#only acceptable basil space I’ve seen so far I fucking love this so much I need to draw some of these landscapes

[clegfly]

points at this SO HARD. THIS. THIS IS CANON

Eight hours of work over four days later!!! say hello to Marzenie

A cold, quiet wasteland of inescapable familiarity, not a place to hide, but a place that is actively hunting you

You are not safe here. It’s just as bad here as it is out there

[cough cough … so in case this is your first time seeing me posting about Marzenie, the general idea is that it’s an omori au that shows things from Basil’s perspective- giving him his own inner world and a deeper look into what he’s actually going through, given omori is from Sunny’s perspective we don’t really get the most in depth idea of how things are in Basils own mind other then the vague idea that it’s really bad— Marzenie is an AU that hopes to elaborate on Basils character and inner struggle in ways that Omori does not. And yes that means sending him on a fantasy adventure in his own mind but like- when I say fantasy I mean In the same way as a game like Fear and Hunger is “fantasy”]

[charlie-sloane-art]

The Fair Play 3

Summary: You finally meet Oberyn on the way to your lover’s funeral.

Here it is guys! It’s Oberyn, baby!

Read Chapter 1 and Chapter 2

“Fuck off.” You had told Jaime with the ghost of a laugh on your lips. You’d gone through so much, it seemed a shame to let marriage ruin it.

“I meant what I said, Cubby.”

Your smile fell, just like his “No you don’t.” 

“Yes, I do.” He suddenly got the courage, the same feeling in his chest like when he’d dive off the cliffs of Lannisport. He took your hand and kissed the back of it, the softest touch being the most familiar. “I-”

“Don’t say it.”

“Why not?”

“Because if it isn’t true it will haunt the both of us. And if it is true, I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“But don’t you?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Of course I do, but marriage? For what? Pleasing your father? No. I won’t accept being corralled into a union. Not with you, not with anyone.” You shook your head and pulled your hand away from his.

“I see.” Jaime nodded, his feet shifting in place “I should leave.”

“Jaime,” Your voice softened and you walked a step closer to him before he could leave.

“Yes?”

“I’ll have an answer for you by the time I get back to King’s Landing for the wedding.” It was a middleground compromise. Part of you knew you couldn’t stay unmarried forever, after all. And you weren’t exactly in the right position to be turning down such lucrative offers.

“I can take a simple ‘no’, you know.”

“It’s not a ‘no’. It’s a...give me time. I still wake up thinking today’s the day they capture us for good. I’m not ready to give you an answer.”

Jaime could understand that. His nightmares about the forests of Westeros hadn’t subsided either. “I do, though.” He murmured, looking you up and down.

“I know you do. So do I.” You walked over to him and put a hand on the back of his neck, feeling the now completely clean and cut blonde hair. Jaime stared at you so longingly that everything went quiet for him. You leaned up, bringing his head closer to yours, to rest your forehead against his. He nudged his nose against yours and in return you pressed your lips to his. Another familiar touch.

A week into the ride to Hightower a voice spoke from behind you, a Rhoynari accent clear as day in your ear “You seem preoccupied, Lady Mormont.”

You turned around, looking the stranger up and down “Just lost.” You responded, looking among the vast sea of tents set up for the night in the middle of this expansive field.

“You are going to sleep so soon?” The stranger was tall, leaned and muscled with tanned skin and the same dark eyes your once-lover had. 

“Pardon me, but do we know each other?” It wasn’t likely, but still it was better than demanding a stranger explain their presence.

“Apologies, Lady Mormont. I know of you from my nephew’s correspondences.” He bowed and took your hand in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles.

“Oh.” Your blush could be seen through the dark, illuminated by some torch light and whatever sliver of the moon had shown its face. “Prince Oberyn.” You should have known, really, that the Dornishman adorned in bright orange vests and silks was the prince of Dorne.

“Lady Mormont,” He smiled, standing up straight “We finally meet.”

