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one-more-offbeat-anthem · 4 years ago

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this year i participated in the @snowbaz-sweethearts-exchange and got paired with the lovely @the-lincyclopedia! <3 this is the second snowbaz-themed exchange I've done, and it was good fun ^_^ be sure to check out the other fics from the exchange, and to lin, I hope you enjoy this fic!

--------------------------------- Simon

Valentine’s with Baz number one: we had just defeated the Humdrum, but were still in the weird quasi-relationship stage, and he was at Watford, so Penny snuck me in and the three of us took turns jokingly reading from some terrible romance novel. Baz kissed me when Penny went to the bathroom. I think she did it on purpose so we would have the chance.

Valentine’s with Baz number two: I was deep in the throes of my depression, brought on by 1) no longer having magic, 2) feeling like the people closest to me (Penny and Baz) were far better than me, and 3) ditching therapy when it got hard because I was scared. I think Baz was almost surprised that I said “sure” to his suggestion of watching a rom-com. But I curled up on the couch with him, and later Penny joined us and we all decided the movie was terrible.

Valentine’s with Baz number three: today.

It had been less than a year since we had finally gotten rid of whatever the bloody hell else needed it (there was always something, wasn’t there?) and I had decided that this Valentine’s day things were going to be different. I had promised myself that.

More like I had promised Penny, who told me that I couldn’t just quit therapy, and then I had promised Baz, with lots of crying, that I was going to stop sucking (he cried too, and then asked me if was making a vampire joke, and I wasn’t but that set us both off into gales of laughter that ended in properly hugging for the first time in ages, i.e. not in a life-or-death situation.)

I had missed him.

I had also missed myself.

Which was why I was spending my morning, while Penny and Baz were both off at their respective colleges, being fancy and academic, making cherry scones. To be more specific: I was making heart-shaped cherry scones.

Cherry scones made me think of Watford, something that was getting easier to think about as time went on. For so long, Watford had been my favorite place, a happy place, and then all of that had been shattered. At least we were out of the woods now.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to make them as well as the kitchens at school, but I’d found a recipe online and gone to the store and everything. And I’d picked out a movie to watch that didn’t look terrible, and planned to get takeout from Baz’s favorite Thai place, and I’d convinced Penny and Shepard to find somewhere, anywhere else to be.

(I think they were going to one of those kitschy old-timey diners and then to a double feature at the movie theater. I hadn’t really paid attention.)

Everything was going to be perfect.

There was no way it wouldn’t be.

***** Baz

The flat was far too quiet when I got back from classes.

If Simon was here (which I knew he was, he didn’t have work today), the television was usually blaring with whatever he was binge watching at the moment, and really there should have been a lot of noise, because Shepard and Penny were always here before me.

But no, there was just silence, and all of the lights were off except for one I could see coming from the kitchen.

I rounded the corner and took in the scene that lay before me. It looked sort of like a bomb had gone off in the room--flour everywhere, a mess of sugar on the stove, the oven half-open, and a tray of very burned scones on the counter.

The scones were also heart-shaped. Kind of.

“Simon?” I called out.

No answer.

“Snow,” I tried, hoping to get a rise out of him.

I walked around the kitchen island and there was Simon, sitting on the floor in front of the sink, his head buried in his hands. He was absolutely covered with flour.

“Simon? Love?” I crouched down next to him. “What’s wrong?”

He looked up at me, his gorgeous face tracked with tears. “I’ve ruined Valentine’s Day.”

“You--” I glanced around the kitchen. “This was for me?”

Simon nodded, scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m--” a hiccup, “--Not that good at baking, as it turns out.”

“I can tell.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because it sent another round of tears streaming down his face. I pulled him into my arms (my clothes were going to get covered in flour, too, but I couldn’t find it in me to care) and he pressed his face into my chest.

“I just wanted to make today perfect,” Simon said. “Since all of our other Valentine’s Days sucked, and things had been bad until recently--”

“Hey.” I cut him off, pulled back so that I could hold his face between my hands. “Don’t beat yourself up about that. There was a lot going on. You know what would make my Valentine’s Day perfect?”

“What?” Simon blinked at me, his eyelashes sparkling with tears.

“If I spent it with you. Which I’m going to do. We’re going to clean this up, okay? And then we’re going to find a terrible rom-com to pretend to watch and actually make out during.”

“And that would be okay with you?” Simon furrowed his brow. “That’s just a normal date night. I mess up the kitchen, we clean it up, we ‘watch’ a movie. It’s not special.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that anything’s special with you?” I rolled my eyes and stood up, offering my hands to Simon. “Now get up, before you make me any sappier.”

“Hmph.” Simon took my outstretched hands and let me pull him up. When we were both standing, I took him into my arms again, chest-to-chest. I couldn’t help it. Simon had always been so warm and good, and I had to admit to myself that him trying to do something special felt nice.

I kissed him, because I could, soft and slow, and then pulled away to see a small smile forming on his face. “What are you thinking about, Snow?” I asked, cocking one of my eyebrows up.

“Just how nice this is.”

“Gross.” But I kissed him again, brought one hand up to his cheek, because I wasn’t going to take this for granted, not after all we’d had to fight through to get here. I pressed my forehead against his. “I love you, Simon.”

“Love you too.”

I’m still going to die kissing Simon Snow. Just not today.

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz sweethearts exchange #offbeatwrites

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scone-lover · 5 years ago

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Brown Butter Chai Scones

Presenting by popular request, Brown Butter Chai Scones. Recipe by Simon Snow of Watford Bakery 😉❤️

These scones are HEAVENLY. I think I could die just from eating them. I gave myself a stomachache this morning. The brown butter gives them a warm, complex flavour, and combined with the chai spices, it’s just divine.

Actually, I think Baz said it best in Chapter 18 of Holding Out For a Hero:

I try to maintain my scowl, but Simon literally feeds me a piece of scone, and I’m reduced to a pile of mush. This is humiliating.

“What do you think?” he asks.

I never understood when people used the term foodgasm, but I do now—the flavours are all melding together in my mouth. This scone is pure ecstasy.

“What the fuck is in this, Snow? Drugs? Magic?”

Simon’s eyebrows knit together. “Brown butter and chai spices,” he says earnestly.

I could kiss him. I could kiss this scone.

“This,” I say, holding up the scone. “This is why I date you.”

They’re definitely magic.

I completely imagined these up for the chapter, but then I started getting requests for the recipe -- which didn’t exist! 😂 Luckily these turned out fantastic, so this recipe is a winner.

The brown butter flavour requires some planning ahead and a time commitment, but it’s WORTH IT. If you’ve never had brown butter, just imagine butter, except it’s made of toffee and happiness. That’s it, that’s the whole thing.

I’ve included some weight measurements in the recipe this time for exactness!

RECIPE

BROWN BUTTER CHAI SCONES

Makes: 6 scones

**Requires some planning ahead: about 12 hours in advance!**

Ingredients:

1 ¼ cup all-purpose flour - 180g

¼ cup sugar - 40g

¼ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 chai tea bag, or approx 1 tablespoon chai spices

4 tablespoons brown butter, COLD -- must make in advance!

⅓ cup heavy cream, plus extra for brushing - 80g + extra

1 large egg yolk

1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions:

Several hours before you want to make the scones, make brown butter. Take about 8 tablespoons of butter, or one stick, and melt it over low heat in a pot. Continue melting, stirring occasionally, until the butter turns brown and fragrant. The volume should reduce by about ⅓. Remove from heat and mix well so that the butter and milk solids are combined. Line a container with parchment paper and spoon in four tablespoons of the brown butter, then place it in the fridge until fully solid. If you have extra brown butter, you can use it for other desserts. Click here for a full brown butter tutorial.

Preheat the oven to 400ºF (205ºC).

In a bowl, stir together the flour, sugar, salt, chai, baking soda, and baking powder.

Cut the brown butter into squares and add it to the flour mixture. Work the butter into the flour mixture using a pastry cutter, forks or knives, or your hands. It should be evenly distributed in pieces the size of peas.

Whisk together the egg yolk, vanilla, and heavy cream in a separate bowl. Pour it into the dry ingredients and incorporate using a spatula. The dough should be shaggy but not too dry.

Place the dough on a lightly floured surface and shape it into a circle about an inch thick. Cut six triangles.

Place the scones on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Brush the top of each piece with heavy cream.

Bake for 13-15 minutes, until the scones are golden brown on the edges and a toothpick comes out clean. Enjoy!

STEP BY STEP - CLICK BELOW

Making brown butter

Melt the butter on low heat. Be patient and keep at it until it turns brown!

Lining the container with parchment makes it easy to get the butter out once it’s solidified.

The next morning, or whenever you want scones: get your ingredients!

Mix together all the dry ingredients. If you’re using a teabag, just cut it open and pour it in. I wouldn’t recommend using loose leaf tea, since the leaves tend to be a bit larger.

Cut your butter. Since the water content in this butter has been cooked off, it was harder to incorporate. I still used my hands but you can definitely use a pastry cutter or some other tool if you wish!

Add the wet ingredients and mix it up. The texture shown below is slightly dry and I had to add another teaspoon or so of cream to make the dough come together.

Pour it out onto the counter and push it all together with your hands.

Cut it into six pieces and arrange them on the baking sheet.

Brush the tops with heavy cream. Don’t skip this - it’s heavenly and makes the texture *chefs kiss* perfect.

