#Simon’s belly and moles ����

[writingfromasgard]

Thinking about birthmarks for tf141 + König

John Price's is probably on his outer right thigh. No particular shape, just a blotch no bigger than an oreo. Never noticed it as a kid and went to the doctor about it as an adult.

Kyle Gaz Garrick has one under his arm, right above his armpit. It's in the shape of a duck (according to him, you have to squint and turn your head sideways). He likes showing it off as a pickup line.

Simon Ghost Riley had a birth mark on his back right shoulder blade - he took a shot there and it's just a scar now. His mom always said it looked like a flower.. looked more like a gunshot wound to Simon.

Johnny Soap MacTavish has several. One inside his belly button that he once thought was just dirt and tried to scrap it off as a kid, another on his knee (its actually a flat mole), and the third on his left butt cheek he swears is Scotland.

König swears he doesn't have one but it's because it's on his scalp, toward the back of his head. Shaped like a croissant. He's told about it after his helmet gets split and they have to shave his head to check for bleeding. He still doesn't think he has one.

[myaeomi-sims]

♡ lilliane simone - cc links ♡

patreon sim download

sunglasses ♡ necklace ♡ earrings ♡ nails ♡ toe nails ♡ belly button piercing

heart moles ♡ tattoos ♡ eyeshadow ♡ eyeliner ♡ eyelashes ♡ blush ♡ lipgloss

outfit 1

hair ♡ (mini) top ♡ (britney) jeans ♡ sandals

outfit 2

hair ♡ top ♡ skirt ♡ leg garter ♡ socks ♡ moon boots

[orange-peony]

Thank you so much for tagging me @artsyunderstudy, @hushed-chorus, @larkral, @j-nipper-95, @blackberrysummerblog, @imagineacoolusername - I loved all of the lovely WIPs you shared!

I've finally finished the last chapter of Hiding, which is in the capable hands of my lovely beta. Here's a snippet from chapter 4:

It’s taken me a bit of trial and error to figure out what turns Simon on and keeps him turned on. That it’s the begging, receiving praise and giving away control and that ever so subtle edge of pain that makes his eyes go glassy and his breath hitch in his throat before I coax a splendid orgasm out of him, his body going tense and back arched, and it’s such a sight to behold watching him fall apart under me. He cries sometimes, afterwards. It scared me at first, because I thought I had hurt him or traumatised him, but he kind of explained that it feels so good to be able to let go; that he feels like an exposed nerve afterwards, but he feels safe enough to show me.

And since I'm done with Hiding and I haven't signed up for any drarry fests (*waving at my drarry block*), I think it's time I finally finish Once upon a time, since I started it two years ago (embarrassing, I know...)

Here's what I have so far for chapter 3 (Baz's POV):

I blink a few times, wondering if I heard him correctly.

“You defeated the Humdrum?” I ask, because the whole idea is so absurd that I start to wonder whether he’s pulling my leg. “It—it can’t be possible. We still can’t use magic in our northern territories, and there was a dragon attack in Bath last month.” His fingers reach for his curls, tugging at them mercilessly as a droplet of water trickles down his naked chest. It distracts me for a moment, the breath-taking sight of his bare skin, the sprinkle of freckles on his shoulders and the perfect dip of his belly button. There are a myriad of moles and scars scattered on his skin, and I wish I could touch them all with the very tip of my fingers. I would be so careful and gentle with him, like no one has ever been before. I know he’s had a rough life, but he’s going to be my husband in a month. I will promise to love him in sickness and in health. I’ve already made that promise to myself, but this time I will do in front of him, pouring all my magic into it.

Tagging (apologies if you have already done it and I missed it): @avenueofesc, @bubble-gumhead, @pato-roldnart, @crazybutgood, @cutestkilla, @facewithoutheart, @martsonmars, @thewholelemon, @peachpety, @letraspal, @tea-brigade, @dalooch, @ebbpettier and anyone else who fancies sharing a WIP of any kind.

[snootlestheangel]

i feel like these two fit kind if well together? 🍬 & 🍄

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

Gonna be honest, I'm actually such a huge GazAlex shipper so I'm gonna do a headcanon for them. They're actually both such total dorks and so often times, they end up on the couch, each reading/watching something like super nerdy. Gaz is really into this book on dangerous plants around the world and Alex is watching a docu-series on like some historical event or something. In other words, I don't think these two would be nearly as handsy as say NikPrice, and they're more likely to be caught curled up, fast asleep on the couch together with the credits of a docu-series rolling and Gaz's book falling onto the floor.

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

My actual unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character???

Ghost should be ugly under that mask

There I said it. I think he should have a relatively unattractive face. Just really boring features and some really ugly scarring. He should have thin lips with a bit missing so it kind of pulls at his face weird. I don't think he should be taking off the mask and suddenly there's the most gorgeous man under there.

Let Simon Riley be ugly. Let him be unattractive.

And under all that gear? He's got some fat, he's got some ugly scars that never healed right. He's got fading tattoos and some moles. He's got a weird looking belly button. Just not the model I see him depicted as all the time.

I want him to be hard to look at cause you can't help but stare at the scars. I want him to have some acne scars that are overshadowed by the big scars. I want him to have choppy almost dirt colored hair that clearly sits under that balaclava too much and is clearly cut by himself in a dark bathroom without a mirror cause he can't stand his own reflection.

I want him to be loved by Soap cause he wears his history on his face/body unlike anyone else.

I want him to be loved by Soap despite being "ugly".

I want him ugly cause that means Soap's love is that much more genuine.

I want him ugly cause that makes him that much more human which totally contradicts the entity he's made himself into (Ghost).

Do the depictions of him with a very nice sculpted body still make me drool a bit? Absolutely! Are they still wonderful and valid pieces of art?? Absolutely! He's still military after all and is definitely doing great in the muscle department.

But I just want our resident masked cryptid to be ugly. Call it a self-insert cause I want him to be loved so genuinely despite his appearance.

[thesmalltowngal]

Snowbaz 30- Daydreams and Doodles

OTP Prompt #30: Baz gets caught doodling. 

~ Enjoy! ~

*Baz’s POV*

I can’t say I’ve never zoned out in class, doodling the name of my arch enemy. (Can’t we all say the same?) I am a vampire and a mage. I have no soft spots. Except for the days when I can feel the constant heat of Simon’s eyes on the back of my neck and it’s as though he’s paying me extra attention. Then my (one) soft spot is, of course, Simon Snow. Although I’m not completely daft- I never write out his full name. Just S in big loopy letters. 

And I’ve fallen prey to doing just that today in Greek. Snow sits next to me, making my little doodles and daydreams all the more dangerous. (Something about being so close to getting caught… well, it’s right exciting, innit?) Although Snow is sitting right by me, he hardly ever looks my way, thank Merlin. So while we’re going over conjugation that I’ve known since I was an ankle-biter, I find my mind wandering. Wandering over to Snow and his moles and his constant heat, and how I wish it was mine. I imagine all sorts of things- all of which I won’t delve too deep into elaborating on. I’m scrawling S+B on my paper in the corner when the devil himself nudges me with his elbow. When I look up, he’s (attempted) at cocking an eyebrow how I do, but instead, both of his raise in a face that makes me want to write sonnets. (I wouldn’t put it past me.)

“Baz, I wasn’t listening. D’you know what-”

“No.” I probably do know whatever he was about to ask, but I’m not interested in the real Snow interrupting my daydreams of the fantasy one. He growls and then looks down at my paper instead, thinking he’ll get more answers there. (If anything he’d get more questions.) I move to cover up where I’ve been scribbling in the corner of my paper, but it’s too late. I’ve been caught like a regular school girl in love. Fuck it all. He looks back up at me, flushing. (Snow is inherently daft, but even he couldn’t mistake the S for anyone else. Didn’t think this was how I was going to die, but oh well.) 