“He used to talk so much about you.” You blurted out, not sure what else you could have said.

“He wrote about you frequently. The only way I knew it was you was from the portrait he’d sent me of you not long ago.” Oberyn nodded, smiling down at you. The North star twinkled in his eye with a scandalous glimmer. 

“I wondered where that portrait had gone.” You smiled, relieved in the sharing of memories of a mutual loved one “He told me all about how you helped raise him into knighthood. He was always very proud to have learned from you.”

“He was like a son to me.” Oberyn nodded, “Dorne was always his place. He should have never gone to the capital.” He sighed “Well, in any case, I shall see you tomorrow, Lady Mormont. Something tells me we have lots to talk about that shouldn’t be spoiled in one evening.” He bowed.

Before he could leave you told him your name, the one you would be most comfortable with him calling you, and he smiled crookedly, giving you a polite nod “Before I do walk away,” He swaggered back carefully “I should escort you to your tent, no?”

“Oh.” You didn’t have a tent. Just the horse tied to a cherry orchard close to the barrack tent where the guards slept. It was safer closer to an armory.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, I just prefer to sleep under the stars.”

“How romantic.” He smiled at you and offered his arm “Come, show me where.”

You lead him to the small tree that should give you cover in case the clear night turned on its head and rained on you.

“You were not joking.” He said, a little more seriously than usual.

“I don’t have attendants and this is what I could manage-”

“This is unacceptable for a lady of such beauty, sleeping in the dirt.” You felt embarrassed and shuffled your feet, but he said it more like this was an injustice done to you, not by you. “You will sleep in my tent.” He decided.

“What?” You turned on your heel to face him and gave him a harsh look up and down “Who do you think you are, propositioning me like that?”

“My Lady, I was not propositioning you. I did not mean to offend. I can sleep on the rug in my tent and you may take the bed. It is what Caspian would want for you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and shook your head “The sky’s clear tonight. I should be fine. I’m used to it anyway.”

“So am I. On my travels to Essos with the Golden Company there often was not enough lodging for us. I slept on the floor multiple times. It is good for your spine.” He walked over to the roots of the orchard and kicked his foot gently against it “But this? It’s hard and jagged. You won’t sleep well and riding tomorrow will be difficult. At the very least, if you sleep here I should offer you a seat in my carriage. I get so lonely on the day ride and my thoughts tend to go morose when left to themselves.”

“Fine.” You nodded and brought your blanket from off of your horse’s hind, both a loan from Jaime “I will take a seat in your carriage, Prince Oberyn, in exchange you leave me be about my sleeping circumstances. We weren’t all born for feather beds.”

Oberyn put his hands up as you settled your back against the tree and placed the blanket over you “A fine trade. I shall come back by here tomorrow and wake you.”

There was no need, in the end. You were awake, ready, and fed off of dried meats and a piece of a loaf of bread you’d packed far before Oberyn came to get you.

“My Lady.” He bowed to you. You noticed he hadn’t done the same for the other ladies or lords around the camp. His house words came to you Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. Unbowed. 

“What’s a prince like you,” You started, making him raise an eyebrow “bowing to a lady like me for?”

“From what I’ve heard of you and your adventures,” through Caspian, no doubt “I hold you to a station far above mine, my Lady.”

You smiled a little and nodded, folding your blanket to put back on your horse but Oberyn stopped you “That won’t be necessary. I have space to put your trunk and belongings. Your horse will ride with the others pulling the carriage.”

“It’s a loan.”

“And it will be returned to you. You have my word.”

You nodded and placed the blanket in your trunk “I’d like to hear of your adventures. It’s only fair since you know so much of mine.” You couldn’t help look the prince up and down. Did he recently tweeze his eyebrows? They didn’t have the same shape last night. And his facial hair was far more trimmed and straightened. Had the Prince of Dorne gussied up for you?

