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killeromanoff · 1 day ago

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I KNOW YOUR GHOST | ch. 2

summary: Months after Venturer's official approval, Declan O’Hara's latest broadcast takes center stage, his incisive interview style sparking reactions from viewers—and Cassie Jones. Spending the evening at Baz’s bar, Cassie finds herself caught between reluctant admiration and lingering resentment for Declan’s relentless drive.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x Cassandra 'Cassie' Jones (Female OC)

warnings: Mild language, Themes of Corruption, Power dynamics, Age-Gap (Cassie is 25 yo), Moral conflict, Slow-burn tension, Alcohol Use, Realism in Media Industry, Cassie is always in distress mode

w.c: 7k

[prologue], [chapter one], [here]

o2. it felt just like a joke

Declan sat in his study, a sanctuary of muted tones and understated elegance. The polished surface of his mahogany desk reflected the faint glow of the desk lamp, its circle of light casting the rest of the room into a warm shadow. Shelves of books lined the walls, their spines forming a mosaic of knowledge and ambition accumulated over the years.

A hint of cigar smoke clung to the air.

A stack of notes lay before him, meticulously organized yet untouched. He had intended to review them for tonight’s show on Venturer, he has studied and written everything down for the past week. Yet his pen had stilled, his attention wandering far from the political breakdowns and exposés he usually found energizing.

Instead, his mind was tangled in thoughts of Cassie Jones.

The doubt in her eyes was striking—not just a fleeting hesitation, but something deeper, a quiet war between uncertainty and conviction. Yet, it was that same doubt that seemed to amplify the glow of her fierce determination, as if her fears only highlighted the brilliance of her resolve.

Her gaze, dark and willful, resisted him, darting away like a bird wary of being caught.

But in those few moments when their eyes met… It was impossible to look away. There was a rhythm to her words, calculated and unhurried, as though each syllable carried a secret she was daring him to uncover. Her voice was a melody he couldn’t quite place—familiar enough to draw him in, yet distant enough to leave him looking for more.

Her lips parted and closed with the precision of a storyteller, shaping each word in a way that made even the most banal details sound extraordinary. There was a magnetism to her presence, an energy that turned a simple conversation into something unforgettable.

Not that he stared at her lips. He hadn't. If someone asked him about them, he wouldn't know what color they were. A shade somewhere between the warmth of a dusky rose and the faint blush of autumn’s last leaves.

In short, the conversation between them that early afternoon lingered—not as a memory, but as a sensation, persistent and impossible to ignore.

It felt foolish, truly. That was the best word to describe the whole situation.

He couldn’t decide what annoyed him more: the fact that his thoughts were so easily hijacked or that he had let them linger. There were always more pressing matters to deal with—scripts to finalize, segments to tighten, the never-ending negotiations with sponsors… Venturer wasn’t just a television station; it was a warfront, the last bastion of independent media in Rutshire.

And yet, here he was, caught up in the memory of a single conversation.

What made it worse was that it wasn’t even a conversation that should have stood out. He’d met people with stronger résumés, sharper tongues, and more experience in front of a microphone.

But Cassie... She wasn’t polished, and that was the very thing that stayed with him. Her honesty felt raw, untamed—a blade still learning the strength of its edge.

Foolish. The word echoed in his head.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. What was it about her that unsettled him?

Was it her conviction? The quiet courage hidden beneath layers of uncertainty? Or perhaps it was the vulnerability she carried so openly? The kind that didn’t ask for pity but challenged you to see it and still believe in her strength.

And yet, her resistance baffled him. How could someone so driven, so clearly destined for something bigger, shy away from a platform?

His fingers tapped absently against the desk as he tried to reconcile her fear of the screen with what he had seen in her.

In his mind’s eye, he could picture her features perfectly—the elegant line of her jaw, the soft curve of her cheekbones, the intensity in her eyes when she spoke about what mattered. He could see how the camera would frame her, how the lights would catch the warm tones in her hair, and how her expressions, so honest and unguarded, would translate to the audience.

She didn’t see it, but he did.

Her face was made for the screen, not because of perfection, but because of its authenticity. It would draw people in, hold them captive. She didn’t need to be polished; she was already compelling in a way that made the camera irrelevant.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” he called, his voice steady despite the jumble in his head.

The door creaked open, and Taggie stepped inside, her auburn hair catching the soft light from the lamp. She was dressed casually, her apron dusted with flour, a reminder of the event she was catering later.

“Still brooding?” she teased gently, holding a letter in one hand while absently smoothing her apron with the other.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but her tone carried genuine concern.

“Brooding?” Declan repeated, his voice amused, “I prefer ‘preparing.’”

“For the show or something else?” she countered, stepping closer. Her gaze landed briefly on the untouched notes before flicking back to him, “You look... Distracted.”

Declan exhales, leaning back in his chair, “I visited Cassie Jones today.”

Taggie’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Cassie Jones? The Cassie Jones? You mean the one from the radio?”

She stepped closer, as though proximity would confirm his words. Her tone changed, and her thoughts flickered back to the previous morning.

Yesterday, the kitchen had been filled with the sound of Cassie’s fiery monologue, her unrelenting voice cutting through the room like a razor. Rupert had leaned in, more amused than anything else, but her father—she remembered her father: he’d been completely still, eyes fixed on the radio with an intensity she hadn’t seen in months.

That explains why he hadn’t had dinner last night, Taggie wondered.

Declan nodded, his expression contemplative.

“She has potential, Taggie,” he paused, searching for the right words, “Raw, unpolished, but it’s there. I want her on Venturer.”