Slide them into the oven for 13-15 minutes!

Bon appetit. Simon Snow would be proud of you.

#scones #simon snow scone #simon snow #watford bakery #carry on cooking #holding out for a hero #brown butter #brown butter chai scones #tea scones #scone recipe

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years ago

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In honor of Valentines Day being on a Friday this year I thought I’d share the very first Carry On fic I ever wrote—Friday I’m in Love. It’s pure fluff that was written after my first attempt at baking sour cherry scones. You can find the recipe included with the fic on AO3 or here.

Friday I’m in Love

Baz:

I let myself into the flat.

It’s blessedly empty, as I expected. Simon and Bunce both have their last examinations today.

Mine were yesterday.

I believe I showed remarkable restraint in not coming over last night. I wanted to see Simon but distracting him before his last exam would have been poor form. Not to mention Bunce would most certainly have bitten my head off.

She’s an absolute terror when she’s studying I’ve discovered.

I didn’t know her well enough before Eighth Year at Watford and as she didn’t come back for second term I never had the chance to experience her end of term behaviour first hand.

She’s fucking terrifying.

I hoist my bag of supplies onto the countertop of their small kitchen and question myself again as to why I didn’t just do this at my flat. It’s far more spacious.

But my place is also far more sterile. I don’t mean clean, although it’s certainly tidier and far more sanitary than Simon and Bunce’s kitchen.

It’s warmer here. Not temperature warmer but more lived in. They actually use it far more than I use mine so it feels less stark. More welcoming. More like a home.

I can cook, if I must. I’m not like Fiona, who would likely expire on the spot if forced to fend for herself without take-away. Daphne’s all right. She always lets the staff off for the holidays. It gives her a chance to muck about in the kitchen herself on those days. She’s quite keen on it--even without magic--and honestly, she’s quite good at it.

It’s never held my interest though. Until now.

I’ve got all my supplies tidily set out on the countertop and I rummage in the cabinets for mixing bowls. I brought my own measuring cups and spoons. I wasn’t confident they’d have what I needed.

I’m not planning to use any magic for this. I’m going to do it all myself, because I want to, for Simon.

I’d rung Cook Pritchard a few days ago, when the idea struck me. There are likely recipes on the internet of course, but really what’s the point of that? It wouldn’t be the same, would it?

If I wanted to make Watford sour cherry scones for Simon it only made sense to get the Watford recipe. Hence the call to Cook Pritchard.

It had taken more wheedling than I expected to get her to part with the recipe.

“You aren’t the first student to ask, Basilton,” she had said. “It’s a Watford favorite but I don’t hand it out to just anyone.”

Pointing out that I wasn’t ‘just anyone’ would have been counterproductive at that particular moment.

It seemed I would have to resort to begging. “It’s not for just anyone,” I had said, my voice softening. “It’s for Snow. Simon Snow.”

I had heard her little intake of breath across the phone line and I knew I had her attention. I may have had an in with Cook Pritchard, being Natasha Grimm-Pitch’s son, but no one appreciated the food at Watford more than Simon and Cook knew that better than anyone.

I had continued, pressing my momentary advantage. “He’s finishing his first term at uni. I thought it would be a good surprise for him to come home to a platter of Watford’s sour cherry scones when he’s done with exams. Would you share the recipe just this once?”

She had emailed it to me within the hour. I am still coming to terms with the fact that Cook Pritchard used email. It was not something one thought about in regard to the Watford faculty and staff, even though Professor Bunce had eased the restrictions on electronics and set up WiFi when she took over as Headmaster. She’s never far from her laptop so it had been one of the first changes she made. After getting rid of the blasted merwolves, that is. Mitali Bunce has my vote of confidence for that alone. I hate the merwolves.

So now I’m here, in Simon’s flat, preparing to make the famous scones for my boyfriend.

I like the sound of that. Boyfriend. My boyfriend.

I would do anything for Simon.

Penny:

I’m done with exams before Simon, which isn’t surprising, but I’m too knackered to wait for him. I need a shower. I want to curl up on the sofa and watch stupid, mindless movies with him tonight.

And Baz, most likely. He’s sure to make an appearance tonight, after staying away yesterday.

Good thing, too. Simon is utterly incapable of focusing when Baz is around. Oh, I know he claims Baz helps him study but it’s rubbish. I’ve seen how he looks at Baz. He can’t keep his eyes—or his hands—off him.

To give credit where credit is due—Baz does try to help. He actually does help Simon study for some of his classes. He’s a stern taskmaster when he chooses to be.

But then he starts “rewarding” Simon for a job well done and I have to retreat to my room before it turns into a bloody snog fest, which it invariably does. Baz is as bad as Simon when it comes to the looking and touching.

I hear the music as soon as I open the door to the flat. How did Simon get home so early, I wonder, until I stop to actually listen to what’s playing.

My suspicion is confirmed when I enter the kitchen to find Baz washing up dishes as Kishi Bashi plays from his phone.

I really have my doubts about vampire hearing acuity when he startles as I come up next to him.

“Bloody hell, Bunce!” he snaps, glaring down at me as he picks up the bowl he dropped. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“You’re the one who’s supposed to have the preternaturally enhanced hearing,” I say, frowning at him. “Or is that only in regard to Simon?”

Baz points to the sink, which is still running, and then to the small speaker on the counter next to his phone. “Running water and music, Bunce. Even I can’t hear you sneaking up on me over that.”

“Wasn’t sneaking,” I retort. “It is my flat after all. You’re the one who broke in.”

Baz rolls his eyes. “It’s not ‘breaking in’ if I have a key.”

The scent has hit me now. The kitchen smells divine. I stop fussing at him. “What have you been doing?” I ask, bending down to peek into the oven.

He bats my hand away before I can open the oven door to look.

“All in good time, Bunce, all in good time,” he says, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “Simon on his way?”

“Should be shortly. What are you up to, Baz?” I’ve taken in the bags of flour and sugar on the counter, the bowls and measuring cups in the drying rack and the heavenly aroma wafting from the oven. “You’ve got a nicer kitchen than we do—why did you drag yourself and all this over here?” I ask.

It is telling that Baz blushes before he speaks. Of course he does.

“I wanted them to be warm, when Snow got home. And not by magic.”

“Wanted what to be warm?” I inquire.

He rolls his eyes at me again right as the oven timer goes off. He doesn’t answer me--just turns to pull on oven mitts and I’m a bit dazed for a moment at the sight of such a domestic looking Baz. I don’t notice what’s on the pan until he puts it on top of the stove to cool.

They’re scones. Cherry scones. Of course. My chest tightens and my gaze softens as I look at Baz.

He’s flushed more than he was a moment ago (which means Baz fed before he came over) and his eyes are riveted to the floor, not meeting mine.

“They smell fantastic,” I say. “They look just like the ones at Watford.” I bump his shoulder with mine. “You are such a sap, Baz. He’ll love it.”

Baz smiles down at me. It’s such a soft look, more like the ones he usually gives Simon. “You think so?” he asks quietly.

“I know so,” I say. “I’ll have to snag one before he gets home—you know he’ll eat them all, down to the last crumb.”

He swats my hand away again. “Keep your mitts off them, Bunce. Those are all for Simon.”

Simon:

“What’s for me?” I ask. Baz and Penny turn startled eyes in my direction. It’s not often I manage to sneak up on Penny but I almost never catch Baz by surprise.

I’d heard the music and the low murmur of voices when I came in. I’m dead on my feet. I stayed up far too late studying last night and my last exam was a bear.

But I’m done and home now and my two favorite people in the world are here and there’s a glorious smell in the air that is tantalizingly familiar.

“Hey, Simon,” Penny says.

Baz walks across the room to slip his arms around my waist. “Hello, love,” he says to me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I melt into his arms, only too happy to lean my weight into his steady grip. I rest my head on his shoulder as my own arms wrap around him.

“Smells good in here,” I mumble.

“I should hope so,” Baz says. “I wouldn’t have wanted all my hard work to be in vain.”

I pick up my head to look at him. “You made something?” I ask and then look around the kitchen until I spot the baking pan resting on the stove top.

I freeze and then blink for a moment as I realize it’s a tray of scones. Cherry scones to be exact.

“You made these?” I ask, pointing to them. “For me?”

“Who else would I make cherry scones for, Snow?” Baz says crisply. “I don’t know of anyone who has as strong feelings for them as you do.”

“Simon,” I say, automatically correcting him as I drift over to the scones.

They look just like Cook Pritchard’s.

I don’t even know what to say. This may be the first time in my life I’m faced with warm cherry scones and I’m not immediately devouring them.

“Aren’t you going to have one?” Baz asks me. “I think you’d be assured I wasn’t out to poison you by now.”

“Git,” I say absentmindedly.

“I’ll have one then,” Penny says, reaching her hand towards the tray.

Baz bats her hand away and glares at her. “I told you, Bunce, these are Simon’s. You can have one when he’s done. Maybe.”

“If he’s left any,” Penny huffs. “You know how he is. He practically inhales them.”

“Stop talking about me as if I’m not here,” I complain. My tail lashes once then wraps itself around Baz’s leg. I reach out for a scone. It’s hot to touch still. I toss it from hand to hand.

Penny groans and hands me a plate and the butter dish.

I slather the scone with butter and take a bite. My eyes close and I could swear I’m back at Watford—the smell, the taste, the company. For just a minute I am back there, a ghost of a tingle in my fingers and a warm rush in my chest.