“And yet I have so many questions about yours.” He smiled and offered his hand to take your valise, which you lugged into his arms with a simple thanks. Untying your horse from the tree, you took the reins and followed Oberyn. He was right. Your lower back felt sore and cramped. You were thankful for the cushioned seat he had offered.

“Like what?”

“How did you escape in the first place? How were you so sure you could trust a Lannister of all people?”

“Mutual gain. He knew he couldn’t escape on his own and the lands were still sympathetic to the northern cause. He didn’t have the right vocabulary not to be caught. And I needed to escape.”

“How did you set him free?”

“I brought him dinner the night before and stuck a dagger in the bread. He killed the guard on my signal and I opened the door for him.”

“He could have slit your throat.”

“He was not that stupid, fortunately.” You smiled up at Oberyn and he shook his head.

“It’s all so hard to believe, and yet...my nephew mentioned a knight catching you. You were caught multiple times, yes?”

“Yes. About seven days in, we were intercepted by Brienne of Tarth who had the mission to bring Jaime to King’s Landing and me back for execution to the Starks.”

“And the second?”

“By Lord Bolton’s men who cut off Jaime’s hand. They had it in mind to do awful things to both Brienne and I. Jaime made sure it didn’t happen. I owe him my life.”

Oberyn sighed “Must be a strange thing, being in debt to a Lannister.”

“They’re funny about debts, those ones.” You smiled and found yourself looking at a beautiful carriage, carrying the orange and red banners of house Martell. It was painted yellow with orange trimmings, every edge curved to look like the sun. Carved into it were small stars along the doorways and wheel rims. The closer you got to it the better you could smell the inside. Oberyn opened the door for you after hauling and strapping in your trunk to the back. Oranges, basil, and sweet mint wafted towards you like it had been burned as incense. Sure enough, he had a stick of it burning by the window, a special hole in the window frame to hold it in place.

“The country smells awful.” He made a comment as he climbed in after you, sitting across from you and getting comfortable with his legs apart and his arms on either side of the backs. “I much prefer the smell of home.”

“This is what Dorne smells like?”

He nodded “In my age, I’ve grown more homesick.”

“Pardon me,” Oberyn shook his head and swatted his hand to tell you to drop such formalities “but didn’t you recently just spend three years in Essos?”

“Caspian told you?” Oberyn rose a brow and smiled, tilting his head to the side. You sat so conservatively, like you wanted to fold in on yourself. The dress wasn’t helping your case either. “I spent five years in Essos.”

“Homesick the entire time?”

“No, moreso homesick because of it.”

“I don’t think I could ever understand.” You had been born on Bear Island, yes, but your father Jeor Mormont had soon left to take the black and become the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch- a position he never returned from. Your mother, old as she was when you were born, died of sepsis soon after your birth. Your brother, Jorah, had been exiled a year into your life and it left your cousin Maege the Lady Bear had still been young when she was given control of the island. She sent you away when the Starks offered to raise you as a ward. You had been just a baby and up until two years ago, Winterfell was all you knew.

“You do not miss Winterfell?” Oberyn asked curiously, scooching on the seat to be more directly in front of you.

“No. It wasn’t really my home, anyway. Everyone made sure to tell me that whenever I got too comfortable.” You weren’t sure why you were oversharing but Oberyn didn’t seem to mind. He did, however, notice your discomfort.

“Your clothes are not made for riding.” He noticed “When we station for the night I shall find you more appropriate ones.”

“That is kind of you.”

“I only assume you would not want to be beholden to my presence twice.” Oberyn laughed and leaned back, reaching for a bowl of berries in the carriage. Fresh, you noticed. How had the man gotten fresh berries delivered to him in the middle of the Stormlands?

“I appreciate that.” You quipped and he laughed. You swore there was nothing that made you feel more like a grown woman than when you made him laugh.

“May I ask a personal question?” You ventured, leaning forward.

“All questions are personal if they require a truthful answer.” Oberyn nodded

“Is it true you have eighty children?”