“Baz! Have you got a crush?!” He says it too loud and half the class (not the teacher, thank Crowley) looks our way. I glare at them, which gets them back to their tasks right quick. If I had fed recently, I’m sure I would be blushing now, but as luck would have it, I haven’t fed any time recently. 

“No, I just-”

“Really, because,” He maneuvers around my arms and snatches the notebook right out of my hands. (I would’ve been able to stop him, but the studious part of my brain tells me not to make a ruckus.) “It sure seems like you do.” He points to the doodles of S+B and flips through past pages only to find more. It just spurs him along, and soon he’s trying to stifle his laughs to no avail. 

I grab the notebook back and say, “Enough of that now, Snow.” This is almost friendly. Not like the arguing we usually do. This is more like teasing between mates, and I can’t say I mind. (Of course, that’ll all be over once he inevitably figures out S stands for Simon.) He eyes my and my protective hold on the notebook he just chuckles and goes back to writing. 

Just when I think he’s done pestering me, the insufferable twat turns back to me in a rush. “So who is it?” He’s asking me about this like it’s some crush and we’re mates. We’ve never discussed anything like this, and I’m torn between telling him to fuck off or indulging myself a bit longer. 

I run a hand over my face and exhale in annoyance. “No one-”

“Well obviously not no one if you’ve got doodles of her initial all through your notebook!” Oh. Oh. This is why he doesn’t know it’s him. He doesn’t know I’m gay. 

“Actually, um-”

“Is it… Samantha? No, I s’pose not- she’s a pixie. Oh! Maybe Sarah? She’s quite nice, though she is a fourth year…”  (He keeps listing off girls’ names, and he knows all of them. I swear, he’s like a dog, he’s so bloody friendly.) Oh, Snow. The oblivious dolt.

*Simon’s POV*

While I list off more names, Baz looks at me like I’ve grown another head. But this is nice- teasing like we’re mates. (It won’t last of course. S’nice to pretend, though.) When I saw Baz doodling in his notebook about someone he fancied, something in my stomach twisted. I think it was just the fact that my enemy was capable of liking someone. That Baz was capable. I thought he didn’t like anyone. I’ve never even seen him be nice to anyone, before. Maybe being an arse is his way of flirting? (No, certainly not. If that was the case, then that would mean that he’s constantly flirting with me, and that’s, well. That’s right crackers, innit?)

He cuts me off with another exasperated sigh when he says, “Snow! I am not-” He grunts a little and looks around, uncomfortable all sudden. He takes a deep breath. “I’m gay, you dolt.” Oh. So who he fancies… it’s a bloke. Right. Well that was… unexpected. It’s like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. (Because that means he doesn’t fancy Agatha, after all.) This information shouldn’t be sending me into hyper-drive, but I get the familiar feeling of magic bubbling over, and something white-hot coils in my belly. How did I now know that my roommate was gay? I s’pose, being his enemy and everything, we’ve never really been chatty. I’ve been quiet a long time, and I’m just now realizing that he probably thinks I’m homophobic. 

I bluster and then compose myself (as much as I can, anyway) and continue naming names. “Right then. So… maybe Seth? He’s a solid bloke, though he’s in fourth year, too. So maybe Stuart? But I can’t really see you with a Stuart,” I keep listing off names and then immediately writing them off, because who the bloody hell is good enough for Baz? I feel myself working into a nervous bluster again, and I hope to Crowley no one else in the class is watching this interaction. Baz’s gaze along with his shaking head is scrutiny enough. I continue, even though everything in my body is telling me to stop. “Maybe more of a Roy, or p’raps a Simon-” 

I didn’t just say that. 

*Baz’s POV*

He just said that. 

*Simon’s POV*

We both go quiet and Baz is staring at me with wide eyes, and I’m overflowing with magic, and I hadn’t realized it before, but I’m sporting a half stiffie. (I never think before I talk. If I would just think-) Before I know what’s happening, I’m stumbling over an apology/excuse. 

“Baz, I didn’t mean- well s’just that I, erm- I didn’t mean to, and I’m so sorry, and I think that I’ll just go die now, an-” He cuts me off and puts his hand over mine. (I think I’m going to bloody implode. Any second now.) His cool hand is cooling my oh-so-hot-one down and he bores his eyes into mine, telling me to shut up. 

“Simon, bloody calm down. You’re going to explode the-”

“Wait- go back.”

“Pardon?” He cocks that infuriating eyebrow of his. 

“What did you just call me?” He rolls his eyes.

“I hardly think that’s of importance right now, Snow.” My name from his mouth is on repeat in my head. “Just calm down. Breathe. It’s okay.” I nod and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm down and take other people’s eyes off of me. 

When I’m calm, I try again. “Baz. What does… what does that initial you’ve been doodling stand for?” It’s his turn to take deep breaths. I realize he’s not let go of my hand, and he’s tracing a pattern there. S+B, over and over. 

“Simon Snow, obviously.” Crowley, I’m daft. He looks at me, and I’ve never seen Baz this unsure in my years of knowing him. “Is that… okay?”

I don’t know how to properly convey with my words how okay that is. So I go for the next best thing and use my mouth to tell him. I lean in to snog him properly, and he smiles against my lips, earning a smile of my own in return. 

Now we’ve got the class’ attention. 

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

CHAPTER UPDATE FOR NEVER TEAR US APART

Meddling siblings, lavender biscuits, encounters with Malcolm, and a sunset in Hampshire. Back to the world of Never Tear Us Apart! 

Sorry for the months long hiatus but hello, I'm back to Never Tear Us Apart! It’s been outlined and plotted since I wrote the first chapter but I hit a major wall this summer when real life hit me very hard.  It took me awhile to find my way to writing again and when I did return I realized I had so much to process with Wayward Son. It was particularly hard return to writing this particular fic. Much as I loved WS, it definitely put a pause on this fic, which was my version of a sequel to Carry On. I had to decide how I wanted to think about it--did I want to keep going with the story the way I had planned it out or did i somehow want to bring it in line with the canonical story line of WS?  In the end I decided to keep to my original ideas, to stay the course.  To regard this now as an non-canonical AU that is very much set in the post-Carry On world but not the Wayward Son one. I think I found their voices again. I hope those of you that have followed this fic enjoy this update. And for those of you that are new to it--it’s going to keep going. i can’t promise you a set update schedule but i am going to tell this story to the end. Accompanying playlists can be found on spotify under tbazzsnow. 

Here’s a bit of chapter 12:

Baz

Simon looks so fucking beautiful right now. His hair is a mess, strands sticking to his forehead, curls tumbled down over his face. He’s flushed from the dancing, finally letting himself succumb to the music—he throws his head back as I watch him, his arms and hips moving sinuously to the beat.

I follow a bead of sweat as it trickles from his forehead, down his jaw, to trace a line along his neck.

I want to lick it off.

That would lead to a whole host of other things I want to do to Simon and no amount of sound-proofing or door-locking spells would prove adequate at keeping my siblings from somehow encroaching on us during daylight hours. They are persistent and undeterrable.

And this next step of intimacy we’ve reached is so new, so precious to me, that I don’t want anything to intrude on it.

The song switches over to “Never Gonna Give You Up” and the mood shifts as Simon opens his eyes and huffs a laugh at me. “I can’t believe you, of all people, have this song on your playlist.”

“It’s Fiona’s playlist.”

“That she made for you.” He’s grinning now and I’m perfectly content to take any amount of shit from him about my musical preferences because the playlist fucking did its job and made him smile again.

Points to Rick Astley. And Fiona, I suppose.

And to me, for not taking this song off the list.

I’m never taking this song off the playlist.

Simon shuffles his way over to me, singing along with the song as he does.