I slip my free arm around Baz’s waist and look up at him. His cheeks have a dusting of pink and it goes all the way up to his ears. He looks soft and shy and open. I go up on my toes and brush my buttery lips to his. “Thank you, Baz.”

His arm tightens around my waist as he pulls me closer. “Anything for you, love."

And I know he means it.

“If I have to watch you two snog in the kitchen then I deserve a scone,” Penny says, snatching one from the tray.

“Then we might as well give you a show, Bunce,” Baz says, turning to me. He rolls his eyes. I’ve grabbed another scone and am in the midst of eating it as he leans down to kiss me again.

“Incorrigible, Snow.”

“Simon,” I say, as I swallow the last bite and pull his face down to mine.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15563994

#simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #snowbaz #valentines day #friday im in love #fluff #my writing #my fics

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bazzybelle · 5 years ago

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Carry On Countdown - Day Five

Notes: I wanted to write a Natasha inspired fic. I wanted to write a sweet fic involving her since her life was so intense and sadly cut way too short. Title inspired by “A Million Dreams” from The Greatest Showman soundtrack.

Thank you @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for the beta-read. Also, so many thanks for the people who have been commenting and reblogging my work. I’m still a newbie here, and the love that everyone has been showing me is so wonderful.

Day 5 Prompt: Carry On Prequel

Title: A Million Dreams

________________________________________________________________

Every night I lie in bed, the brightest colours fill my head. A million dreams are keeping me awake.

NATASHA

June 14th, 1996

Positive.

Those two little blue lines, so simple, so plain. Yet they hold such a profound weight that I feel the need to take a moment to collect my thoughts. It does not do well for Natasha Pitch to come undone on account of two little blue lines. Still, I find myself sitting at my desk in my grand Watford Headmistress’ office, in absolute disbelief as I hold onto the pregnancy test in my hands.

Positive.

I had taken the test as soon as I suspected that something was off. I am like clockwork in every single aspect of my life. Never tardy, never irregular, never out of balance. So, when my monthly cycle skipped, I knew. I took the test (in between several Coven meetings at Watford - I am a very busy woman), and kept myself concealed in my ensuite lavatory (being Headmistress has its perks) as I waited for the results.

Positive.

I am pregnant.

Alright. That was easy to admit.

If I had to guess, I could not be more than a few weeks along, a month at best. I should probably go see a doctor at some point, to verify that I am indeed with child. But honestly there were never any truly good doctors for magicians. There was Charles Wellbelove, who was making quite a name for himself amongst the Coven. I was considering it. He would have to be extremely discreet about the nature of my visits. I could not afford the good news getting out until I was ready to announce it. While the birth of a potential heir to the Pitch estate was a happy occasion, there would be others who would try to use my pregnancy (as well as my new maternal role) as a means to steal influence and discredit me.

It was bloody nonsense.

Still, it would be prudent to keep the news a secret, for as long as possible. I shall obviously tell Malcolm as soon as possible. I had thought to maybe tell him that night. I am not the romantic sort, I honestly do not have time to be romantic. I will tell him in private, in our bedroom. Possibly in front of our fireplace, while holding his hands.

Fine, I suppose I am a little romantic.

I imagine Malcolm will be very happy with the news. We have been trying for a child for the last year, so Malcolm would be very much pleased with the good news. Personally, a part of me would have liked to wait a little bit more. I have been in the middle of several research projects, as well as revamping some of the programs offered at Watford. I had wanted to look into more classes involving music and poetry. I was hoping that the future generations of magicians could find a way to make musical magic more stable. I was also looking into offering more linguistics classes at Watford. There was still so much about the nature of our magic that we still did not know nor did we understand. Besides, deep down I, Natasha Pitch, am a scholar. I have always been that way. I can be the head of a dozen organizations and run everything and anything that the Coven needs me to, but at the end of the day, I live for reading and researching topics that deeply speak to me.

Maybe this little one will follow my passions as well. That would be nice, to have another scholar in the family.

I should probably tell Fiona, but my sister can barely keep a secret to save her life. I am starting to worry about my younger, more carefree sister. Fiona is not keeping the right sort of company and it worries me to no end. It is highly improper to trapeze about amongst the Normals, causing mayhem and anarchy wherever she goes. She will be graduating from Watford this year, and she needs to figure out what she wants to do with her life. She cannot spend the rest of her days living off the family’s money.

But, Fiona is a worry for another day. I will most likely tell her. She is my baby sister after all, and despite my worries and apprehension, it will be better if I share my news with her. I can already hear Fiona’s snarky comments and her suggestions that I name the child Bowie or Cyndi.

My sister is absurd.

My hand moves tentatively to my stomach. I am pregnant. It is still a little bit of a shock to me. I will never admit this to anybody, but the idea of carrying a tiny life is terrifying. Are Malcolm and I ready to bring this child into the world? Neither one of us has had very warm childhoods. That life is not something I want for my child. Will I know how to provide the comfort and security of a safe family life? I truly do not know.

I shake my head to rid myself of these negative thoughts. Pitches do not hide and second guess themselves. Pitches dive headfirst into adversity and fight. They fight until they cannot fight anymore. That was how I led my life thus far and it has done wonders for me. I will have no choice but to dive into motherhood in the same way and to trust my instincts with raising this little one.

I become startled as my office door bursts open. I grab my wand, but I already know who has come to disturb me. There is only one person who would stride inside my office so fearlessly.

“There are so many stuffy old men hanging around your office, Tasha! Honestly, it would do you some good to get a few nice young lads around here!”

“What do you want, Fiona? Shouldn’t you be in the dining hall? Or at your drama lessons?”

“Drama lessons are cancelled dear sister. It’s the end of term! Which is also why I’m here! I am saving you from your stuffy meetings with the stuffy old men!” Fiona waves her hands over her head and attempts a small dramatic spin.

I roll my eyes at her. Fiona is not one for propriety, but she is one for theatrics. Merlin help this child if Fiona will be allowed to influence it. I have plenty of difficulty handling one overly dramatic Pitch, let alone two.

Fiona stalks over to where I am sitting. She is about to grab my hands when she notices the small stick on the desk. Before I can grab and hide it, Fiona jumps on it.

Her grey eyes widen as she stares at the double lines. A full smile slowly spreads across her lips. I sigh. So much for Malcolm being the first to know.

“Tasha. Have you got a bun in the oven?”

I yank the stick from Fiona’s hands and throw it back into the desk. I then grab Fiona by the arm and start to lead her out of my office. “Fiona, I swear to Merlin if you tell ANYONE about this, I will personally see to it that you spend the remainder of your days eating your meals through a straw!”

“Oh come off it, Tasha! Who would I tell?” Fiona tears her arm away from me as I raise an eyebrow.

“Your delinquent friends for one!” Fiona rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. I am not amused by my sister’s laissez-faire attitude regarding my pregnancy. And of course she is not as worried as I am. Fiona never has anything to lose, being the second born and all. Fiona can afford to blabber about, and ignore common sense, so long as I am there to clean up her messes. Well, I cannot risk Fiona making yet another mess.

“I mean it, Fiona. Give me your hand and swear that you will not tell anyone about this. I cannot afford to let this news reach the rest of the Coven until I am ready to announce it.”

Fiona shakes her head and grabs her own wand from the inside of her shirt sleeve. She takes my hand and offers her wand to me. I am the stronger magician out of the two of us. I tap the wand to our joined hands. “An Englishwoman’s word is her bond!” Fiona pulls her hand away and rubs it.

“Christ Tasha! That spell? The last time you used that spell, I couldn’t feel my hand for a month!”

I smirk at my troublesome sister: “First of all, it wasn’t my fault you chose to sneak into my bedroom after promising me you wouldn’t. Second of all, I always did love that spell. Now, please leave. I am very busy.” I head towards the door. I am about to open it, when Fiona blocks it with her foot, slamming it shut again.

“Just tell me one thing, sister. You are going to call the kid Bowie if it’s a boy, right? I’ll be burnt at the bloody stake before I let my favourite niece or nephew get one of those pompous ancient names that our family loves so much!” I force open the door and roughly shove my sister outside. I can hear Fiona laughing as I slam the door in her face.

A deep sigh escapes my lips. I rub my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. I had not planned on Fiona knowing so soon, but I suppose it is better this way. It does feel good to have someone else know about the baby. And the spell I cast should give me plenty of assurance that Fiona will not spill the beans. Fiona hated not being able to use her hand for a month, she will not risk that punishment again.

I still have a few more meetings scheduled for the rest of the day. They are to discuss funding for the next year, as well as contract negotiations and potential additions to the Watford library. All important and interesting topics to discuss and ponder over for hours on end. Discussions that would probably be better left for a different time. Maybe, for this one time, I can afford to take an evening to myself and my husband. An evening to tell him that our lives have changed for the better. That we will soon be expanding our family (in fact, we will be starting our new family).

I hear another knock on her door. One of the younger magicians, a man named David, is waiting for me, with furrowed eyebrows, and an angry scowl on his face.

“Headmistress Pitch. The other Coven members are waiting for you.”

“Thank you David. I won’t be much longer.”

I gather myself and head towards the room that is used for Coven gatherings. It is a small room, with a long oval-shaped table, and twenty seats (one for each member of the Coven). I take my place at the head of the table and look at each Coven member’s bored, exhausted face. It has been a long day. No one will fault me for cancelling the rest of the meetings. I inhale a deep breath and address the stuffy old men.