“Eighty bastards, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to say it.”

“It’s not a bad word, Y/N. You can call them what they are. Bastards. And no, I have eight daughters...that I know of. Maybe more. Definitely more. At least five more, I suspect.”

“Doesn’t that haunt you?”

“Haunt me? How?”

The carriage stirred to life and began rolling down the path following the others.

“To be beholden to at least eight other lives, eight other people you hold responsibility for.”

“I suspect,” He leaned forward to mirror you. “It may be different because I am a rich man. I can make as many children as I like with little consequence. For you to have eight children would be a different matter than for me to have eight children. I do not have to grow them, as much as I try to participate in the process, the burden does not fall to me. I do not hold the stained mark of a consummated woman for nine months and years after. A woman does not hold the same luxury.”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. You’d never heard a man speak like that before. Then he ruined it by saying: “You are very beautiful so deep in thought.”

-

Tags: @jokersdoll @bluegalaxyprime​ @zeldasayer​ @beaferni @thewaythisis​ @edwardsj81​ @hollandhiddles​ @mandahoe @btsbodyguardforever @refrigerated-omelette​ @theshiftylibrarian​ @azulasgf​ @vikingqueen28​ @justnancydrewthangs​ @heatherlynn25​ @c-ly-g​ @discogrrl​ @no-thanks-lol​ @yxorebeloxy @jeahyunniespeach @coffeeandtodd​ @reesestwizzlers25 @the-universe-stars-and-sun​ @zanasharm​ @venus-calum @cielphantomhixe​ @everything-lost-and-unsaid​ @fioccodineveautunnale @trashbin2 @0one-shots0 @literatureandqueen @readsalot73 @karolinadream @glimmerandsparkle @little-ms-fandom @sweet-songbirds @nomnomnomnamja @valhallavalkyrie9

[jessethejoyful]

part seven, we out

final part of my art school au <3 thanks for all the love and support guys it means a lot and helps me write more

shoutout to my girl @capnhap for the support and ideas (see: rooftop snowbaz)

read it here on ao3

SIMON

Applications for the fall student showcase are posted in the middle of November, outside the main offices. I had nothing from this semester that I felt like showing, nothing that stuck out to me like the ballerina had - but it occurred to me that I’d never seen any of Baz’s artwork in any of the student shows.

When I asked him about it, he balked immediately.

“I’ve just never gotten my application in on time,” he said stiffly, not taking his eyes off the anime we were watching. We were curled up on his couch, me sketching and him trying to do anything but work on art because his hands were cramping up badly, and I had just remembered seeing the fliers that morning.

There was half a foot of space between us, which I tried to ignore. Our toes kept touching.

“Well, now you have the time,” I pressed, dropping my drawing pad to the floor and leaning toward him. He made a clear effort not to look at me. “The deadline is in two weeks.”

I watched his neck move as he swallowed. “I - I’ll think about it.” As much as I wanted to keep pressing, I could tell he was already distressed. I don’t know where we stand exactly, and I wasn't ready to push my luck just yet.

Three days later, when I stopped by his shop for some tea, I brought it up again.

“Penny put in her app for the showcase today,” I said conversationally, leaning over the counter to smile at Baz as he dunked a tea bag in steaming water. His shoulders immediately tensed, and he looked away from me. “She’s pretty nervous about it, but I told her she’d get in, no problem. Like you would.”

He spoke through clenched teeth. “That’s not - the issue.”

That wasn’t what I was expecting. “Then what is the issue, Baz?”

His lip curled, and he practically shoved my tea at me. “What could I possibly put in? I hate almost everything I make after I’m through with it. I could never put anything in with good conscience.”

I don’t think I ever realized how critical he is of his own work. I cast my mind back, to the night when we’d slept wrapped around each other, and when I woke up the next morning. The ballerina, the one I’d thought he’d sold, perched in a corner of his bedroom. The only painting in there.