“Never gonna give you up

Never gonna let you down

Never gonna run around and desert you”

We’re both singing along by the time he puts his arms on my shoulders and I slide mine around his waist.

“Never gonna make you cry  

Never gonna say goodbye

Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you”

It’s just a stupid pop song but I mean every word I’m saying right now. I’d put magic into the lyrics if I dared.

If I thought I needed to.

Simon’s lips find mine as the chorus fades into the next song. His fingers slide up to tangle in my hair and he pulls me closer. “That song is going to be stuck in my head for the rest of the day, thanks to you.”

We sway to the music as I trail my lips up his jaw to his ear and whisper “I meant every word of it.”

Simon pulls back to look at me, his blue eyes wide and questioning. “What?”

I lean down to press our foreheads together. “Every word of that ridiculous chorus.” All I see is that brilliant blue, the bronze glint of Simon’s eyelashes, the crinkles in the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

He’s smiling up at me. So close that I can feel his breath on my lips when he speaks. “I’ll never give up on you, Baz Pitch. I told you that once. I’ve never turned my back on you and I never will.”

This kiss is searing. His mouth is hot. Everything is hot. He’s pushing against me and I’m pushing back with everything I have, my grip tightening on his hips, his chest pressed up against mine, fingers clenched into my hair, the heat of him radiating into my every pore.

His mouth is dissipating every thought but the ones of him.

I’ll never give up on you, Simon Snow. I don’t know what the world would be like without you.  

His hands are under my shirt, his fingertips leaving blazing trails against my skin. My own drift to his waistband, sliding up to brush his belly, relishing the way he shivers at my touch.

Crowley, I wish we were back in London.

“I wish we were back home.” The words slip out as I mouth at that spot behind Simon’s ear. That makes him shiver too.

“You are home,” Simon says, tilting his head back as my lips trail down to his neck. He slides his leg between mine and presses closer.

“You know what I mean.” I bury my face in his shoulder and breathe him in. He’s brown butter and cinnamon today, with that underlying tangy scent that’s all his own.

I feel his breath in my hair, stirring the strands, his voice just a whisper but I can hear it.  “Home is wherever I’m with you, Baz.”

My heart thumps in my chest. When he says things like that, when he puts words to my own thoughts, when he speaks without stumbling over those words--those are the moments when I truly believe that Simon Snow loves me.

It’s a heady sensation.

A blaze flaring up in my heart, searing its way through my veins.

He’s in my arms, in my heart, in my lungs, he’s made his way into every part of me, pouring warmth and love and life into my very soul.

My mouth finds his. “I love you, Simon Snow.”

I can feel his smile against my lips. “I’ll never get tired of you saying that.”

“Then I’ll never stop saying it.” I kiss him again and I can’t help but smile myself. “I love you, Simon Snow.”

I kiss the mole on his cheek I’ve loved since I was twelve. “I love you, Simon Snow.” I kiss his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, repeating the words every time.

He’s trembling. Eyes closed, head thrown back, the glorious line of his neck exposed to my lips.

His hands rake down my back.

I should pull back . . . I should take a moment . . . I should . . .

Simon opens his eyes to pin me with a look. Pupils blown wide, face flushed, lips parted. “Why’d you stop? I was kind of liking that, yeah.”

His mouth curves up in a bit of a smirk and he’s so fucking delectable I would snog him to oblivion if I could.

Fuck. I’d do more than that.

“We’re here, not home.” It sounds as pathetic out loud as it did in my head.

“That didn’t stop us last night.”

“But . . .” Why the fuck did I stop? “Well, it’s the middle of the day . . . they’re all . . . well, you know. My siblings are . . . they’re devious little goblins.” Crowley, I sound an absolute tit.

Simon raises an eyebrow but he’s absolute shit at it so he ends up looking surprised rather than superior. It’s fucking adorable.

“They’re not even home.”

“What?”

“They’re not even here. Daphne took them to some children’s play centre for the day.”

“What?” Crowley, I’m repeating myself like an idiot.“How do you know that?”

“Vera told me. When I went for crisps.”

There is no situation that Simon feels cannot be improved with snacks. There are two packets of Walkers on my nightstand.

It’s not salt and vinegar crisps I’m craving at this moment.

“Come here, you stupid git.” Simon pulls me to him by my belt loops. It’s far sexier than it has any right to be. “Soundproof the room, if you’re that worried about it. Magick the door.”

Where the fuck is my wand?

Simon

I’m the first to get embarrassed around Baz’s family but it’s happened to me so many times now that I can’t summon up the will to worry about it at the moment. They’ve assumed we’ve been shagging for ages so I’m not fussed.

Particularly when the house is practically empty and Baz is looking like this.

He fed early this morning so he’s got a bit of a flush in his cheeks. And he’s got that look, that look I always used to think meant he was about to attack me. I mean, it is the look he gets when he’s about to attack me, but it’s all about a snogging me senseless type of attack. I like those. I like those a lot.

I like everything about Baz right now. The flush, the brightness of his eyes, how his lips are parted, barely brushed with pink. The way his shirt’s hiked up and his pupils are wide and dark, set against the grey of his eyes.

I pull him closer, fingers hooked in his belt loops and I like the way his breath catches when I do it.

He’s flustered, can hardly get the words out, and Merlin, I love it when he’s just as much of a mess as me.

I know exactly where his wand is. I move my hands to his perfect arse and squeeze. That makes him jump a bit so I yank his wand out of his back pocket and wave it in his face.

“Come on. Drop a “sound of silence” and stop being such a fussbudget.”

He draws back, wand in the air, eyebrows pulled together. “I am not a fussbudget.”

“Fine, then you’re a prig. Merlin, Baz, I’m starting to think you don’t want to have a good shag.”

He grabs my shirt in his grip and pulls me to him and I love the controlled power emanating from him, coiled and ready to unleash.

My tail wraps around his leg and he shivers. Baz will never admit it but he’s definitely got a thing for my tail.

I may have a bit of a thing for this too. I can hold him to me, wrap myself around him in every way.

It’s the last bit of magic left in me, I think. Not anything I can use or tap into or really even feel anymore. But I can still touch him with magic, when I do this. And imagine it’s enough.

read the rest of this chapter on ao3! 

full fic here!

spotify playlists at tbazzsnow 

[nullcide-moved]

                             DON’T REBLOG. REPOST.

                                  BODY AESTHETICS   —  SIMON LAURENT

                                                      Bold what applies.

[ BODY ]

LONG LEGS.  short legs.  average legs.  slender thighs.  thick thighs.  toned thighs.  skinny arms.  soft arms.  TONED ARMS.  TONED STOMACH.  flat stomach.  flabby stomach.  soft stomach.  six-pack.  beer belly.  child pudge.  LEAN FRAME.  beefy/muscular frame.  voluptuous frame.  petite frame.  lanky frame.  short nails.  long nails.  manicured nails.  dirty nails.  claws.  FLAT ASS.  toned ass.  bubble butt.  small waist.  AVERAGE WAIST.  thick waist.  narrow hips.  AVERAGE HIPS.  wide hips.  big feet.  AVERAGE FEET.  small feet.  soft feet.  slender feet.  paws. CALLOUSED HANDS.  soft hands.  big hands.  AVERAGE HANDS.  small hands.  LONG FINGERS.  short fingers.  average fingers.  narrow shoulders.  broad shoulders.  AVERAGE SHOULDERS.  underweight.  AVERAGE WEIGHT.  overweight.  big ears.

[ HEIGHT ]

shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 CM TO 180 CM. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. taller than 2 m.

[ SKIN ]

PALE.  rosy.  olive.  dark.  mutant.  tanned.  blotchy.  smooth.  moles.  acne.  DRY.  greasy.  freckled.  scars.  birthmarks. 