“Gentlemen. I thank you for joining me. I know that we have all had a very long and trying day. I think it would be in everyone’s best interest that we take the remainder of the evening off and reconvene tomorrow. We can all benefit from a good night’s rest before beginning discussions about literature and budgets. Yes?”

I let out a small sigh of relief when the other Coven members agree with me. They all quickly rise from their seats and begin to file out of the room. I follow behind them and walk back to my office. I sit at my desk once more and pull the pregnancy test out.

I am going to be a mother. I think to myself. I rub my stomach and smile. I turn to the phone on my desk and dial the number to the Hampshire Manor. Malcolm should have been working from home today. A smile spreads on my lips as I hear the voice of my husband on the end of the line.

“Malcolm, darling? I am coming home early tonight. I have something to tell you. It’s important.”

#carry on countdown #coc 2019 #natasha pitch #fiona pitch #pre-carry on #fluffy fic #my writing #fan fic #tyrannus basilton pitch #baz pitch #carry on #wayward son #sweet natasha pitch story #we all need some sweetness

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abwoolley · 1 year ago

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Tree Cutting | Carpet Cleaning | Oven Cleaning | Man And Van - Watford

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chapter-61 · 5 years ago

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here comes the sun

CARRY ON COUNTDOWN DAY 8: Endearment Terms

AO3, POST-CARRY ON, POST-WAYWARD SON

I don’t know what I expected. For Snow to open his eyes and see me there, then pull me into one of his expert kisses and say, “Good morning, darling”?

Simon Snow is never going to call me “darling.” - Carry On, chapter 64.

5 times Baz calls Simon by an endearment term, + 1 time Simon returns the favour.

1. Penny

Everything hurts and nothing makes sense. The mage is dead, Ebb is dead. And Simon is in Baz’ arms. I don’t get it, but I’m too exhausted to ask.

Baz is mumbling something, and then I hear it.

“It’s all right, love.”

Huh. If I wasn’t on the edge of fainting I would be thrilled by this development, but it’s all too much. I’ll interrogate them later.

I hope mum comes soon.

2. Mitali

I’m glad Basilton Pitch made it to the Leaver’s Ball. I wasn’t sure he’d come. Secretly, I was hoping he’d convince Penelope to come with him, but no luck. I understand it, but I just wanted her to experience this before she’d go off to college. Of course, without Simon, there was no chance she’d actually come.

Taking another sip of my drink, I glance around looking for Basilton. We had a nice conversation earlier, and I’d rather talk about Latin prefixes than listening to Linda Possibelf’s conspiracies about the return of the faeries.

To be honest, I’m bored. As new headmistress there’s always something to do, but on the evening of the Leaver’s Ball I should be with my students, and not holed up in my office. I’m not too familiar with the students, however.

After another glance around, I decide to go outside for a minute and I start towards the stone patio.

There are people dancing in the middle, and while walking past them I scan them for familiar faces. Then, I halt.

Between the dancing couples, stands the oddest couple of all. It shouldn’t be a surprise, Penny has told me, and Basilton mentioned it, but it’s another thing to actually witness it.

For eight years, all Simon could talk about was his evil roommate. And now he’s dancing with him.

I’m happy for them. Now that they’ve stopped fighting, they actually look good together. More than one person is watching them, but they’ve only got eyes for each other. It’s sweet.

They’re lightly shoving at each other now, because of course they are, and before I think about it, I’m moving closer to listen to what they’re saying. Being forty doesn’t mean I don’t like to gossip anymore, and I’m sure Martin will enjoy it too.

“You are really bad at this,” Basilton is saying.

“I told you so!” Simon pushes Basilton away slightly but Basilton catches him and pulls him back into his arms.

In the meantime, the slow song has changed into something more up-beat, but the boys don’t seem to mind. They’ve got their arms around each other and Simon’s head is on Basilton’s shoulder. I grip my glass tighter and feel a slight ache in my heart. I wish Martin was here.

Soulmates. They make you yearn for your own other half.

I turn away but stop when I hear Simon again.

“Let’s go get some sandwiches.”

Basilton chuckles and replies, “Sure thing, sunshine.”

I smile into my glass and head back inside.

3. Agatha

It’s been two months since we came back from America and the whole thing at Watford happened. Sometimes I wonder if my life will always be like this, but I suppose I’m used to it by now.

What I’m still not used to, is Simon and Baz. Penny told me before I moved to America, but I didn’t really get it. And in the last few months, I still didn’t understand it. But I’m starting to.

Penny told me Simon and Baz had a rough year after Watford, that it went well at first but it spiraled down along with Simon’s mental state. I think they’re doing better now, though. I could ask Penny, but I don’t want to appear as the jealous ex, because I’m not. My romantic past with both of them is a bit wacky, but that was high school. I didn’t know myself back then and told myself I was in love.

They seem better, at least. Baz practically lives with Simon and Penny now, he’s been here every time I come over to visit. Just like today.

Penny has been catching me up on the latest Watford news over the last half hour, and that’s about as much magic talk as I can handle. I tell her so, and she doesn’t even look mad or worried. We’re all making progress, I think. She makes herself busy in the kitchen and I move to the living room.

Simon and Baz are on the couch, half draped over each other. They notice when I walk in.

“Agatha!” Simon calls me over. “Which movie should we watch later?”

I sit down in the armchair next to the couch and pretend to think. “Hmmm… What about… The Princess Bride?”

Simon cheers while Baz groans, and I smile at them.

Baz says, “I veto that choice. We’ve watched that at least five times by now. I think I can quote it by heart.”

“That’s the point!” Simon tells him.

“I don’t care, babe,” Baz says, “we’re watching something else.”

Simon doesn’t blink at Baz’ words, but I do. It’s not something I expected from Baz. For some reason, I didn’t think he’d be the type to casually throw endearment terms into a conversation. It sounded casual, though. As if it’s happened a million times before. Makes me feel like I’m missing something, or someone.

They continue to banter and I stand up and go back to the kitchen. At least with Penny I won’t feel like I’m missing a limb.

4. Daphne

When Baz told me he and Simon would take care of Mordelia’s birthday cake, I somehow believed him. Now, I’m having my doubts.

The kitchen has flour all over it, eggshells are laying around and everything is just plain dirty. I’m about to search the crime scene for anything salvageable, when I notice the oven is on.

I step closer, and lo and behold, there’s an actual cake in there. And it doesn’t even look half bad. Phew, crisis averted.

But why is the kitchen such a mess?

“Basilton?” I call out. I don’t get a reply, but there’s voices coming from the nearest bathroom.

I walk towards it, keeping an ear out for risky noises because that’s nothing I particularly want to see, but they’re just talking.

“How did you get dough in your hair?” Baz, exasperated.

“Because some wanker threw it at me!” Simon, even more exasperated.

A chuckle from Baz. “Wasn’t me.”

“Oh sure,” Simon says. “It was that other boyfriend of mine.”

“You’ve got me there.”

The faucet gets turned on and off and there’s a rustle of clothing.

Then Baz says, “You’re a mess.”

“But you like that, remember.” Sassy.

“I love it in fact.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

Now, softer, Baz replies, “Because, honey, we match.”

I don’t hear their voices anymore, so I make my retreat and start cleaning the kitchen. When Baz and Simon exit the bathroom ten minutes later, I just smile at them and congratulate them on the cake.

5. Baz

After a full weekend of moving furniture, it’s done. We’ve finally moved in. My car is on the driveway, my bed is in the bedroom, and most importantly, Simon is in the kitchen. Our kitchen.

He’s making sour cherry scones, for our housewarming party this evening. I put the last plates in the cabinet and then turn around to watch him.

He looks so different from last year. Healthier, happier. I’m really proud of him.

He’s at the last step of the cooking process now: tasting. It usually takes him the longest, for obvious reasons.

I take a few steps until I’m behind him, and wrap my arms around his middle. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck and press a kiss there. After all these years, after all what we’ve been through, he’s still warm to the touch.

Simon, with his hands busy, just turns his head and kisses my hair. I hum in response.

It’s all incredibly domestic and I love it. I thrive on it. What can I say, I’m a hopeless romantic.

“Sweetheart?” I say after a moment.

“Mhm,” Simon mumbles, his mouth probably stuffed with scones.

“You’re leaving something for tonight, right?”

He snorts, swallows his scone and says, “I made another batch.”

It makes me smile, of course he did.

I reach out to take a scone for myself, and Simon (begrudgingly) lets me. It tastes pretty good. It tastes even better from Simon’s lips.

+1. Simon

I feel warm and fuzzy when I wake up. Our first night together in our own house.

Baz is curled around me, and everything smells nice. Probably those scones from yesterday.

I stretch, careful not to disrupt Baz, and then turn over to him. I could definitely get used to this.

Baz stayed over a lot when I still lived with Penny, but not every night. Having this, forever, means the world. Getting to wake up in the same bed as Baz every day, eating breakfast together, going to work, arguing about which movie to watch in the evening, going to bed together. It’s all painfully real and I’m in love with it. And with Baz, of course. I love him so much. Despite what we’ve been through in the last two years, in the last ten years, we made it. We made it, together.

And I can’t wait to see what the future will bring for us.

In the present, Baz is opening his eyes.

And I say what I’ve wanted to say for a long time.

“Good morning, darling.”