“The ballerina,” I said softly, and he paused in the middle of restocking lids, hand hovering in midair. “I know you love that piece, Basil. I love that piece. You should put it in the showcase.” I grabbed my tea and smiled at him, and it felt a little sad. “I won’t try to force you. But I think it’d be amazing for you.” I left with that parting remark, and then I don’t see Baz for two days, which was weird because by that point we were spending pretty much all of our free time together.

When I do see him again, I’m sitting by myself on the roof of our apartment, wrapped up in a pile of blankets and doodling idly in my sketchbook to keep my mind off of my animation presentation the next day. I hear a clatter as the door swings open, and I emerge from my cocoon to see Baz standing over me, looking shaken.

“I put in my application,” he says with no preamble, and I smile and try to push my way up, but he just drops down in front of me, grabs my face in his gloved hands, and kisses me roughly, sweetly. I'm surprised, but not unwilling, and I grab the collar of his jacket, laughing around the kiss.

“I’m really proud of you,” I say quietly, sincerely, when we part, breathing heavily. He presses his forehead to mine and doesn't say anything.

BAZ

They send out letters to inform the showcase applicants whether or not they got in. When I get mine, I take it to Simon, because I can’t bring myself to open it. We sit down together at his kitchen table - he says Penny is with Micah, celebrating her acceptance - and he carefully tears open the envelope and pulls out the paper, his eyes moving over the lines.

“You’re in!” he says excitedly, and I try not to slump with relief. “Told you you’d get in!” I roll my eyes at him.

It was hard explaining to him why I hesitated so much. It’s not that I think I’m bad (I know I’m quite good), but it’s different to submit your artwork to someone and have them tell you whether it’s worthy to be shown to other people. He doesn’t have the same anxieties as I do, and I could never really put the feeling into words.

Simon reaches across the table and takes my hand, squeezing it and grinning at me. I squeeze back, and his grin widens.

“What do you say we go out and celebrate too? Anywhere you want to go, on me.”

I look at him, and I'm thinking hard, about that offer and everything else.

“Actually, Simon…” I begin, tilting my head at him, “could we maybe just stay here and do takeout? I don't know if I have the emotional capacity to go out right now.” He looks shocked for a moment, then absolutely beams at me, and I'm blinded by it.

“Yeah, ‘course we can,” he says quietly, lifting my knuckles to his lips and kissing them lightly.

He pushes up and by me to find a menu, and I reach out as he passes me, because I'm useless and so fucking soft for this boy. He stops and leans over me, and I hook my thumbs in the loops of his jeans and drag him to me, practically onto my lap. His hand goes to the back of my neck and deftly pulls out the band holding it back, and I laugh as my hair falls around my face. I know he likes to run his fingers through it, and he does now, and his lips press to my forehead.

I was worried I’d feel more panicked if I got accepted, but here, in this little kitchen with this beautiful boy taking care of me, and me of him, I’m not panicking. I’m grateful, for the opportunity and for the people who helped me get there.

PENNY

The showcase was brilliant, and not just because I was apart of it (though that definitely helped - the piece I put in was easily one of my best, and everyone agreed). We all went together, Micah and I, Agatha, Simon and Baz, and I was surprised Simon agreed to go, since he didn’t even when his work was in it. I suspect I know why he did this time, but I didn’t call him out on it.

It was funny watching he and Baz flit around each other, like they were nervous of brushing shoulders or touching hands, when I know that Simon spent the night with Baz a few weeks ago.

He’d come into the flat late one morning, nearly noon, and I’d assumed he’d been doing another doozy in the lab. But he was grinning from ear to ear, bouncing on the balls of his feet and seeming far too awake for someone who’d supposedly been up the whole night and sporting wild hair that looked suspiciously like his bedhead.

“Hi, Simon,” I’d said, poking my head out of the kitchen door, and he spooked immediately, his eyes flashing wide. Startled, but also… guilty?