[ EYES ]

small.  large.  AVERAGE.  grey.  brown.  BLUE.  violet.  pink.  green.  gold.  hazel.  crimson.  doe-eyed.  almond.  close-set.  wide-set.  deep-set.  squinty.  monolid.  heavy eyelids.  upturned.  downturned.

[ HAIR ]

thin.  thick.  fine.  normal.  greasy.  DRY.  soft.  shiny.  curly.  frizzy.  wild.  unruly.  STRAIGHT.  smooth.  wavy.  floppy.  cropped.  pixie-cut.  afro.  SHOULDER LENGTH.  back length.  waist length.  past hip-length.  buzz cut.  bald.  weave.  hair extensions.  jaw length.  layered.  mohawk.  PONYTAIL.  dreadlocks.  box braids.  faux locks.  white.  platinum blonde.  GOLDEN BLONDE.  dirty blonde.  blonde.  strawberry blonde.  ombre.  ash brown.  mouse brown.   chestnut brown.  golden brown.  chocolate brown.  dark brown.  jet black.  ginger.  red.  auburn.  dyed.  mutant.  thin eyebrows.  AVERAGE EYEBROWS.  thick eyebrows.  plucked eyebrows.

[ TATTOOS / PIERCINGS ]

full sleeve.  thigh tattoo.  neck tattoo.  chest tattoo.  back tattoo.  shoulder blade tattoo.  one tattoo.  face tattoo.  hand tattoo.  a few here and there.  multiple.  NO TATTOOS (unless his number counts, then like half a sleeve).  monroe piercing.  nose piercing.  septum.  nipple piercing(s).  genital piercing(s).  industrial piercings.  earlobe piercings.  prince albert piercing.  eyebrow piercing(s).  tongue piercing(s).  lip piercing(s).  top of the ear.  tragus piercing.  angel bites.  labret.  stretched out ears.  navel piercing.  inverse navel piercing.  cheek piercing(s).  smiley.  nape piercing(s).  NO PIERCINGS.

[ COSMETICS ]

eyeliner.  light eyeliner.  heavy eyeliner.  cat eyes.  mascara.  fake eyelashes.  matte lipstick. REGULAR LIPSTICK (just not on his lips). lipgloss.  red lips.  pink lips.  nude lips.  dark lips.  bronzer.  highlighter.  eyeshadow.  neutral eyeshadow.  smoky eyes.  colorful eyeshadow.  blush.  lipliner.  light contouring.  heavy contouring.  powder.  matte foundation.  shiny foundation.  concealer.  WEARS WAR PAINT FROM TIME TO TIME.  wears make-up regularly.  wears it from time to time.  RARELY WEARS MAKE-UP.

[ SCENT ]

floral.  herbal.  earthy.  fruity.  perfumes.  AFTERSHAVE.  cocoa.  moisturizer.  shampoo.  cigarettes.  leather.  fur.  SWEAT.  food.  incense.  marijuana.  cologne.  whiskey.  wine.  fried food.  blood. FIRE.  cold. fresh.  METAL.  rain.  chemicals.

[ CLOTHES ]

jeans.  TIGHT PANTS.  overknee socks.  tights.  leggings.  yoga pants.  pencil skirt.  tight skirt.  loose skirt.  tight/Form-fitting dress.  cardigans.  tunic.  blouse.  button up shirt.  band-t-shirt.  sports-t-shirt.  SWEATPANTS.  tanktop. CUTT OFF T-SHIRT.  designer.  high street.  leather jacket.  thrift.  lingerie.  long skirt.  miniskirt.  maxidress.  sun dress.  tie.  tuxedo.  cocktail dress.  uniform.  high slit dress/skirt.  t-shirt.  loose clothing.  TIGHT CLOTHING.  jean shorts.  sweater.  sweater vest.  waistcoat.  KHAKI PANTS.  suit.  HOODIE.  harem pants.  basketball shorts.  boxers/boxer-briefs.  thong.  hotpants.  hipster panties.  bra.  sports bra.  CROP TOP.  corset.  ballerina skirt.  leotard.  polka dot.  stripes.  glitter.  COTTON.  linen.  silk.  lace.  leather.  velvet.  patterns.  florals.  neon colors.  pastels.  LIGHT COLORS.  WHITE.  black.  dark colours.  fur/fauxfur.  revealing clothing.  heavy armor.  medium armor.  light Armor.  magnificent hats.  helmet.  fingerless gloves.

[ SHOES ]

SNEAKERS.  slip-ons.  flats.  slippers.  SANDALS.  high heels.  kitten heels.  ankle boots.  combat boots.  knee-high.  platforms.  stripper heels.  bare feet.  loafers.  oxfords.  gladiator shoes.  leather boots.

TAGGED BY: no one

TAGGING: everyone who has an i in their url.

[arituzz]

Party Games 6

-SNOWBAZ-

How to fall for your enemy—A Dummies Guide

[1. Set the game] [2. Play like you mean it] [3. Keep playing and don’t ask] [4. Poker Face] [5. Play dirty] [6. Show him what you’ve got] [7. (Don’t) Fall in the trap] [8. Cards on the table] [9. Play the game of love]

Summary: Playing games is an innocent and harmless thing to do. Except when you get so caught up in the game that don’t know if you are playing or not anymore, and then… Well. Then you burn

Chapter word count: ~3.3k

Rating: M

Tags: Watford, eighth year AU, alcohol, enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, NSFW, smut, mutual pining, fluff, alternating POV first person

Also on AO3

Thank you @eroticgropefest for being my amazing beta!

Notes: I made up some spells

6. Show him what you’ve got

SIMON

I would be lying if I said the smell of cedar and bergamot isn’t my favourite scent. It’s what I fall asleep to at night, and the first thing I notice in the morning.

And it’s because of Baz.

I have the sensation that lately everything is because of Baz. Not only the bad things, but also the good ones. And that’s new. I’m not sure how to feel about it.

“Good morning, darling,” I hear him saying behind me in the bed. No, I must have imagined it. Baz is never going to call me “darling”. The fact that we have a sort of truce doesn’t mean he’s going to magically develop romantic feelings for me. Not that I want him to. We’re good as friends--or whatever the fuck we are now.

Baz’s arms are wrapped around me and I feel him pulling me closer to him. I wouldn’t mind if we stayed like this all day.

He breathes on my neck and it sends shivers down my spine. But that’s not the only thing I notice that causes a reaction over my whole body.

Baz has morning wood.

I feel it pressed against me and I’m not even sure if Baz is aware or even awake but he’s definitely going to be after what I do: I grind against him.

I hear a gasp behind me, so I turn around. And before he can protest, I kiss him.

He moans against my mouth, which only makes me deepen the kiss and move faster against him.

The sound of Baz whimpering because of me makes me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. I pull his shirt up so there aren’t any clothes between my hand and his chest, and let my mouth travel there. Baz’s hands slid down my bare back as I kiss his abdomen. Then, I follow the trail of hair from his belly button, knowing exactly where it leads.

“Snow--”

Baz never calls me Simon. I swear he does that to spite me. But he’ll regret it. I’m going to blow his mind until all he can mutter is my name, over and over again.

I pull Baz’s pyjama bottoms just a bit and hook my thumbs into the elastic waistband of his briefs, tugging them only two or three centimeters down.

I bring my head down and blow there gently, causing an audible as well as visible reaction from Baz. Then I take the waistband between my teeth and gradually ease his pants down, my lips brushing Baz’s skin.

 BAZ

Aleister--fucking--Crowley.

 SIMON

As I get rid of Baz’s underwear I look up at him for a second. He’s staring back at me like I’m the only person in the entire world, and I almost forget what I’m doing. But it doesn’t matter how he looks at me -- this is obviously still a game for him. So I look away.

And then I take care of his hard-on.

I bring one hand to Baz’s mouth, for him to kiss and lick and suck. Because I know he likes it.