And he smiles at me like I’m his entire world and I’ve just made all his dreams come true.

#this one's a bit longer #i love 5+1 fics #carry on countdown #coc 2019 #carry on #day 8 #my fics

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 7 years ago

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The Proposal Plot

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 5146

Summary: Baz is planning to propose to his incredible idiot boyfriend. Hopefully his plot goes off without a hitch. Based on "a confession" request.

Read on AO3

AN: So I know I'm churning these requests out now, but that won't be forever because in June I start working full time. I hope to get through these requests before then but no promises. Just wanted to warn you guys so you won't be freaked by a sudden lack of my fics lol. Anyways, enjoy!

———————————————-

Baz

Okay, Baz, just breathe, don’t be nervous. You’ve planned everything out. This isn’t even a big deal. You and Snow have been together for seven years now. You two have already decided how you want to spend your lives together. Marriage won’t be that different. It’ll be like normal, just including a ring and a new title for each other. Well, plus a wedding. And first I have to actually propose...

I’ve planned literally everything. Every detail is accounted for. Simon will be home in approximately six minutes. I let him know we’re having a nice dinner tonight this morning. The steak is already cooked, the roast potatoes and greens have just finished, and the scones are keeping warm in the oven. I found the perfect plate for my idea too. It’s a white ceramic platter that Daphne gave us as a house warming present when we moved in. There’s a little circular indent in the centre, which is odd for any usual use, but perfect for hiding an engagement ring under a pile of scones.

It’s a dumb idea. A dumb, romantic, sappy idea that Simon will adore. I’ve learned over the years that he loves romantic gestures big or small. I took him to the London Eye for our first anniversary and he couldn’t stop grinning the entire time. But he looks the same way every time I put on his favourite shitty pop song while we do dishes. So he’ll love this...right? He could hate it. What if he thinks it’s a dumb idea? What if he laughs in my face? What if-

I’m jolted out of my thoughts by the phone ringing. The caller ID says “Best Aunt In The World”. (Fiona stole my phone a few months ago, and I haven’t gotten around to changing it.) Against my better judgement, I press the green phone button.

“What is it? You know I’m busy tonight,” I snap.

“I sensed a disturbance in the Force,” Fiona replies. I can hear the smirk in her voice.

“You’re a witch, not a Jedi.”

“Okay, true, but I know you. And you’re currently overthinking, aren’t you?”

I drum my fingers slowly on the counter, answering slowly. “No.”

“Liar” she hisses. “Stop freaking out and relax. It’ll go great.”

“You said my idea was dumb.”

“Yeah, but I said it with a smile.”

“And that’s better because...?”

“Because, it’s a dumb, sweet, romantic idea. You love the Chosen One enough to act like a sappy idiot. That’s wonderful, so I’m happy for you and want you to go through with it.”

I smile slightly. “Thank you, Aunt Fiona.”

“Now, stop panicking and have fun, love. Oh, and don’t let any numpties ruin it!”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, will shut up abou-” The phone clicks off. I can’t believe she still says that to me. It’s been literal years since I was kidnapped but she won’t ever let me forget it.

I sigh and hang my head down. Despite her words of encouragement, I’m still nervous. Even though I’m pretty sure Simon will say yes, I don’t want to fuck this up. Snow is a hopeless romantic who I love dearly. He deserves a stupid, sappy proposal. And I desperately want to be the one to give it to him.

The door slams shut and I nearly jump. There’s a low groan from the entrance way that I know has to be my lovely graceless boyfriend’s.

“Oh my god, work was a nightmare today!” He shouts. “Do you know how many children insisted on having their noses wiped? Are they not capable of doing it themselves?”

“No, they’re not, Snow. They’re two,” I reply while walking towards our front hall.

“Well, they could learn!”

“You could teach them.”

“Yeah, like I have the time. I’m a daycare worker, I’ve got 30 kids to look after.”

“Then don’t complain.”

I stop at the end of the hall and lean on the wall. Simon is struggling with his sneaker, hopping on one foot while nearly falling over with the weight of his bookbag. There’s finger paint all over his face and snacktime stains on his shirt. He looks like an idiot who just survived a toddler hurricane.

Crowley, I love him.

He finally wins his battle with his sneaker, then looks up at him with a soft smile. We walk towards each other like always. His arms wrap around my neck, I hold his waist, and kisses me. It’s just a little firmer than a peck. And even after all these years it still makes my pulse stutter.

We pull apart and he looks over my shoulder. “Wow,” he says, “when you said nice dinner, I didn’t think you meant this nice.”

Truthfully, it’s not that nice. Growing up as part of a rich British family means I’ve been to much nicer. But I didn’t want to go overboard and give away what I was doing. In hindsight though, it’s pretty nice for us. There’s placemats, properly folded napkins, nice china, low lighting. I thought about using candles, but that seemed a bit excessive. So I went with some nice warm lamps instead of our bright LED overheads.

“I decided we deserve a nice meal every once in awhile,” I say thankfully without a nervous voice crack. “Normal people prefer china plates to plastic, y’know.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, a very Bunce-like gesture. “Sure, Mr. Fancy Pants. And speaking of pants, I should go change out of these child destroyed clothes. I feel so messy compared to you.”

I chuckle. I’m not that dressed up, wearing a loose white shirt and and jeans, but it’s more than a sweatshirt and trackies. (Which I’ve learned more are relaxing to wear around the house than jeans.) I did pick these on purpose though. Like Hell if I’m proposing to the love of my life in lazy clothes.

“Go get changed love,” I say, pressing a peck to his cheek. “I’ll get supper ready.”

Simon kisses my cheek as well, then saunters off to our bedroom. I walk to the kitchen. Everything is still warm, it won’t take long to set up. So I take a minute to open the everything drawer. It’s where we put whatever doesn’t have a place, and right now it’s home to a little red velvet box. I run my fingers over the fuzzy surface, then quietly open the snap hinge. It’s not a flashy ring because Simon isn’t a flashy person. And that’s not a slight against him, it’s just who he is, and I know that. It’s something that he’d like to wear, a simple gold band with circles carved around the surface. I had the inside engraved as well. Niall faked gagged when I proposed the idea while we were ring shopping. He called me tooth rotting sweet. I hope Simon thinks so too.

I shake out of my thoughts and snapped the box closed. No, I can’t dwell on that. The time will come. Instead, I focus on making dinner. I arrange the plates in a showy manner I remember seeing from my childhood. I check on the scones, which are still warm in the oven. I’ll leave them alone until they’re big debut.

Just as am I placing down the plates, Simon walks out. Surprisingly, he’s not wearing his typical loose t-shirt and track pants, but a clean green button down and denim. It’s some of his nicer clothes. Guess he wanted to dress up along with me.

“Dinner is served,” I say overdramatically. He laughs, and it makes me smile.

We sit opposite each other at our small table as usual and dig in. He doesn’t eat as quickly anymore, since he feels more assured that his meals won’t vanish or be his last now. I don’t cover my mouth when I eat anymore either, because I’m no longer afraid of him seeing my fangs. We discuss all the usual things. How work was, funny things we saw, which coworkers we want to stuff down a toilet. All filled with laughter and smiles. It’s so normal. And miraculously, it’s our lives. Our normal, happy life together.

“Oh man,” Simon groans happily, holding his stomach, “that was incredible.”

“Glad to hear it,” I say as I clear the plates. “Hope you have room for dessert.”

He perks up very quickly at the word ‘dessert’. “I love you so much.”

“Of course you do. The way to your heart is through your stomach.”

He stick his tongue out, but he’s still grinning. I smile back just as I enter the kitchen. Once the plates are dumped in the sink, I take the scones out of the oven. They smell delicious. I must remember to send Cook Pritchard a massive bouquet in thanks for her recipe. I take out the platter, and then I take out the ring. I can’t help but simply look at it. I want to spend the rest of my life with Simon no matter what, and I already know he feels the same. But I want to get this right. Because we never thought we’d get this far, and we deserve to have a stupidly romantic proposal.

I place the ring in the centre of the platter, then carefully arrange the pastries over and around it. It’s hard to hide it while making the scones look natural. Once I’m satisfied with appearance (mostly), I take a deep breath and re-enter the dining room. Simon’s looking at something in his lap. But when I clear my throat, his head snaps up. He looks deep in thought for a moment before sees the scones and smiles.

“Sour cherry scones?” He asks playfully.

“What else?” I reply as I carefully set the plate down on the table.

He immediately snatches the one on top, and I take the one below. I don’t even attempt to talk to him while he’s inhaling his scones. I look at him though. My stomach’s in knots, both from nerves and anticipation. I take one more and let him have the rest. Soon, there’s only one left, the one that’s covering the ring underneath. He finishes his latest scone. He’s going to reach for it. Crowley, this it. I take a deep breath, and...

He’s stopped. Why has he stopped?

“Uh,” I say, “do you not want the last one?”

“No you can have it,” Simon replies with a grin.

Oh Merlin and Morgana, it’s Watford all over again; Simon Snow messing up my plots. “No, no, I’m full. You can have it.” Eat the fucking scone, Snow.

“No it’s fine. I’m full too.”

We sit in silence and stare each other. It’s a true British politeness stalemate. After many minutes of uncomfortable moments, I lean forward, but so does he.

“Simon, I-

“Baz, I-”

We both say it at the same time, blinking at each other slowly for a minute. Simon is the one who breaks the silence this time.