“Penny! Hi, Penny!” he said, way too chipper. I leaned against the door frame, wiping my hands on a towel, and stared at him. “Uh, how did your presentation go yesterday?”

My eyes narrowed. “It was fine. Stars across the board.”

His smile returned, but I could still see how sheepish he was underneath it. I know his facial expressions far too well.

“I’m so proud of you, Penny,” he said sincerely, and I wondered for a moment if I was just being paranoid. “You always do so well, and you’re such an inspiration to me.”

He was really laying it on thick. There was definitely something he was hiding, but then wasn’t the time to try and get it out of him. Simon is stubborn when he wants to be, he’ll just stick out his chin and not say a word, no matter how much I badger him.

“Thanks, Simon…” I lifted one of my eyebrows at him, and his grin widened to an uncomfortable size. It looked painful.

“I’m gonna go take a shower! I’ll talk to you in a bit!” And he disappeared into the bathroom. He turned up his music - he only listens to Adele when he’s in a really good mood - and I sat down at our little table, thinking hard.

That’s was when it me. He must’ve been with Basil .

I couldn’t believe he was hiding this from me. I guess I do give him shit for talking about the guy too much (“He wore a tank top today, Penny! A tank top ! I could see his shoulders !” - can you blame me for being tired of it?).

I went and hung out at Micah’s apartment the next day, and he just laughed when I complained.

“Did you ever think that maybe Simon’s embarrassed about it?” he suggested, stirring at something that smelled amazing on the stovetop. He makes us dinner every now and then, and I’m always blown away by his cooking. Thank God one of us can cook.

“Yeah, but, I know everything embarrassing about Simon! He doesn’t have any self preservation around me, he tends to just say whatever’s on his mind.”

Micah shrugged. “It’s delicate, Penn. You told me Si’s never had much of a relationship, so maybe he’s keeping quiet so he doesn’t hype himself up too much or start over-analyzing everything like you tend to stir up.”

“I do not!”

“You so do !”

I huffed out a breath, kicking at him from the chair I was in, and he laughed again.  “Fine, maybe I do, but it’s not my fault he’s picked up the habit.” My hair was feeling heavy, and I quickly tied it up on top of my head. “So he’s embarrassed. Or nervous. I guess that’s fair, but I can’t believe he’s managed to keep it quiet. He’s an awful actor.”

“Both of you do tend to wear whatever you’re feeling front and center on your faces.”

“Micah! I do not !” He looked at me over his shoulder, and I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Just let him come to you, babe,” he said, carrying the food over to the table and sitting across from me. “I’m sure they’re both still figuring out what they are. When Simon’s ready, he’ll know where to find you.”

I hate it when he’s right.

SIMON

It’s nearly Christmas. Finals are over, but the closer we get to the holiday, the edgier I feel about the whole thing.

Normally I go back with Agatha to her family’s obnoxiously large house, because I love her parents like they’re my own. But Agatha’s got some kind of horse competition out of town (I’ve never understood the riding, and Ag’s stopped trying to teach me), so all three of them are going to be gone and the house empty. They tried to convince me to come with them, but I always feel so out of place among their posh friends, even when I’m kitted out in my best.

I tell them I’ll probably have to work anyways. And that’s true. Now that classes have ended, I’m getting more hours at work, and I know Anna is happy to have someone to split the time with. She was working practically double overtime before they brought me on.

Penny is going home like she always does, but I can tell she feels bad about it. I keep having to reassure her, over and over again, that I really am fine spending Christmas here on my own. I’m good at being on my own.

I start spending a lot more time on the roof of the apartment. It’s not fancy - some of the other residents have put plastic chairs up there, and Penny strung up fairy lights a few months ago, and they’re still up. That’s about all that’s up there. I like to haul up a pile of blankets and cocoon myself in a corner (I run hot, but I still get cold during our winters) with my drawing pad, just doodling whatever comes to mind until it gets too dark to see my paper. Then I’ll turn the lights on and doodle some more, until I fall asleep or manage to wander back downstairs.

