I just had a massive realization after rereading awtwb for the nth time that I'll probably carry for the rest of my life .
Remember that GENTLE scene??? Yeah, well Baz finally revealed to Simon what he wants. And in his surprise, he most certainly did NOT freak out.
I mean, it's just- he unusually did NOT freak out BECAUSE, BECAUSE, AND BECAUSE Simon Snow Salisbury won't have to phantom what his babe wants anymore. He doesn't do all that for the pleasure of himself,(you know, you're so good you're so good) he doesn't need to. He now knows what Baz wants and will give it to him very willingly. He doesn't need to guess how to comfort him. He now knows the thing that'll make Baz happy and by that, he is happy too. It is enough.
I always thought love was about all that I love yous. 'I love you because you make me feel blissful 'I love you because when I'm with you it's like sunshine and ice creams.' BUT IT'S NOT!
You love a person not because they give you butterflies,
But because you want them to feel that they are loved. You want to provide whatever it is they want and need to have, to feel, to react, to do! You love a person and ensures they are contented, and happy, and better. It's about giving, and accepting anything they give back.
This book had made me realize that those things they return, are the most genuine factors one can ever have. It's this book for me.
Now I know somewhere inside the words I LOVE YOU is the "US "
it’s not AI. It’s basically just an enhanced search engine, but it will prioritize making any calculations it can to directly answer your question. if you ask “how many piano tuners in Chicago”
it will first search databases for direct information provided by a source, rather than return 3 pages of links to piano tuners advertising their business. If it didn’t find one, then it would go “average number of piano tuners in a population is x/y, by our databases that do store that, Chicago is this size, therefore there are likely this many piano tuners”
2. that means that it isn’t always a reliable source. It might be misunderstanding a database or source, it might be drawing from a wrong source, and it doesn’t prioritize links, (doesn’t even always provide them), so it can be difficult to double check it’s work. It’s worth plugging things into for quick answers, but if you need solid answers you need something you can double check.
I sacrificed myself to save you. I didn't plan to survive. I burnt all the bridges. I intended to break your heart with my death, but that would be all right, because I wouldn't be around to see you. I pretended that you'll mourn me for a while and move on. I convinced myself I was going down in the blaze of glory. That my deed was appreciated. That everything was going to be all right afterwards, and I didn't need to be there to see it.
But I survived. And now I have to look you in the eye. I have to pick up the pieces of the life I shattered and figure out how to put it back together. If it can be done at all.
Hi folks! And thank you @artsyunderstudy and @thewholelemon for the tags!
My second WIP day in a row. WTF is going on? Well, I might not be around much the next couple of weeks, so I'm throwing an offering into the ring before then.
Next week is @carryon-disability-week, and right now the first chapter of my contribution, Hope Springs Eternal, is with my beta! It's kind of a Fallout AU, but I take a lot of creative liberties (such as magic existing). No pre-existing knowledge will be needed.
Still haven't decided what day to post, but keep an eye out for it!
Here's a snippet from the first chapter.
I lean against the outer wall and ease myself to the ground, peeling paint following me down. The bare, dusty soil makes soft bedding for the seed. I make a small dent with the tip of my finger, then drip water from my flask. The water pools like the very earth can’t abide the sweetness of it.
I set my violin on my lap, running fingertips across the varnished body. A pre-War instrument, host to the tiny knicks and scratches gathered over generations, it’s no longer capable of the feats it once was. While it is fully stringed (and I carry spares), they are poor quality, spun by ill-kept machines and self-taught hands. They carry a tune well enough, but lack the finesse required for nuanced spellworking.
This is a little frivolous, but I’m about to bed down for the evening and have had little need for magic today. The spell is ambitious, but I’m well-practised, and I’m eager to try with a newly-revived bow.
First, a silencing spell. I can do this with my bow and spoken words alone. Then I tuck my violin under my chin and raise the bow.
A gunshot stills my breath.
Making my way backstage during the concert is definitely the worst part of my day. I nearly get lost, even though I’ve done walked the opposite way only about two hours ago and someone who works here gave me clear and detailed instructions. When I arrive in Baz’s dressing room, Keris, who is in charge of all of Baz’s and his musician’s stage outfits, immediately points at a pair of slacks and a crisp white shirt. “Put them on, quick.”
I would not dare risk disobeying her. She looks stressed. Everyone who works with Baz on his tour looks stressed.
The clothes fit me perfectly, and yet, I’ve never tried them on before, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Baz had my clothing sizes memorised, so.
“You should have makeup on if you’re going on stage,” Keris comments, as she rolls up my sleeves artfully.
“Nah, there’s no time for that,” I say. I purposely left the show very late so there would be no time for makeup. I don’t want any of that stuff on my face, it’s itchy. “I should go now, he’s going to finish the song soon.”
“You’re right. Just one last thing… Turn around please.”
When I do, she tucks in my shirt more than I had, then untucks it a little. “Perfect. Go.”
…And I now have to do more walking around.
Thankfully, the distance is not so big this time, and there are people to guide me. They all look even more stressed than Keris. I don’t think the people who work with him are very happy with Baz’s latest idea… I feel bad for them, but I, for one, am too excited about his idea to be fully compassionate.