Pleasuring Baz comes as naturally as fighting him: I know what annoys and hurts him, but I also know what makes him moan and groan in pleasure. It’s like I’ve taken a thousand classes on Baz’s subject. I have a master’s degree in Baz.

Not long after, Baz tugs at my hair, letting me know that he’s about to… well, finish. “Simon--”

I pull away and give him one last lick before finishing him off with my hand.

 BAZ

I seem to have lost the ability to form coherent words. Snow has that effect on me.

When I’m done, Simon lies back down beside me. I’m not used to that. Usually he would run away. “How are you feeling?” I ask.

He’s fidgeting with his hands. “I’m okay.”

“Do you remember last night?”

“Yeah,” Simon replies. He’s clearly avoiding my stare. “Sorry about that.”

And then I notice the tent in his pants. “Simon,” I say. And I know he’s going to say no but the words are out before I can even process what I’m offering: “Do you want me to…” My voice comes out low and muffled.

Snow meets my eyes. There’s a long silence and I’m about to get up when he mutters the faintest “yes” that only a vampire could hear.

Simon Snow is the sun, the earthquake, and the summer storm, all in the same day. He’s a walking plot twist. And I love it. (I love him.)

I creep my fingers under Simon’s shirt and slowly lift it up. And I kiss his skin. (I never thought I’d ever kiss Simon’s skin.) (Outside of my dreams, that is.)

I make sure to kiss every mole and freckle on Simon’s body, memorising them, drawing a map on my head. Simon is made up of constellations: Cassiopeia, on his left arm; Corona Borealis, surrounding his belly button; Perseus, on his chest; Orion, on his upper back; Pegasus, on his right upper thigh. It’s like the whole Universe belongs to him. And I want to study it forever; like a star chart.

I lose myself in Simon’s infinity while I pleasure him. And before I can find myself again, Simon grabs my hair with his fist, pulls at it and moans as he goes over the edge.

 SIMON

Baz makes me feel like I’ve never been kissed before. (I’ve never been kissed this way before.) I should probably be more worried about the fact that this is by far the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Baz walks out of the bed abruptly and I look at him, confused.

“I need a shower,” he says.

“Oh. Uhm. Do you want me to join you?” I ask. (I actually need a shower, too.)

“It’s okay,” Baz hurries to say. “You don’t have to.”

He says it in a way that sounds like a polite gesture but I think he’s just bothered by me right now. So I shrug and say, “Hmm. I’ll just wait, then.”

 BAZ

As soon as Simon gets in the shower, I head for Dev and Niall’s room.

“Hey Baz,” Dev says, opening the door.

“Dev,” I say, inviting myself in. “Where’s Niall?”

Dev may be my cousin but when it comes to being alone with someone in a room, I’d say I’m more comfortable with Niall. Or even Snow.

“I don’t know,” Dev says, rubbing the nape of his neck. He sits down on his bed and looks through the window, clearly distracted. There’s obviously something going on between him and Niall that they aren’t telling me.

If I didn’t know Niall, I’d think he walked out in a hurry: he left his bed unmade and there’s clothes scattered all over. I spell it tidy and sit down on Niall’s bed.

“I didn’t know you and Snow had gone from sworn enemies to sworn boyfriends,” Dev says, turning the uncomfortable silence that had settled in the room into an even more uncomfortable conversation.

“We’re not sworn anything,” I say. “It’s just a game.”

“Really? He almost went off because Niall was kissing you.”

“You almost went off because Niall was kissing me.” I still can’t believe Dev and Niall are mad at each other. This is the first time in eight years.

I’m about to tell Dev that whatever little quarrel they have going on can be solved, when he says, “I think Niall likes you.”

What?

Wait. No. I’ve been so wrong all this time. Dev and Niall aren’t mad at each other. Fuck, no. They are mad for each other.

“Baz?” Dev looks at me, waiting for my reaction. I believe I’ve been stupidly staring at him for the best part of a minute.

“Dev,” I say, as calmly as I can. “Niall doesn’t like me that way.”

“Yes, he does!” he almost yells. “He spells his eyes every day now.”

I massage my forehead with my index finger. I can’t believe I have such a stupid cousin. “He wants to impress you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Dev,” I say, standing up. “What colour does Niall spell his eyes?”

“Muddy blue, why?”

I cock an eyebrow at him. How can he be so oblivious? I refuse to acknowledge we have the same blood. Had. “Have you ever wondered why he spells them that precise colour?”

Dev’s eyes widen in realization. (That’s his favourite colour.) “Oh.”

“Yes. Now go talk to him,” I say and reach for the door. I’m sick of this conversation. “Or… whatever you want to do with him.”

“Yeah,” I hear Dev saying as I leave. “Okay.”

 SIMON

Baz is not in the room when I step out of the bathroom. I’m not surprised. He’s probably still disgusted about what happened before and doesn’t want to see me.

Having the room all for myself is great, though. I can do things I usually can’t when Baz is around. Like doing homework and playing with my pen without Baz telling me I’m bothering him. Or humming.

Baz hates it when I’m humming or whistling. I think Baz just hates things that are funny. (He hates everything, really.)

He loves hating. And plotting.

Baz is one of those people who can spin a pen around his fingers effortlessly. (The tosser can do anything effortlessly.) I try it once but the pen falls on my lap. I try it again and it lands on the floor. I try once more and the pen goes flying right to Baz’s bed. Now Baz would scorn me. I grab the pen and go back to my bed.

Yeah, maybe this isn’t so funny without Baz, after all. I guess most of the fun of it lies in Baz getting pissed.

It’s almost lunchtime, so I decide to go find Penny.

As expected from someone like Penelope, she finds me before I find her. (No idea how she does that.)

“Simon,” she presses as we head for lunch. “I was starting to get worried.”

“Why?”

“You skipped breakfast,” she says. “Again.” She says it in that unique Penny tone that is equal parts concern and accusation.

I shrug. “I overslept.”

We take our trays and sit in our usual spot in the dining hall. Then, Penny turns to me and in a funny voice she asks, “Did Baz oversleep, too?”

Baz is at the other side of the hall, all by himself. I wonder where Dev and Niall are. He’s looking boredly at his lunch, his hair still perfectly waxed and slicked back, which only increases my urge to pull at it and mess it all up. (While I kiss him.) 

He catches me staring, so I look away. “Yeah…” I say to Penny. Agatha is eating lunch all alone, too, not far from where Baz is. “Why doesn’t Agatha sit with us again?”

“I don’t know. I guess she isn’t ready yet,” says Penny. “Give her some time.”

“Penny,” I say, and watch how she takes a bite of her food. “Are you and Agatha together now?”

Penny starts coughing uncontrollably until a piece of sausage comes flying out of her mouth. Guess I should have waited for her to finish eating. “What?” she asks in disbelief when she’s recovered.

“Are you going out or not?” I repeat.

“What the fuck, Simon?”

“Answer me, Penny.”

“No. Merlin and Morgana, no. We are not together,” she says. I notice some people are staring at us.

In a lower voice, I say, “It’s okay if you are.”

“But we aren’t! Remember Micah? My boyfriend?”

“You could be going out with both.”

Penny pauses for a moment. “Of course I could. But I’m not,” she says. “Simon, I love Agatha but that was just part of the game,” she continues. “You more than anyone should understand.”

“Huh? Why?”

“You and Baz?”

“Oh.” Okay, I see her point.

“Simon...” Penny starts, “Are you in love with Baz?”

“No,” I say, hurriedly--almost as a reflex--but something inside me stirs.

And Penny is about to drop it, I can see it. But then she adds, “Are you sure?”

I stare at Baz who is now leaving the dining hall. A strand of hair falls across his face in a wave. I imagine myself tugging it behind his ear the way he likes it. Then, for the second time in the last twenty minutes, I imagine myself kissing him. “No,” I say at the same time I realize that I’m utterly and completely fucked.