“Oh you go first, sorry.”

I shake my head. “No, no, you go first. It can wait.” It really can’t, but I want Simon to be focused when I ask him.

Simon slowly nods. He takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders. Hm, whatever he wants to say seems to be causing him tension. That’s...odd.

“Okay, so,” he starts, obviously trying to keep his voice calm, “Baz, we’ve been together awhile.”

“I’m aware,” I reply with a smirk I can’t help. He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up, prick. So, we’ve been together for seven years now, and I gotta say I’ve been...really happy. Like, it hasn’t perfect of course, but overall it’s been pretty amazing. And you’re pretty amazing. The first few years after Watford I was a complete mess but you stuck by me. I will always appreciate that so fucking much. As well as everything else you’ve done. You make me really happy all the time.” He reaches across the table and puts his hand over mine. “I-I guess what I’m trying to say in too many stupid words is that, I love you, Baz. I really mean that.”

I squeeze his hand, loving the way it feels. But where is he going with this? “I love you too, Simon.”

He takes another deep breath. “What I’m also trying to say, is that I love our life. And you’re the love of my life. And I want to tell and show everyone. So...”

Oh...oh Crowley, is he doing what I think he’s doing?! He uses his other hand to reach down into his lap. As he slowly raises it back up, my heart beats faster and faster. And when he places his hand on the table, it stops entirely.

It’s a box. A black velvet ring box.

“I was going to save this for later,” he says sheepishly, “but this dinner was so good, and the moment felt right, so I’ve decided to just go for it. So, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” he uses his strong fingers to open the box with one hand, “will you marry me?”

I’m speechless. It’s been years since I was this speechless. I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open wide enough to catch flies. I keep staring at the ring. It’s...gorgeous; a thick men’s band, mostly jet black with a line of silver in the middle. It’s sleek, elegant, and dark. Exactly something I’d love. I know that I know Simon well, but sometimes I forget just how well he knows me too.

I look back up at him, and he looks very nervous and very scared.

“If you don’t like the ring, w-we can get a new one,” he blurts out. “I just saw it at a shop near the daycare and it looked so perfect that I had to buy it. I’ve been agonizing over a way to ask you. I know this is sort of impulsive, but also not really. We already want to be together forever and I think marriage would be nice. But if you don’t want to I understand. I- I just thought... And you’re so-”

“Snow, stop,” I say softly. He lets out a long breath, staring at me with wide eyes. I smile as kindly as I can. “Just, eat the last scone, love.”

He frowns adorably. “What? This is more important than scones, Baz.”

The fact that Simon bloody Snow loves me more than sour cherry scones is absolutely incredible and deserves to be shouted to the rooftops. But this is more important.

“Simon,” I say slowly, “trust me, lift up the last scone.”

He’s still frowning, but shrugs and moves to the last scone. He lifts it up nonchalantly, and promptly drops it to the ground. Of course, sitting in the middle of the crumbs and sugar granulates is the golden ring. It’s Simon’s turn to gape, mouth comically wide. He looks from the ring, to me, back to the ring, and back to me.

“You,” he whispers, “you were...this is- This is an-”

“Engagement ring yes,” I chuckle. “It’s the reason for the nice dinner and pile of scones.”

“You were going to...”

“Propose? Yes, that was the plan. But it seems you beat me to the punch, darling.”

“Oh my god I’m sorry,” Simon groans, putting his head in his hands. “You had this lovely sweet plan and I ruined it. I’m such an idiot.”

“Snow, no, it’s absolutely fine.” I rush over to his side and kneel next to his chair. I pull his hands away from his face, clutching them tightly. “I’m not mad at all, understand? I’m very, very happy. Your proposal was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. And the ring is goddamn beautiful.” I hold his chin and look him right in the eyes. “The answer is yes, Simon, I will certainly marry you.”

He looks at me nervously for a moment, but I sigh with relief when he smiles. We both giggle and tap our foreheads together. This is incredible. Sure, it didn’t go as planned, but what in our relationship has? And godammit I’m so happy, and so is he. That’s what’s important.

“So what was your proposal speech?” Simon whispers. “I bet you practiced it in the mirror a hundred times.”

I frown. “No I didn’t.” (Lie. I did, every day. And with Fiona.)

Snow gives me a knowing look, and I sigh. I stand up and grab the ring off the platter, still holding one of his hands.

“Simon,” I say firmly, “I’ve known you for more than half my life. And I know you are the bravest, most kind, most incredible man on the planet. You amaze me every single day. I never thought I’d have a real life, let alone a happy one. But my time with you has been just that. We may have started out rough, but we've come a long way. We’ve seen each other through our lowest and highest points. I want to spend our entire lives together, no matter how long mine may be.” He squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back. “So, I ask if you would do me a great honour, and allow me to promise such in front of everyone we know and love.” I get down on one knee, because why not? I’ve already embraced the cheesiness. “Simon Snow, will you marry me?”

He doesn’t actually answer. Rather launches himself forward to bloody tackle hug me to the ground. I ignore the fact that all the air has been knocked out my lungs. He buries his face in my neck, and I can feel something wet against it. I understand. I’m pretty sure I’m crying as well.

“Is that a yes?” I chuckle.

“Yes,” he says into my skin. Then he raises his head, sniffling and crying with a giant smile. “Yes, I will marry you, you incredible bastard.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Bastard? Is that really something to call your fiancé?”

Red spreads across his freckled cheeks. Something about the word ‘fiancé’ obviously sets him off, because next thing I know he’s kissing me so hard I see stars. He holds my jaw tightly while his thumbs press into my cheekbones. I bury my hands in his his bronze curls, tugging them on slightly. Simon moans into my mouth, and if I weren’t already on the floor I would’ve collapsed at the feeling. It’s sloppy, passionate, and absolutely wonderful. I love him. I love him more than anything. And he’s my bloody fiancé. Aleister Crowley, I’m living the most charmed life.

“You,” he whispers between our mouths, “are such a hopeless romantic, Baz Pitch.”

I pull back so he can see my frown. I don’t like my reputation insulted. “Am not. I’m a scary evil plotting vampire, remember?”

Simon traces a finger over my cheek. “Basil, how long have you been planning this?”

Oh shit. He knows me far too well. I can feel my blush spread all the way down to my neck. Crowley, I don’t want to satisfy that big smug grin on his face. I’ve already embarrassed myself quite a lot tonight, but this is the tipping point.

“Awhile,” I mumble.

“Be specific, Pitch.”

“Fuck off. You’re going to laugh at me.”

He lowers his head to kiss down my neck. I let out a shaky breath. Oh Merlin, he’s such a wonderful bastard. He knows how vulnerable I am to neck kisses.

“How long, Baz?” He whispers in a sing song.

“Ugh, fine,” I mutter. “Six months. I’ve been planning for six months. And I had help from many people to prepare.”

He giggles against my neck, and I love the vibrations he creates. Even if he’s being a smug bastard. “Of course, you plotting hopeless romantic vampire.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Simon pulls back, looking down at me with his gorgeous wide smile. He’s illuminated by the soft lamps, making it look like he has an orange halo and shimmering hair. He really is an angel. And he’s all mine.

“Make me,” whispers.

That sets something off in me. I grab his arms and easily flip him over onto his back. He yelps in surprise but that quickly turns into a giggle. I waste no time in undoing his shirt, almost ripping the buttons off. I kiss down his sternum with furious urgency. He chuckles and runs his fingers through my hair.

“Eager, hm?”

I growl, having undone shirt and moved onto his jeans with too many buttons. (I swear he wears these just to torture me.) “Shut up , Snow.”

“I told you, Basil, ma- Oh, oh yes. ”

His fingers tighten in my hair. He doesn’t exactly shut up, but he doesn’t say any actual English words either. It’s a collection of incoherent exclamations and moans. Mission accomplished.

———————————————--

Snow and I are curled up together on the couch. After spending so long on the floor, my back is killing me, but it was very much worth it. We’re only half dressed, shirts and pants still open. But we’re far too dazed to even try to look presentable. Who cares anyway? We’re alone in our flat, and we’re too busy basking in the happy afterglow of our engagement. Well, also the sex, but the engagement is the more important event obviously.

“So who was it?” Simon asks from where his head rests against my chest.

“Hm?” I reply.

He turns his head so his chin digs into me. He looks at me with a lazy smile. “You said people helped you with the proposal. Who was it?”

I sigh, running my fingers through his messy hair. “Well, Fiona helped me with speech. Though ‘helped’ may be too generous. Mostly she laughed at me and insisted I change all the adjectives. Dev sent me a hundred different possible recipes to make for dinner. Except for the scones, of course. That was Cook Pritchard. She sends her congratulations by the way. And Niall was actually very helpful when finding a ring. He has surprisingly good taste.”

“So did Niall pick it out? Should I be marrying him instead?”

I flick his nose and he snickers. “No, arsehole, of course I picked it. He just knows the good jewelry stores from when he proposed to his girlfriend.”

“Ah, I see.” His brow furrows. “Y’know, maybe we should actually put those things on.”

“Mm, good idea. Go get them.”

“Why do I have to go get them?”

“Because you’re on top right now and my back hurts too much to move.”

“Old man,” he grumbles as he gets up. I’m too relaxed to remind him that we’re the same age.

He returns quickly, then motions me to sit up, which I do reluctantly. We sit facing each other. He’s examining his gold ring with great interest.