I’m right behind the stage now, and Baz has finished his songs. Normally, he moves on straight to the next one, but tonight, Agatha, Niamh, Dev and Niall all stop playing.
“Hey, so…” His voice quickly get drowned out by people cheering. I peek to watch the audience. He waits for them to have gotten a little less loud to continue. “So… London… We know each other very well, you and I… I live in this city. I’ve lived in this city for a long time, but for a few years, I’ve lived in this city with someone very special… Someone who is here, tonight.”
Though none of their faces are clear from this far away, I can tell people in the public turn towards the VIP area, where I was sitting a few minutes ago. Of course, some of them already knew I was here. I even had a few people come and talk to me, like I was the celebrity, it was odd but not totally unpleasant.
While they were busy trying to find me, someone brought the chair that, in a matter of two shows, has become very famous in his fandom. It’s now placed behind him.
“No… Not over there… He’s here tonight,” Baz says, with emphasis. I can hear the smile in his voice a few seconds before I see it as he turns to me, extending a hand.
The crowd goes wild. Loud cheering and clapping accompany my entrance.
Once I’m close enough, I take Baz’s hand. Mine is sweaty. It is intimidating standing in front of tens of thousands of people. I don’t know how Baz does it so confidently.
He mouths ‘Hi, love,’ as he squeezes my hand before holding his mic up to his lips again. “My partner, my muse… My Simon. Everyone, say hello to Simon,” he says, pointing the microphone at the public, who scream in return. “Good. See, it’s not so hard being well-behaved?”
More cheering. They love it when he’s flirty with them. (I could not blame them).
“Simon is going to help me with tonight’s performance, if you don’t mind.” With how loud they are, I doubt they mind. “I thought that I could do something special for the last shows of this incredible tour, the shows in this city that is so dear to me. I hope you’ll like my surprise, London!”
And with that, he pushes me down on the chair, hard enough to look good for the audience, but not so hard that the chair –or I– will fall.
At the same time, the band starts playing the first notes of Hands Down. A song from the first album he wrote about me. The dirtiest song on the first album he wrote about me.
He puts the mic back on the stand, switching to his headset microphone.
Sit back and enjoy. Touch me if you feel like it. That’s all the instructions he gave me when he exposed his idea to me. Which is really no instructions at all. And he didn’t tell me what he was going to do in any specific way, so I’m discovering his ‘surprise’ for London with the same excitement as the audience.
At first, it’s rather tame. He walks around the chair, singing the first verse of the song. The tips of his fingers are dragging along my collarbones, the top of my arms, my shoulder blades. Teasingly.
I’m focusing on the lyrics as much as on what he’s doing, and it makes me realise that that is what he does in the song too, in the first verse. It’s all teasing. He’s using that sexy, sultry voice, he sings a little slowly, drags the ends of some of his words, none of which are overtly sexual yet.
Then, as his lyrics become more explicit, so does his performance.
He’s behind me, and he drags his hands down my chest, until his fingers reach the waistband of my trousers. He lowers his head to, angling it as if he was whispering in my ear. His hands are slower on their way back up. They play with the top button of my shirt, to eventually undo it. And the one underneath it too. He places his lips close to my neck, to mime kissing it. I shiver all the same as I feel his breath on my skin.
He straightens up. He walks around the chair again until he’s in front of me. Almost mechanically, my legs open wider, something that I may feel ashamed about later. Not now, though. Absolutely not now. Because now he’s in front of me, singing those scandalous lyrics, looking better than he ever has. Because now he’s brought me in front of the crowd of his sold-out Wembley Stadium concert to show me off.
Because now he’s going down on his knees, in the space I just freed.
Jesus fucking Christ.
It’s the first time since his performance began that I notice the audience. The sounds they just made could probably be heard on the other side of the city. His hands are back on me, on my knees and then up my thighs. If he was actually going to… his lips would be following. He loves kissing my thighs. It’s his favourite spot for hickeys.
Instead, because having his face between my thighs might be too sexual even for him –or perhaps because he wants to spare me the embarrassment of getting hard on stage– he keeps his head right where it is, and looks up at me, with an intensity in his eyes that makes me feel hot all over.
For the final part of his song, he stands back up, only long enough to sit on my lap. To straddle one of my legs, more accurately. They’re too far apart for him to fit on both at the same time.
His own leg is practically pressed to my crotch, simply because it’s too damn long for it to fit in any other way, which is not helping lower my body temperature.
He’s rolling his hips now, like he does when he’s riding me. Same pace, too. One of his hands is toying with a button of my shirt he hasn’t undone and the other is on my shoulder, for balance.
He leans in, as if he was kissing me, but he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t, he’s singing, but my body reacts all the same. One of my hands holds the dip of his back, to keep him close, and the other flies up to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He smiles, and it changes the way he sings. I think I could die, right here and now. I know we’re in front of a whole stadium of people, but that moment feels so intimate, so beautiful.
Already, much too soon, he gets to the end of song. I don’t want it to be over yet. God, couldn’t he write a 20-minute song?
The last lyrics are sung close to my face, his breath brushing my lips.
And when he finishes, he kisses me. Actually kisses me.