BAZ

When Snow comes back to the room I look up from my textbook and he smiles at me. I almost smile back.

He flops down on his bed and starts playing with a pen until it inevitably goes flying to my lap.

Every. Damn. Time.

Simon stands up and comes closer to my desk. He fakes an apologetic face and extends his hand.

And I… I take it. (His hand.) (With my hand.) (We’re holding hands.)

Fuck.

There’s a long silence in which neither of us moves nor says anything and it feels like we are trapped in this awkward moment forever.

We stare at our--intertwined--hands. Then I look up at him. Snow meets my eyes, then looks at the hands. Again.

Then back up at me.

For Crowley’s sake, this is stupid.

Not without a great deal of difficulty and reluctancy, I let go of his hand.

I clear my throat and grab the pen. “Your stupid pen.”

“Uhm. Yeah. Sorry,” he says. But he doesn’t move. “There’s a game this evening,” he blurts out. “Are you coming?”

Definitely. “Maybe,” I say. “What game?”

“Truth or dare.”

I pretend to think about it. “If I finish my homework, I'll go.”

“Good. It’s after dinner,” Snow says, still standing before me. “Should we go tell Dev and Niall?”

“Since when are you and me a ‘we’?” I spit, crashing any chance I had to turn this thing between us into a something.

“Right. We aren’t. Shouldn’t you go, though?”

“They might be busy.”

“Oh. Okay,” Snow says as he falls back onto his bed.

I actually finish my homework before five.

Dinner isn’t until seven, so that gives me plenty of time to get bored. I take a book and try to read for a while, but I can feel Snow’s eyes on me, which makes it a Herculean task to concentrate.

I light a fire in my palm and watch as the flames grow larger.

“Baz!” Snow shouts. “You’re flammable.”

“So is everything.”

“I’m serious,” he insists.

“So am I,” I say, but extinguish the fire anyway.

Snow sits up so that he’s facing me, and looks at my hand. “Can you teach me?”

“It’s not something you can learn to do,” I say. And then, because he looks hurt and thinks I think he's stupid, I add, “I mean, it's in my blood, it comes as naturally as breathing to me.”

“Oh.” Snow seems to think about it. “Do you have blood?”

I scowl at him. “I could teach you some spells, though. If you want.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, yes. Please.”

I try teaching him blessing in disguise and piece of cake, but his magic is too strong and chaotic he can’t make the spells work correctly. (He ends up dressed as a priest with a piece of pie on his hand.) (Not that he complains about that.)

“Nothing else matters,” I mutter, to help Simon focus on his magic; but, at the same time I cast the spell, he puts a hand on my shoulder and something happens. A surge of magic--Simon’s magic--runs through my body as the spell takes form and the room disappears. Everything disappears. It’s only Simon and me, nothing else.

Then Simon pulls back.

“How did you do that?” he asks.

“I didn’t. It was you.”

I try again without him and the spell works just normal. Simon tries doing it himself but it doesn't work, either.

“It only works if we do it together,” I say.

Simon’s hand is back on my shoulder. “It’s almost like--”

“We are…”

I can feel Simon’s blood pumping and his lips are getting closer but so is his neck and I think I might bite him.

So I step away. “Sorry, I need to--” I say as I walk towards the door.

Somehow Simon seems to understand. “Do you want me to come with you?” he offers.

“No. Stay here,” I tell him.

“I’m coming with you.”

 SIMON

We end up going to the catacombs.

Baz must be mental if he thinks I’m scared of him.

“Don’t look,” he says.

“I’m not scared,” I tell him. “I’m not disgusted, Baz. Just do it,” I insist. “It’s okay, I promise.”

That seems to reassure him, so he lets himself relax. His fangs pop out as he catches a rat.

Wicked.

 BAZ

“Do you want to go back to the room?” Simon asks when I’m done feeding.

It’s way past nine. I don't tell Simon about the game because I want to spend more time with him. Alone. (Plus, I don’t want him to drink.)

“I want to see the stars,” I say before I can’t stop myself.

If Snow is surprised, he doesn’t show it. He just looks up and says, “Let’s go to the ramparts.”

I didn’t know it was possible to feel this much. To be so in love that your heart doesn’t fit in your rib cage.

“Hey, Baz.” We’re lying on the floor. Snow’s head is resting on my chest and he makes my body vibrate as he speaks.  The wind is blowing gently on our faces.

“Yes?”

“What’s the name of that bright star over there?” he asks, pointing somewhere up in the starry sky.

Simon, I think, looking at him. Then I look up to where he’s pointing. “That’s Alpha Persei,” I say. “From the Perseus constellation.”

“Oh, nice.”

I take my wand and make a spell so lines of light come out of it. Then I trace the constellation for Simon to see.

“Wow. It’s amazing,” he says. “I knew you’d know.”

“You have it. On your body”

“What?”

I place a hand under Simon’s shirt, right on his chest, and trace the moles I memorized before. “Here.”    

Simon meets my hand on his chest.

“Let’s do it again,” he says.

“Do what?”

“The magic.”

I point my wand at the stars and say, “Nothing else matters.”

Everything around us disappears and then it’s just us. And the stars. I’ve never seen magic like this before--it’s like I’m drunk on magic. (Drunk on Snow.)

 SIMON

Magic takes a whole new meaning when I’m with Baz.

We talk about a lot of things. Important stuff. Meaningless stuff. I know the game must have started hours ago. But I’m right where I want to be.

It’s nice being Baz’s friend for once. It’s really, really nice. Too bad that it’s not what I want.

I want to be more than his friend.

I prop myself on one elbow and shift my body so that i’m looking at him. My hand is on his cheek. Baz is looking back at me.

When I was little, I used to sneak out to watch a science programme on TV. I remember this bloke called Neil something saying that when a subatomic particle is accelerated to near the speed of light, time slows down.

I think my heart might have just done that.

Slowly, I lean over and kiss Baz, because I can. (Because I want to.)

(I kiss him because I need to.)

 BAZ

I didn’t know a single day could hold so many breathtaking moments.

[Next Chapter]

[sportpeople]

Chi mi legge o mi ha letto anche sporadicamente in questi anni, sicuramente avrà intuito la mia idiosincrasia nei confronti dei nuovi stadi e delle loro modalità d’uso.

Non mi piacciono. E non tanto perché debba fare l’arcaico sentimentalista a tutti i costi, quanto perché nel nostro Paese vige la storta convinzione che “nuovo stadio” debba far rima con “repressione e oppressione del tifoso”. Oltre a una sua coatta trasformazione da spontaneo, viscerale e verace a impostato, politicamente corretto e benpensante. Fondamentalmente il mio astio è tutto qua.

In seconda battuta, ma questo è davvero un gusto personale, sono innamorato degli impianti vecchi, delle loro strutture fatiscenti e intrise di storia e di quei luoghi ancora ubicati vicino al cuore della città. In maniera da legarli appieno e quotidianamente ai suoi frequentatori.

Quindi dirigendomi verso l’Allianz Stadium già so di partire col piede sbagliato e una buona dose di pregiudizi in corpo. Il fatto di scendere per errore (indotto dal sonno) a Torino Lingotto e dover fare prima due chilometri a piedi per arrivare alla metro, poi cambiare col tram alla fermata Bernini (tempo di percorrenza totale circa un’ora) non aiuta certo a migliorare la mia considerazione su quello che, di fondo, fino a qualche anno fa ha rappresentato forse nella maniera più palese lo sperpero di denaro e il “magna magna” legati ai mondiali di Italia ’90.