“It’s very pretty,” he says with awe.

I smile smugly. “Look on the inside.”

Simon gives me a curious expression, but shrugs and slowly spins the ring. I can tell the exact moment he sees it. His blue eyes go incredibly wide. Niall said it was too cheesy. But I knew Snow would love it. He lets out a breathy laugh and smiles, wiping a tear from his eye.

“You giant sap,” he says.

“Would you like me to put it on?”

He nods vigorously and holds out the ring. I take it, and gently place my hand under his. It slips onto his ring finger perfectly. Simon snorts and sniffles very unromantically as I do it. But my heart's still beating out of my chest.

“Your turn,” he says, holding up his ring.

“I suppose,” I reply with a smile.

This time I offer my hand to him. The ring fits perfectly on me as well. I’m surprised he found a men’s ring that fits my bony pianist fingers. But he did, and I’m just so fucking happy.

“This is gorgeous as well,” I say.

“It’s not engraved though,” he grumbles. “I didn’t think of that, sorry.”

“Simon, it’s absolutely fine.” He still looks upset. I sigh, and tug on his arm. “Come here.” He flops forward onto me as I lay down. I work my fingers into his hair and kiss his temple, feeling him sigh against my chest.

“I don’t care if mine is engraved, because I know you love me. And because I meant what I engraved on your ring,” I whisper, and he chuckles, which makes me feel relieved. I repeat the words I had etched into the metal, the ones I’ve meant for our seven years together and even longer beforehand. “Simon Snow, I choose you.”

He sighs and holds me tighter. I can tell he’s about to fall asleep. Realistically, we should get up. There’s dishes to wash and this couch isn’t exactly comfortable to sleep on. But Snow is curled up against me, breathing softly. I can feel the cool metal of his ring pressed against my skin. Everything feels too perfect to move. So I just hold Simon, my fiancé, closer, and let myself drift off into sleep.

———————————————-

“What was so important that I had to get up at 6:30 in the morning for?” Bunce grumbles. She’s glaring at us through the screen, glasses askew and giant cup of coffee in hand.

“Well,” Simon says slowly, “take a guess.”

“Simon, I’m not a fan of guessing games. Especially this early.”

“It’s the afternoon for us,” I say. She glares even harder.

“Fine,” she grumbles, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s see. Simon, you’ve got bags under your eyes, and Baz, you keep rubbing the back of your neck. Meaning you two had a fitful sleep on that bloody couch Simon refuses to throw away.”

“I like it,” Simon mumbles with a pout.

“But, you’re also smiling excessively. Even Baz looks happy, and that takes quite a lot to achieve. So I’m guessing you tried some amazing sex thing on that couch and decided to be arseholes and wake me up far too early to tell me.”

I roll my eyes at her sarcasm, and Simon sticks his tongue out. “No, we’re not that evil, Pen," he says.

“You are close though. We slept on the couch, but we actually did it on the floor,” I interject, earning an elbow jab from Snow and a fake retching from Penelope.

“Okay fine,” Bunce groans, “you’re both gross and I’m tired. I give up. Just fucking tell me or I’m hanging up.”

Snow and I both share a look. We’ve been pointedly hiding our left hands. He wiggles his fingers in silent question. I nod.

“Well,” Simon says, “we ended up on the floor-”

“Gross.”

“Let me finish, Pen. We were on the floor because we were a tad over excited. Since Baz gave me this last night.”

He lifts up his hand, making sure the ring is in frame. Bunce’s jaw drops to the floor and her coffee mug nearly falls. She grips her laptop screen and leans forward.

“Nice, huh?” Snow says. “Baz has good taste.”

“Aleister fucking Crowley! Basilton fucking proposed?!” she shouts, loud enough to distort the sound

“M-hm. We had a nice dinner and he hid it under a pile of scones. He had a speech prepared and everything, like the romantic he is.”

“Awwww, that’s adorable.”

I glare at the screen, but Bunce keeps smiling. “Well, Snow is one to talk,” I say, “he proposed with his own adorable rambling speech before I got the chance, foiling my very well thought out plan.”

I show my own ring. Bunce just throws her head back laughing. Simon blushes and kicks my foot, but he’s still smiling ear to ear. Bunce tries to get a hold of herself, still chuckling and wiping a tear from her eye.

“Crowley,” she sighs, “of course that’s what happened. You’re both giant disasters.”

“Shut up,” Snow replies with a smile. “Why are you even surprised? You knew I was planning to.”

I look at him curiously. “She knew you were going to propose?”

“Of course I did!” Penelope shouts. “He called me the second after he bought the ring. I told him he was an impulsive idiot and to wait until the right moment. Which I assumed would be at least a week later, not two days.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Well, it was the right moment, but that was because I made it.”

“And Simon foiled your plot.”

“As usual,” Simon says. We look at each other, and I see nothing but utter joy.

“Okay,” Bunce says, “you two need time to be adorable and engaged, so I’ll leave you to it. But let me know when you pick a date because I will be coming back to England at least two months before to help with everything. You’re going to need it.”

“Oh we will?” I ask with one eyebrow raised.

“Considering how the proposal went? Yes. Bye you idiots, love you!”

She hangs up before I can protest. Simon snorts with laughter. I huff and cross my arms. “She always has to have the last word, doesn’t she?”

“Of course she does, she’s Penny. Now,” he throws his legs over me and sits on my lap without ceremony, “we’ve got the whole weekend free. What should we do, my dear fiancé?”

“Well,” I sigh, running my hands up his sides, “you insisted Bunce know first, so we still have to call my parents, Aunt Fiona, Dev and Niall, and Wellbelove.”

“Okay, sounds good. And afterwards?”

“Hm, we could go for a walk, see a movie, have a nice dinner out.”

“The walk sounds nice. But,” he leans closer, “how about instead of a movie and dinner out, we just order in and watch something on TV? I want to spend time with you. Just the two of us.”

I smile, pulling him closer by the small of his back. “I think I’d like that. Though we’re not sleeping on the couch again. Bunce is right, it’s terrible. My neck is going to have a kink for days.”

“Fine, fine, you big vampire baby, we’ll make sure to get to bed.” He brings his mouth next to my ear. “And then we won’t leave it until Monday.”

A shiver runs down my spine. Merlin and Morgana, seven years together and he still drives me absolutely crazy. “I think I can find that agreeable," I whisper. "My dear fiancé.”

He pulls back to show his smirk. I lean up and kiss it off his face. It’s a slower, calmer kiss, just a lazy slide of lips. It’s so familiar, and it feels like home. Snow presses his left hand right over my heart, and I put my own left over it. Our rings touch with the tiniest clink.

There’s no place in the world I’d rather be right now.

———————————————

AN: I struggled with what counts as a confession, so I did my best. Baz admitting to the six months of planning (lol what a dork) is supposed to be the confession if that wasn't clear. I think that satisfies the prompt. And after the amazing trial that was "Time on Our Side", I needed to write something fluffy and simple, so I decided on a stupidly adorable proposal. Now I've written a proposal and a morning after the wedding fic. All that's left is an actual wedding fic. Hmmmmm I'll have to think about that :)

PS: This is Simon’s ring and this is Baz’s

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #fiona pitch #fluff #proposal #mysnowbazfic

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ravenclawbaz · 7 years ago

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Carry On Countdown

Day 30

Prompt: Anniversaries

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and Simon proposes to Baz with a Christmas cracker

Word Count: 951

(I just realized that it is not the 24th but it will be in a few hours so I’m just gonna leave this up)

Also on AO3

Simon is frantically running around, making sure that everything is where it should be. Fluffing the pillows (he never does that), making his bed, and vacuuming the couch (he never does that either).

“Simon you seriously need to calm down.” Penny says, putting her hands up in front of her like he’s a wild animal.

“Calm down?” Simon hops down off the couch. “How can I calm down?”

“Well for one, stop cleaning. Baz knows you’re a messy person and he’ll be weirded out if it’s clean in here.” She yanks the vacuum out of Simon’s hands. “Just go take a shower, he’ll be here soon.”

Simon reluctantly walks to the bathroom and slams the door behind him. Penny just rolls her eyes and goes to the kitchen to start cleaning her mess from making dinner. Simon would have helped with dinner, but then there would most likely be no dinner.

Penny and Baz usually go home for Christmas, but they always celebrate with Simon on Christmas Eve. Simon never had a family to celebrate Christmas with before Watford, and going to Agatha’s for the holidays always felt fake. He’s just grateful to have a real family now.

A few minutes later, and as usual, early, Baz walks in the front door.

“Hi Penny.” He calls out when he sees her in the kitchen.

“Oh, hey Baz. You’re early.” She walks out to greet him. “Simon’s still in the shower.”

“Okay. Do you need help with anything?” He asks, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the hook next to the door.

“Nah I’m fine, I was just cleaning up. Dinner is in the oven.” She says.

They sit next to each other on the couch and make small talk, mostly about university, until Simon gets out of the shower. He’s looking a lot more relaxed than before, but still nervous, as Baz stands up to go over to him.

“Hey Simon.” Baz says and pulls him into a tight hug.

“Hi.” Simon wraps his arms around Baz, but moves them to his sides when Baz won’t let go of him. “Would you mind letting me breathe?”

“Okay guys, let’s break it up.” Penny sighs from the couch, “Dinner will be done soon and I need your help setting the table.”