The roof isn’t really to avoid Penny and her guilty apologies, but it’s a nice escape. She keeps sending me these furtive glances when we’re in the flat, so I’ll gather my things quietly and head up. Plus, I like the cold. It clears my head.

Clearing my head lately has been harder. I’m glad the stress of finals is over - I did well in all of my classes, so I don’t have to spend the break feeling bad about myself. But there’s the other, boy-shaped issue I’m constantly fretting about, these days.

It was precious, watching him at the showcase. We wandered around the gallery, not touching but almost, and I saw every time he cast a nervous glance over at his own painting. He never walked us by it, and I let him lead, but he kept a close eye on it and the people looking at it. I saw the way his shoulders tightened every time someone made a comment, but they were all positive, so he didn’t have a meltdown (“Look at those colors . So emotive.” “You can practically feel her pain.”). Even if he wouldn’t admit it, I could tell he was glad to be there. And I was glad to be there, supporting him.

We’re not dating. At least, we haven’t had a conversation about it, so I guess that means we’re not dating. I don’t even know how to breach that shit. Am I supposed to just look at him and go, “So you wanna be boyfriends?”

I can’t imagine those words coming out of my mouth. Until I’m sitting beside him, watching the way his face shifts when he talks, and I think maybe I could manage saying something as embarrassing as that. For him.

It’s late when the door to the roof opens and I’m startled, trying to dig myself out of my blanket hole to see who it is. When I finally manage to pop my head out the top, the first thing I see is Baz again, squatting in front of my pile, illuminated by the fairy lights and looking at me, clearly amused. He’s bundled up, with his hair hidden under a winter aviator hat, a scarf shoved into the collar of his coat, and maroon gloves covering his nimble, beautiful fingers. It’s kind of funny paired with his joggers and what looks to be a pair of thick, woolen house socks.

“Baz,” I croak, my voice weak from disuse. I’ve barely spoken to anyone today, I’ve been up here so long. I start struggling to get out of my cocoon, and he holds a hand out to stop me.

“Don’t get up,” he says quickly, pushing upright. “Penelope told me you’d be up here with your fort…” He rubs his neck, looking uncomfortable.

I tilt my head, peering up at him. “D’you wanna join me?” He looks relieved and nods his head, a small smile playing across his face, and it hollows me out. I start unwrapping layers, and he tries to help, but I don’t think he realizes how many blankets I have, and I see his hands actually shaking with cold.

We finally manage to get down to the base layer, and he awkwardly clambers down beside me, pressing against my side, and he seems unsure of where to put his hands. I take one of them and gently pull his arm around me, and he grins with a loud breath, helping me to close us back in. All bundled like this with only our heads out, we must look absolutely ridiculous, but really no one comes up here during the winter except me. And Baz, apparently.

“I was going to ask you how you weren’t cold out here,” he whispers, his breath coming out like clouds, “but now that I’m in here, I’m shocked you’re not burning up.”

“I prefer being hot to being cold,” I whisper back, and I’m not sure why we’re being so quiet. I clear my throat and say in my normal voice, “Are you cold still?”

He shifts toward me, and at some point during our ritual his legs hand ended up tangled with me. “A little. My face mostly, since it’s out of the blankets.” I lift my eyebrows at this, and carefully extricate a hand from the folds, and cup his cheek with it.

His little intake of breath nearly kills me. “How’s that? Better?”

“You’re like a fucking furnace,” he says impishly, and I’m glad he’s not trying to be soft right now, because I might just die on the spot. “How have you not caught yourself on fire by now?” But he does tilt his face into my hand, pressing against my palm, and I think I might love him.

