and no. I appeared in the grass, under a tree, just there,” he elaborates, pointing to the lush green corner where the lot ends. It's pitch black out, given, but I've lived here for twenty years and I know exactly which tree he's talking about. I used to sit there with headphones on and people watch, whenever I was feeling particularly glum. Sometimes Penny would bring me out ice cream and a blanket (we still lived together then) and we'd have ourselves a proper urban picnic.

“I had no clue where I was, or what was happening. I remembered catching fire, and I could still feel that thick fog, as if it was still in my throat.” He shivers. “Anyway. I wanted to see you, but didn’t know how. I figured my best shot was to find a public place and start asking around.”

I glance at the starbucks on the other side of the street. He snorts. “Yeah, I went in there. I went and ordered a drink, and then asked the boy working if he knew a Simon Snow. Before he could answer, the woman waiting behind me tapped my shoulder. She looked so eager and said she knew who I was looking for. She pointed across the street, gave me your flat number, and said, ‘You’d better be good company.’”

“Hang on- what did she look like?”

Baz frowns, hand on chin, trying to recall the woman’s appearance. “Short, dirty blonde hair, big green eyes-”

“Kind of a soft looking face?” I ask.

“Yes. Do you know her?”

I laugh and laugh. “Yeah. That was my old boss.”

He looks at me like I’ve gone mad. “Why is that so funny?”

“It’s just- the last thing she said to me was ‘Did you find good company?’ And she was always berating me about…” I trail off.

“About what?” He presses.

“Finding happiness.”

Baz smiles and pulls me to his chest.

“Falling in love.”

Places a tender kiss into my hair.

“And with both of those, creating a future.”

[elumish]

45 Questions About Magic

Who has it?

Who can use it?

Where does it come from?

What does it go through?

Is it active? Passive? Both?

Is it tangible? Visible?

Can magic people sense magic?

Can non-magic people sense magic?

Can non-humans be or have magic?

Can objects be or have magic?

Can it be used by accident?

What are the consequences of using magic? Of not using it?

Do some things (eg causing injury, death, etc.) have greater consequences?

Does level/degree of use correlate to degree of consequences?

Does magic require a bargain (eg service to a god)?

Can someone lose their magic?

Can someone gain magic?

Can magic be transferred or stolen?

Is magic something to be turned on and off or is it always there?

Does a person have a limited amount of magic? Can it be replenished?

Does everyone’s magic manifest the same way?

Does everyone call upon their magic the same way?

Does magic require physical aids? Meditation?

Is strength innate or based on training? Can it change?

How is strength indicated?

Are there physical indicators of magic use?

Is there some sort of test to be allowed to use magic?

To show competency?

To show mastery?

To certify teaching?

Is magic tied to or antithetical to religion?

Must magic obey science?

Does magic operate the same way everywhere?

Does magic operate the same way on everyone/everything?

Is healing possible? Is it telekinetic? Time-based? Done by switching physical health?

Does magic require a sacrifice? Before or after? User’s or others’?

Is magic something a person is? Does? Uses?

How is magic conceptualized? Is that correct?

What can someone do with magic?

What can’t someone do with magic? Why?

What are ethical/moral lines that have been drawn regarding magic? How are they enforced?

Is belief necessary?

Can magic only be done at certain times or in certain places?

How do powerful magic users face consequences from the law?

Is magic something that people want to be?

[blackholehuman]

hermione: i'm gonna kill you

ron: or worse, expel you

hermione: THAT WAS ONE TIME RONALD