Baz lets Simon go and they both follow Penny into the kitchen, Simon grabbing the plates from the cupboard and Baz getting the silverware. Penny sets the food on the table and they all take their seats around it.

Simon pushes his nerves to the side for the sake of conversation and stays engaged through Penny’s stories about her professors and Baz’s about his weird childhood. (Seriously, growing up in a family like his makes for some interesting tales.)

After dinner, they all gather around the tree and open presents. Simon gets Penny some headphones, joking about how she needs some so he doesn’t have to hear her and Micah flirt over Skype for hours on end. Penny gets Baz a watch, which is only stolen from by Penny before he even opens it. Turns out she just realized it’s silver and is pretty certain Baz doesn’t want a watch-shaped burn around his wrist.

They keep opening presents until there are none left, which is when Penny realizes something.

“Oh, Simon! We forgot the Christmas crackers!” She jumps up from the floor and runs to the kitchen, rummaging around the mess in there until she returns with three Christmas crackers.

She holds the first one out to Simon and he grabs the other end, pulling on it until it opens. Penny pulls a red paper crown out of it and places it on her head.

She picks up the next one and holds it out to Baz. Baz pulls out the little slip of paper inside and reads it, “Why does Santa have three gardens?”

“I don’t know, why?” Simon asks.

“So he can ‘ho, ho, ho’!” Simon rolls his eyes and shoves Baz playfully on the shoulder for laughing at such a shitty joke.

Baz picks up the last one and holds it out to Simon. He’s hesitant to take it and glances at Penny, who gives him a reassuring nod and he takes the other end in his hand. Him and Baz pull and the crackers open with a pop, a little note and a small box fall out onto the floor.

“You can have this one.” Simon mutters to Baz.

Baz picks up the note first and reads it, his eyes widening at the few words that written on the paper.

“Simon…” His hands are making the paper shake and he watches intently as Simon grabs the box that fell out with the paper, looking sheepishly at Baz as he opens it in his direction.

Baz drops the paper and lunges into Simon’s lap, knocking him backwards onto the floor in the process. He kisses Simon everywhere he can reach, not even caring if he looks like a complete idiot.

Simon just laughs while Baz now kisses each of Simon’s moles. Penny off to the side looking like she’s about to cry.

“Fuck yes, Simon.” Baz says, taking a break to look at Simon. “A million times yes.”

Simon takes his hand and gently slides the band onto Baz’s finger, it’s a little big but they can fix that later. Baz sits up and takes Simon with him, immediately pulling him into a hug and shoving his face in the crook of Simon’s neck.

On the floor next to them is a little piece of paper with small print on it reading:

“I’ve always wanted to celebrate Christmas with a family of my own, marry me?”

#carry on countdown 2017 #carry on countdown #coc 2017 #carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #penny bunce #my fanfic

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gascookerinstallation · 2 years ago

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What are Gas Cookers and How are they Installed?

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Certain types of bread may only be made on gas stoves.

You can regulate the flame to increase or decrease the heat instantaneously which is not feasible in electric cookers. Just find Gas Cooker installation near me.

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If you suspect a gas leak, call a professional immediately and turn off the main power supply. Open all of the windows to let in fresh air and leave the lights off.

How will you take care of your cooker?

Regularly clean your cooker with soap and water. At least once a week, the burners should be removed and cleaned. If oil has spilled on the burner, then soak the burners in warm dishwashing water. In most cases, ovens have an auto clean capability. The oven may be cleaned in two hours using this feature.

Get the Gas hob installation Watford examined by a technician at least once in a year. If the gas lines or tubes are damaged or worn out, they must be replaced promptly.

Gas Cooker Dimensions

Gas cookers come in a variety of sizes. Commercial cookers are substantially larger, with 8 to 10 burners, whilst domestic gas cookers have 4 to 5 burners. Portable cookers have one or two burners and an LPG tank. These are frequently used when going on a trip or camping.

Whenever it comes to professional cooking, gas stoves are frequently favoured. Most prominent chefs favour gas because the flame can be adjusted far more accurately than with gas. There is an oven linked to the wall with gas stoves. It is connected to the gas pipes which go beneath the kitchen and outdoors to the main gas conduit. A gas company manages the gas in very much the same manner that an electric company manages the electricity.

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alpacasandravens · 7 years ago

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Carry On Countdown Day 29: Christmas Presents

A short fic about Baz’s Christmas gift to Simon! Feat Baz/Penny brotp. (How many cooking/baking fics can I writeeeee)

Ringringringri- The high-pitched trill of the phone abruptly cuts off as Bunce picks up.

“Bunce?” Baz asks, sounding slightly desperate.

“What’s up, Baz?”

“I can’t think of a present for Snow,” he confesses. “Can you help me?”

Despite being a couple thousand miles away, Baz can sense her eyeroll. She’s spending Christmas with Micah this year, which would be fine, except it leaves Baz in the horrible position of actually having to think of a Christmas gift for Snow. “He’s your boyfriend, Baz.”

“It’s a week before Christmas, and I have no ideas. I am this close to just sticking a bow on my head and sitting by the tree.”

Penny laughs. “A sparkly bow? Because I would pay good money to see that.”

“That is the point! I need help!”

“All right, all right. What have you already thought of?”

“Well, I know he needs new shirts, but whenever I bring that up he always says that he can buy them himself. We both know he can’t, but the idea that he could is important to him. He works overtime at the Waffle House, and it’s barely putting him through uni. He has enough student loans that it scares me sometimes. And he needs a suit for the party next month, but I’m already the one dragging him to an event my family is putting on and I hate to remind him of that. It wouldn’t feel right. Anything I get for the flat is as much a present for me as it is for him, and-”

“Okay then,” Penny says, cutting him off. “Seems like a bit of a problem.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Baz hisses into the phone. “What are you getting him?”

“You’ll see,” she says mysteriously. “It sounds like you need to get him a present that he doesn’t need, but something that he’d want.”

Baz waits for a second. Surely, there has to be something a bit more specific than that. Preferably, something on the level of ‘He’s been eyeing this one particular sweater for a while now.’ Soon, it becomes clear that he’s not getting any more information. “How is that supposed to help?”

“Again, your boyfriend,” Penny reminds him.

“I usually just get Vera to buy presents at home. She’s so much better at it than me.”

Penny’s laughter is so loud Baz has to hold the phone away from his ear. “Oh, that is priceless,” Penny manages in between laughs. “Your housekeeper buys the Christmas presents. You are such a rich person.”

“Don’t you dare tell anyone,” Baz threatens.

“I have to go,” Penny says, still laughing. “Time difference and all. Dinnertime. Good luck!” She hangs up before Baz can say anything else.

Baz glares at the clock. Its display of 1:00 AM is the only light in the room. Sighing dramatically though there’s no one to hear it, Baz flops down onto his bed, determined to think of a present before Simon gets back from work.

It takes him a few days, but eventually Baz comes up with the perfect present for Simon. His love for sour cherry scones is known far and wide. (Baz found out through Penny that the scones were the thing he missed most about Watford.) So, Baz decides he would figure out how to make the scones.

What he didn’t count on was it being this difficult. After spending hours searching the internet, Baz was forced to call Cook Pritchard at Watford for the recipe. That exchange was almost awkward enough to make Baz consider dropping the entire adventure. Apparently, cooks were not keen on giving out their secret recipes, not even to a former favorite student trying to impress their boyfriend.

The first time Baz tries to make the scones, things don’t go well. That’s all he will admit about the affair. The cleaning of the kitchen was completely coincidental and had nothing to do with the failed baking adventure. The second time, things go a little bit better, (they are edible) though the end product is a far cry from Watford’s creations. Baz spends the majority of the time Simon is in class, asleep, or out of the apartment baking. By Christmas Eve, he is fairly confident he has mastered the art of sour cherry scone making. And if that took him over a dozen batches, that was nobody’s business.

Since Simon always wakes early, Baz makes sure he is awake by 3am on Christmas morning. He needs to have time to make the scones before Simon wakes up, and he wants to make sure everything is perfect. Keeping the lights as low as possible, Baz putters around the kitchen, mixing the flour and sugar and cherries quietly and wincing when the bowl clatters against the counter.

A few minutes before the scones are due to come out of the oven, Baz hears Simon leave the bedroom. His footsteps sound like an elephant’s in the silence of the morning. Baz glances at the clock on the oven – it’s still well before he would expect Simon to be awake.

“Do I smell scones?” Simon asks blearily, sniffing the air like a dog.

Baz takes a sip from his coffee to avoid answering. “… Maybe?”

Immediately, Simon’s face lights up. Still clearly half-asleep, he makes a beeline for the kitchen.

“They’re not done yet!” Baz calls. Of course the smell of scones would wake Simon up. He wouldn’t be surprised if that smell could raise him from the dead.

Following his boyfriend into the kitchen, Baz finds Simon already making himself a coffee. (Black, not nearly enough sugar. Disgusting.) “Merry Christmas?”

“You made me scones for Christmas?” Simon says incredulously.

“Um, yes?” Baz asks uncertainly. “I could get you something else, if you want.”

“No, this is perfect!” Simon exclaims, barely remembering to put his coffee down before enthusiastically hugging Baz.

“They’re sour cherry. Like at Watford.”

“I love you,” Simon mumbles into Baz’s shoulder. “Scones,” he says reverentially.

“Scones,” Baz echoes with the ghost of a laugh. “I love you too, Simon.”

#carry on #carry on countdown

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