Hope everyone is enjoying the weekend! I’m at a bit of a loss today, and I really can’t think of much to say other than that.
I’ll just share some excerpts. First is from the second chapter of All Too Familiar, my fic where Simon has spelled himself into Baz’s familiar. Here they’re on their way to a pumpkin patch with Baz’s family, for Reasons:
He made me wear the shearling jacket again—I don’t know when he fetched it back from the shed—and some kind of expensive-looking jumper that has blue and violet coloured snowflakes knit over the shoulders and chest. When he pulled it out from his wardrobe, I didn’t want to put it on because it looked itchy, and Baz physically wrestled it over my head to prove it isn’t. I felt like a child, and I’m still narked about it, if I’m honest.
“Settle down, Snow. There’s worse things than having to look halfway decent for a curated rustic outing,” Baz sneers as he pulls into the circular portion of the drive in front of his house. His parents are corralling his siblings into a sleek black Range Rover, and I’m surprised to see Malcolm Grimm fussing with a baby seat.
“I’m not upset about looking nice!” I huff, folding my arms over my chest. “Wait, do I look nice?”
Baz turns to look at me now that the car is in park. His lips are twitching as though he’s amused and fighting not to show it. “I don’t know, Snow, do you? You’re the one who said it. My compliment was far more anaemic.”
“Ah ha!” I raise a finger and point it at him—he pushes it away. “So you did compliment me!”
Baz laughs. “Well, it wouldn’t be difficult to improve on your normal effort, Snow. Over-washed t-shirts and shapeless trackies do no one any favours.” I glance down at the jeans I’m wearing. He made me wear these too—said the jumper was making my trackies look like they were social climbing—but at least they’re my own. When I look back up at Baz, there’s a funny expression on his face. I’m used to him glowering at me as if I were a pimple on his otherwise unblemished skin, but there’s something softer in his eyes right now. Fondness might be too strong a word. I wonder again if it has something to do with the spell. If I’m his familiar, is he compelled to like me? Is that why he keeps making sure I’m fed and dressed nicely—because the spell is making him soft on me? Baz clears his throat. “Snow, that jumper is serving champagne and your ripped-up jeans brought the Ribena,” he scoffs.
Next is a bit of my CORB fic, which I’m really excited about! Simon is being very normal about Baz (again: for Reasons):
I bet she doesn’t have that issue with Baz. I mean, look at him. He’s all legs, and his hair always looks perfect, sleek and softly waved around his face. His only flaw is the little bend I gave him at the end of his long nose back in third year, and he even makes that work to his advantage. Jammy bastard. It’s like that Japanese concept Penny’s been telling me about, wasabi or something. Beauty in imperfection. Of course Agatha would have no problem getting handsy in a broom cupboard or sneaking off into the Wavering Woods with fucking Baz. He’s probably in the bathroom picking dirt and leaves out of his hair right now.
Last but not least, a bit from Time Will Lie Down and Be Still, the COBB project I began with @rimeswithpurple far too long ago. The next chapter is actually finished, but I’m not posting until I get at least a good chunk more of the one after, done (yes, it is already going one chapter over what I expected—I’m predicting one more and an epilogue). The following doesn’t seem like much, but if you’ve seen the movie Practical Magic, which the fic is based on, it’ll probably seem important:
The older girl—Mordelia, if memory serves—leans against the kitchen counter beside Baz. He drapes an arm over her shoulders. “What kind of scones are they? Chocolate chip?”
From the way Baz rolls his eyes, I can tell this is an ongoing family argument. Dev has appeared in the doorway now as well, barefoot and carrying Swithin in his arms. He’s got on an old Sex Pistols shirt that keeps slipping off one shoulder. “No,” I say as Baz takes a spatula to the scones, carefully heaping them onto a plate. “I found the fruit in the freezer and felt like experimenting. How do you feel about sour cherry?”
Baz and I exchange an alarmed look as his sisters all begin screaming at once. Chocolate chip next time, then.
And that’s about it. I’m messing around with a couple of other things, but it probably won’t all see the light of day. Anyway, have a great Sunday, all! Hellos and tags to @thewholelemon @bookishbroadwayandblind @monbons @letraspal @larkral @artsyunderstudy @mooncello @shrekgogurt @toc-the-scrambled @the-beard-of-edward-teach @nausikaaa @iamamythologicalcreature @youarenevertooold @imagineacoolusername @ic3que3n @cutestkilla @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @prettygoododds @raeny-day @c0nsumemy5oul @facewithoutheart @colddeadqueer @aristocratic-otter @ileadacharmedlife @sleepyphobzz @harrie-leithillustration @orange-peony @fiend-for-culture @probablily @bachusekart @forabeatofadrum @stitchy-queerista @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @ivelovedhimthroughworse @alexalexinii @supercutedinosaurs @iamamythologicalcreature @best--dress @messofthejess @bookish-bogwitch @confusedbiqueer @hushed-chorus @roomwithanopenfire @drowninginships @valeffelees @j-trow-95 @sillyunicorn @tiarrrita @asocialpessimist