That thought’s been occurring to me more and more lately, as we get closer and things start to feel less unsure between us. There are lots of things I love about him, from his pretty eyelashes to his full, stupid name (Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. He told me it last week, and I managed not to laugh for a full thirty seconds, which he said was actually impressive), to the way the bridge of his nose wrinkles when he doesn’t understand what someone’s asking him.

But I also think I might just love him, full stop. He’s so fucking good.

BAZ

The look on Simon’s face, that soft, adoring look, is just about my favorite thing in the world. Maybe the whole universe. I’m glad we’re not standing, because it makes my knees weak.

He is like a furnace, and under the blankets, it’s so warm that I’m actually comfortable. My face is hot where he touches it, and I savor the feeling of his skin against mine. I let myself enjoy it, because I know that he’s mine. I can see it every time he looks at me. I don’t know if he’s figured out that I’m his, that I have been practically from the beginning of this, but that’s why I came up here. To tell him so.

Penelope figured, when she opened the door to see me.

“Simon’s on the roof,” she’d said, thumbing upward at the ceiling. I saw Micah behind her, pop up over her shoulder to wave at me, and I waved back. “His cold tolerance isn’t human.”

“Oh, right,” I half-laughed, because my heart had been pounding as I’d expected Simon to open the door, and I thought I’d confess my love to him as soon as I saw his stupid face. “Thank you.”

I turned to go, but Penny spoke again. “Oi,” she said, her hand coming out to lightly grab my upper arm. I looked at her, surprised. “Just - you’re both idiots. I want to make sure you know that. And if the two of you start messing each other around, I’m going to beat you both within an inch of your lives. Got it?”

The smirk that rose up on my face was far too good-natured. “So noted.”

Wrapped around him now, warm for once in this appalling weather, all I can think is about the promise I’d made to Agatha, and now Penelope. I would never do anything to hurt him. And I’ll keep him from hurting himself, for as long as he’ll let me.

“Oh, you came up here looking for me.” Simon’s blue eyes bore into my own grey ones. He looks almost scared. “Was there something you wanted?”

I can feel myself backing down, something wicked and black in the form of my anxiety closing a fist around my chest. I fight against it, shoving it back, and slowly drop my head to rest my forehead against his shoulder. He must be practically eating the fur from my hat, but he doesn’t say anything. His arm just comes around my shoulders as he pulls me to him, and we stay like that for a while.

The stars begin dotting into place above us, even though they’re hardly visible through the city light pollution. But I know they’re there, even if I can’t see them, and they’re comforting, considering the whirlwind of emotions I’m trying to kick down right now.

I manage to lift my head, and Simon meets my eyes again, grinning with his rosy cheeks, ruddy from the cold. “Hi,” he murmurs, bringing his thumb up to stroke across my chin. And I can’t say fuck all, so instead I tilt toward him, and he tilts toward me, and our lips fit together like it’s the most natural thing in the world for us. Which at this point, it is.

Simon whispers my name, and it sends a thrill down my spine, and I kiss him again, and again, and again, and he’s everywhere around me, he’s everything, and it sends me reeling.

It starts as a muttered admonition, and he doesn’t hear me, doesn’t react. I trail my lips up to his eyes and kiss them shut, and say it again, just a little louder. “ I love you .” He freezes under my hands, his eyes flashing open, and I don’t back down, I don’t run away, because I know what he’s going to say when he opens his mouth.

“I love you, Baz, you shit,” he says, and I snort with laughter. “You shit, I was going to tell you that! You beat me to it!”

“It’s alright, Simon, I know you’re slow on the uptake.” He growls, but he’s grinning and it’s lovely, and he pulls me roughly against him, our lips meeting again in a messy lock.

Now that we’ve said it, we can’t stop saying it. We’re muttering it, shouting it, gasping it. We whisper it to each other, giggling like children, as we escape his fort of blankets and stumble back down the stairs. Kissing and tripping over each other, we practically fall through my doorway, trying not to make enough noise to wake the whole building. Not that we’d mind, or notice, either way.