Il mio riferimento è chiaramente al vecchio stadio Delle Alpi (ubicato sulla stessa sede dove ora insiste lo Stadium) e a tutte le sue proverbiali disfunzioni. Oltre alla sua “bruttezza” che, di fatto, ha profondamente modificato il modo di vivere lo stadio da parte dei torinesi. Un freddo macigno su una città che veniva da quasi tre decenni di tifo organizzato al Comunale, laddove in molti sostengono siano germogliati i primi gruppi ultras e laddove sicuramente si sono disputati i derby della Mole più accesi, belli e passionali.

Ma questa è storia passata e, ahinoi, le nuove generazioni possono solo scorgerne il riverbero.

Il gelo che viene dalle Alpi punge impietosamente le guance. Mentre decine di pullman arrestano la propria corsa di fronte al capolinea dei tram, lasciando scendere i moltissimi tifosi bianconeri provenienti da fuori città. Sicuramente il fatto che la Vecchia Signora sia la squadra più tifata d’Italia non aiuta a percepire un clima di unitaria appartenenza. Logico che ogni compagnia faccia riferimento alla propria regione o alla propria città. E questo credo che a grosse linee valga anche per la componente ultras.

L’aria soporifera che si respira attorno allo Stadium fa sì che molti tifosi della Roma girino indisturbati con la sciarpa al collo, senza che si avverta la minima tensione. Certo, indubbiamente questo è un punto a favore per l’opinione pubblica e le persone che non conoscono il mondo del tifo. Per me (e resta una considerazione personale) è invece un altro aspetto che conferma la mia idea sugli stadi nuovi. Ovviamente non sto foraggiando l’utilizzo della violenza, ma sto solo sostenendo che quella sensazione di tensione e “allerta” che si prova quando si arriva in uno stadio avversario fa parte del nostro modus vivendi.

Juventus-Roma, se parliamo prettamente di ultras, non è sicuramente la rivalità principale per le due curve. Se si parla di antipatia sportiva però credo che la vicendevole mal sopportazione sia quasi ai livelli di quella che intercorre tra viola/napoletani e bianconeri. E non sentire minimamente questo, all’esterno dello stadio, credo sia avvilente. Ma tant’è.

Dopo aver ritirato il mio biglietto mi appresto a superare i primi varchi. Veri e propri metal detector in stile aeroporto. A presidiarli non c’è nessun agente di forza pubblica, bensì gli steward privati della Juventus. Tutto molto in stile britannico bisogna dire. Se passare sotto a un metal detector per una partita di calcio non è molto piacevole, a mente fredda va anche detto che è sicuramente meglio rispetto a subire perquisizioni vessatorie e/o provocatorie o inutili eccessi di zelo. Che almeno nei settori di casa non sembrano avvenire.

Un po’ diversa la situazione agli ingressi riservati agli ospiti. I 2.100 romanisti vengono fermati uno a uno, venendo controllati in maniera meticolosa, alcuni addirittura quasi denudati malgrado la temperatura sia prossima allo zero. Le aste dei bandieroni vengono bandite e come negli anni precedenti tutti sono costretti a togliersi le scarpe. Un atteggiamento che i supporter capitolini conoscono bene, essendone stati vittime per quasi due anni nel periodo “barriere”.

Un modo di fare che a mio avviso va comunque condannato e riporta in auge quanto scritto sopra: perché “stadio nuovo” deve far rima con “oppressione del tifoso”? Perché nei nuovi impianti il tifoso ospite deve per forza esser ritenuto l’intruso da piazzare nei posti più remoti possibili (e in ciò il settore dello Stadium è un fulgido esempio) ed esser anche limitato nel fare il tifo? Io credo che se davvero si vuole fare un piano per rinnovare le strutture in Italia bisognerebbe renderle accessibili davvero a tutti. Nei prezzi e nelle modalità. Va compreso che il tifoso avversario è comunque parte dello spettacolo (parlando con lo stesso linguaggio degli addetti ai lavori). Siamo ripetitivi e stucchevoli: ma il modello tedesco nella gestione degli impianti è l’unica soluzione avveniristica che si può adottare se davvero si ha intenzione di ripopolare gli spalti in maniera sana.

Questo è il passaggio cruciale da cui far partire ogni discorso di rinnovamento. Ed è proprio su questo che verte la maggior parte del mio scetticismo.

All’interno tutti i seggiolini sono “agghindati” con bandiere bianconere preparate dalla società, che come capita spesso in queste occasioni ha deciso di colorare gli spalti. Curva compresa. Ora, è ovvio che qua si snodi un altro punto fondamentale sul giudizio complessivo. Da osservatore esterno, che conosce un minimo la realtà ultras, dico che in fin dei conti ci può stare che il club voglia colorare i settori. Però, è altrettanto ovvio, la curva dovrebbe pensare a se stessa. Diciamocela tutta: vedere un settore ultras che realizza una coreografia imposta dal club non è il massimo. E non solo per il concetto di non accettare nulla dalla dirigenza, quanto per un mero fattore di creatività.

Ai tempi del Delle Alpi, vado a memoria, ricordo anche discrete coreografie realizzate dagli ultras juventini. Bei lavori di fantasia che davano risultati ben più belli e originali rispetto alle perenni bandierine con i colori sociali. Ognuno a casa sua è libero di agire come meglio crede, ovvio, però qua c’è un altro aspetto che valorizza la mia sfiducia verso gli stadi nuovi: bisognerà essere per forza omologati a tutti quello che il club vuole? Addirittura nelle coreografie?

Intanto la partita volge verso l’inizio e nel settore ospiti tutte le pezze sono state sistemate nei due anelli. All’ingresso in campo i giallorossi si fanno sentire col classico “Quando l’inno s’alzerà” colorato da un paio di fumogeni. Per tutta la partita il loro tifo si terrà sempre sulla sufficienza, senza riuscire mai a spiccare il volo.

Juventus-Roma con un settore ospiti così piccolo e una situazione di classifica contingente, significa anche ressa ai botteghini – causa voglia di trasferta da parte degli occasionali – e parecchia gente avvezza allo stadio che resta giocoforza fuori. Il che si tramuta in una componente poco omogenea che, a sua volta, si riflette nel tifo. Inoltre la conformazione stretta e a due anelli del settore non agevola certamente la coordinazione del tifo.

Comunque sempre belli i battimani e i picchi di tifo con cui i tifosi della Roma sovrastano nettamente i padroni di casa.

Cosa dire sulla Sud juventina? Sapevo di non trovare il catino caliente del Marakana di Belgrado, ma onestamente mi aspettavo qualcosina di meglio. Soprattutto in un impianto che, grazie alla sua copertura e alla sua compattezza, può aiutare molto il tifo. Anche in virtù del ritorno di tamburi e megafoni.

E invece la prestazione dei padroni di casa è insufficiente. Davvero troppe pause tra un coro e un altro e poca gente che partecipa costantemente. Sia sopra che sotto.

In campo è la Juventus ad avere la meglio grazie a un gol di Benatia nel primo tempo e al clamoroso errore del romanista Schick, che a tempo ormai scaduto a tu per tu con l’estremo difensore avversario sbaglia praticamente un gol già fatto. Un successo che rilancia definitivamente la Juve in orbita scudetto.

Al triplice fischio i miei arti inferiori sono ormai in ipotermia e non mi resta che buttarmi in un bar nell’attesa di tornare definitivamente a casa. Mentre intorno la masnada di tifosi bianconeri provenienti da ogni dove escono festanti avviandosi verso i propri mezzi.

Simone Meloni

  Juventus-Roma, Serie A: perché “stadio nuovo” deve far rima con “trasformazione”? Chi mi legge o mi ha letto anche sporadicamente in questi anni, sicuramente avrà intuito la mia…

[wanna-be-missed]

The Meaning Of Love (Chapter 1 of 6)

Summary: Simon’s never really understood the meaning words like ‘want,’ ‘family,’ and ‘love.’ This is his journey, set after the events of the book, to discovering his own feelings and being at peace with the Mage, Baz, and most of all, himself.

This is basically my own little continuation of the book. Please let me know what you think! I’ll be releasing a chapter a day!

You can read the first chapter on A03, fanfiction.net, or underneath the cut.

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Chapter 1: Inexpressible/Unknown

Simon had never been very good at talking or putting his own feelings into words.

By the time he’d said his first word when he was a kid, everyone around him had already assumed that he was dumb and mute. All the other kids his age had already started talking, making sounds even if they were nonsense. Simon stayed quiet.

It wasn’t that he was dumb. He’d just spent his whole life tossed around different foster homes, and no one had ever taken the time to talk to him much. He wasn’t around long enough for people to get to know him or to finally get him to open up. Of course he was having trouble learning. His life was confusing, completely void of a stable parental figure who loved him. It was understandable.

Eventually he caught on and finally began to speak. He learned non-abstract words like ‘ball’ and ‘dog,’ but even then, he struggled to articulate his emotions, to translate that feeling of want into words.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried in those early days of being a kid. “More food pwease?” he remembered asking cheerfully one day after he’d licked his plate clean.

“No, there isn’t any fucking more! Be grateful for what you have, you little brat!”

He’d already forgotten that particular foster parent’s face, but he would never let himself forget their response. Simon hid his bruises for weeks after that. He never asked again.

Simon had always liked food. However, it was rare that he ever lived in a place that could offer him very much. Sometimes he would starve. He usually fell asleep to the sound of his own grumbling belly. But if he acted like he was ungrateful or unhappy with his current situation, there were often dire consequences, so he stayed quiet.

It wasn't always that bad, however.

Once he’d lived with a nice old lady who cooked him scones. They were nothing like the sour cherry scones he would come to covet at the Watford School of Magicks. She burned them, and she was too poor to afford anything fancy, but her heart was in it.

“You sure gobbled those down quickly!” she chortled. “Do you want me to make you any more? I have just enough to make another batch.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Simon murmured, remembering his manners.

“Nonsense!” the woman cried good-naturedly. “You’re part of the family now. I’ll whip you up some more!”

Simon didn’t understand what she meant by ‘family.’ A half a year after that, however, he was transferred to live somewhere else, so he never quite found out.

Everywhere he went, he was never in a position to ask for what he wanted. Sometimes he slipped up and wished for something (like the time he wanted to grow up to be a footballer, or even worse, the time he wished that his parents would somehow come back to find him). But then reality set in, and he realized that it was useless to think about it. Whenever something happened to him, it was always something that he had no control over. Dreaming, wishing, wanting: it was all pointless.

He began to make lists in his head of things to push to the back of his mind. It was better than wanting something that he could never have.

It hurt too much.

---

Watford had always felt like the place where he belonged, but after the Leaver’s Ball, Simon never stepped foot there again.

Baz moved into a dorm at the London School of Economics after he graduated, and was doing really well there (of course he was, the prat was flawless), but in comparison, Simon had no idea what he should be doing with his life or where he belonged. He was lost.

Even Penny seemed to have her life put together. She had dropped out of Watford just the same as Simon, but she was smart enough that it hadn’t affected her job prospects in the slightest.

Also, she still had magic on her side.

Simon was now about as Magickal as a Normal, albeit a Normal with dragon wings and a cartoonish devil tail. He mourned the loss of his magic. He couldn’t even go out in public without relying on someone else to spell his wings and tail invisible for him. He could never be a mage anymore, but he could never be a Normal either. He didn’t fit in anywhere.

He used to be the Chosen One, and now… he was just no one.

Despite his lack of purpose, life went on. He and Penny bought an apartment not far from where Baz went to school. He needed to pay rent somehow, so he applied for a job at a shop nearby.

The owners of the shop were a couple of mages, Mr. and Mrs. Stainton, the parents of Philippa Stainton. They didn’t really approve of Simon dating Baz after he had been the one to steal away their daughter’s voice, but they were friends of the Bunces and agreed to take Simon in without a second thought. They were some of the few people left who still believed that Simon was a hero. They forgave him for a lot of his faults because of what he’d done in the past to save the Magickal World. They never mentioned that most of those things only happened because of him in the first place. He always made sure to quickly change the subject whenever they praised him.

Simon didn’t particularly enjoy the shop work either, but it gave him something to do and paid the bills. Besides, after everything that had happened, he was kind of glad for a life without adventure. No more fearing for his life every day. No more worrying about going off. He’d never considered what he would do after Watford. Honestly, he never thought he’d survive that long.

At one point while he had been dating Agatha, he’d let himself imagine a future with her. He’d imagined that he would just marry into the Wellbelove family and things would fall into place from there. He knew now that that had just been the easy way out, a way of escaping from actually having to decide what (or who) he really wanted.

No wonder it had taken him so long to realize that he was obsessed with Baz.

He never could have predicted that he’d end up with a boy, much less a vampire who used to be his enemy, but somehow that’s what happened, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Maybe he liked girls too, he wasn’t sure, but he knew without a doubt that he liked Baz the most.

After all their fighting and hating each other, it had only taken a moment between them and a desperate kiss for Simon to finally realize how he felt. Just as always, it was so much better for him to just go with the flow. What was the point of trying to think about the future when it was impossible to predict? He didn’t want to think about the past or the future, so he threw himself into enjoying the present.

Even though he didn’t like working all that much, he did love that the store was right next to a bakery. He spent a lot of time looking into the window and drooling. He often spent his lunch break watching them as they added finishing touches to the cakes.

This was happiness, he thought as he ate: no thinking, no feeling, just being.

---

“I love you, Simon,” Baz whispered, his voice wavering with an emotion that Simon didn’t recognize. “I love you so much.”

Simon’s eyes widened.

It had been about half a year since they had officially become boyfriends, but neither one of them had said those words aloud to each other before. Baz had been practically in love with Simon ever since puberty hit, and on some level Simon understood that by now, but he had no idea how he was supposed to respond. His mouth hung open dumbly.

When he didn’t say anything back, Baz averted his eyes and cleared his throat awkwardly, his features twisting into a scowl.

Simon took Baz’s hand in his gently, a silent apology, a silent answer.

Baz looked up at him, reassured by his touch. They were always holding hands. They did it more than talking. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

Simon looked a bit sheepish. “You know me, Baz. I… I’m not sure what I’m feeling most of the time.” He hated his own excuses, even if they were true. “But I do know that I’m so happy to be with you. That’s the one thing that I’m absolutely sure of.”

“You’re happy,” Baz confirmed, keeping his voice neutral, “but you don’t know if you love me back.”

Simon heard a small spark of anger in his voice, which Simon knew by now meant he was actually just disappointed and feeling defensive. He squeezed Baz’s hand, terrified that this was going to mess things up between them. He wanted to say it back so badly. There was no one else he could ever imagine saying it to.

But he knew Baz, and he knew that Baz wouldn’t want to hear it unless it was the truth.

The only experience he’d ever had with saying ‘I love you’ was with Agatha, but neither of them had actually understood what they were saying back then. They had both just been going through the motions, trying to keep each other by doing what they thought they needed to do. In the end, relying on a love that just wasn’t there was what ruined them. He didn’t want that to happen between him and Baz. He wanted to be sure.

“It’s just…” Simon said, trying his best to explain truthfully, “I don’t even know what that word means. I’ve never really… No one’s ever really…”

Baz nodded silently in understanding. He should’ve realized that Simon would need time. No one had ever really cared for Simon like this, not even family. He’d always been on his own.

The side of Baz’s mouth twitched up in an attempted smile, and he leaned over to kiss Simon on the cheek, pressing his lips against as many of Simon’s moles as he could find. “Take your time, then,” he said softly between kisses. “I’m not going anywhere.”