“You’re recruiting her?” she asked, her voice with a hint of curiosity and excitement, “I didn’t think I’d ever see the day you’d bring someone like her in. Isn’t she—well, shy?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he admitted, his voice taking on a thoughtful edge, “She’s terrified of being seen, but she’s brilliant. The way she speaks... It’s not just reporting. It’s storytelling. She makes people care.”

Taggie studied him for a moment, her head tilting as she considered his words. There was something about the way he spoke—quiet but charged with energy, a drive that hadn’t been there in a while…

Her father had always been passionate, but this was different. There was a spark, something that reminded her of the early days of Venturer, when everything was just a shot in the dark.

“You’re really invested in this,” Taggie lifted a brow, “Aren’t you?”

Declan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze dropped to the scattered notes on his desk, their edges curling slightly under the soft glow of the desk lamp. His fingers tapped idly against the wood as he tried to put his thoughts into words.

“Let’s just say,” he murmured, “It’s been a while since someone reminded me why we started Venturer in the first place.”

“It’s good to see you like this again,” Taggie’s smile widened, “You’ve never been so focused, so determined since we won the franchise approval—it’s like you’ve finally found something that excites you again.”

Declan chuckled, though the sound was tinged with self-awareness, “Don’t read too much into it, Taggie. I’m just doing my job.”

“Sure you are,” she said, a touch of mischief in her tone, “But I’m not complaining. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you looking this... Alive.”

She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Do you think she’ll accept?”

Declan’s expression grew thoughtful, his gaze distant.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “Freddie’s been trying to bring her on board since we got the franchise approval. She’s always said no. But today…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he thought back to their conversation.

“But today?” Taggie prompted, stepping closer, her curiosity clearly piqued.

“She seemed... Torn,” Declan replied, “Like part of her wanted to say yes, even if she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She’s hesitant, scared even, but she’s not someone who backs down easily. If she sees what we see in her... She’ll come around.”

Taggie studied her father again, a knowing expression in the way she furrowed her brows, “You’re really invested in this, aren’t you?”

Declan met her gaze, a flicker of something undefinable in his expression—determination, perhaps, or something even deeper.

“It’s not just about her, Taggie,” he said after a moment, “It’s about what she represents. Venturer was supposed to be about giving people like her a voice, wasn’t it? People who can make others listen, who can make them care.

“Well, I hope she sees that”, a soft smile tugged at the corners of Taggie’s lips, “And I hope she knows how lucky she’d be to work with someone like you.”

Declan chuckled again, though it was quieter this time, tinged with something almost self-deprecating.

“Don’t go turning me into a saint, Taggie. I’m just trying to do what’s right—for Venturer and for her.”

Taggie hesitated, watching him for a moment before stepping forward and placing the envelope on his desk.

“Just don’t let this drive of yours keep you from dealing with this,” she said softly, her fingers brushing the edge of the envelope.

Declan’s gaze followed her gesture, his brow furrowing as he took in the sight of the crumpled edges and the weight it seemed to carry. How it quickly changed his daughter’s humor.

“What is it?” he asked, though something in the pit of his stomach already knew the answer.

“It’s from Mum’s lawyer,” Taggie replied quietly, “The final papers.”

Declan’s breath caught, the words dripping between them like a heavy curtain. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he reached out to take the envelope. The paper felt heavier than it should, as though the culmination of everything—months of silence, arguments, the growing distance—was contained within it.

How could she not answer any of his letters and the first one she sent to them, her family, was the divorce papers?

“I see,” he said in the silence, almost whispering, his grip on the envelope tightened.

Taggie hesitated, her eyes scanning his face as though trying to gauge his reaction, “Are you okay?”

Declan chuckled, but it was devoid of humor.

“That’s a loaded question.”

The corner of her lips twitched, but her attempt at a smile faded just as quickly.

“I know it’s not what you wanted, Dad. I know how hard you tried to hold things together.”

“Did I?” Declan asked, almost to himself. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze falling to the envelope in his hands, “Or did I just try to hold on to the idea of us? To what I thought we were supposed to be, instead of what we actually were?”

Taggie bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. The silence that followed wasn’t tense, but it was loaded as the question of before. There was a shared grief for something that had been unraveling for longer than either of them cared to admit.

“She made her choice,” Declan continued, his tone low, “And maybe... Maybe it’s for the best. For her. For both of us.”

“Maybe,” Taggie said softly, though she didn’t sound convinced.

Declan glanced at her, his expression softening.

“What about you? How are you handling all this?”

Taggie bit her lip, clearly taken aback by her father’s question. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering downward as though the answer might somehow be hidden in the floorboards.

“I’ve had time to process it, I guess,” she responded, her voice quieter than before. She shrugged, slipping her hands into the pockets of her apron, “It doesn’t make it hurt any less, but... I’m not angry anymore. Just… S-S—”

Her voice faltered, the word slipping from her grasp.

“Sad?” Declan offered gently, watching as her jaw tightened.

“Yes,” she said, nodding a bit too quickly, “Sad.”

Her struggle with the word wasn’t lost on him. It was a passing moment, brief but telling. Declan knew how Taggie’s dyslexia sometimes crept into her life in ways she didn’t expect—moments of hesitation or the occasional stumble over a word when emotions ran high.

It wasn’t something she let define her, but it was always there.

Over the past months, with Maud gone and Taggie stepping up beside him, Declan had seen more of it than he ever had before. At first, he had felt like the worst father in the world for not noticing sooner, for letting the chaos of his own life distract him from hers. It took him some time to understand—not just how it was for her, but the quiet strength with which she handled them.

It humbled him, this quiet resilience of hers.

You’ve handled it well, he wanted to say, but instead, he offered her a smile.

She looked at him, surprised by the sudden gesture. But the small, appreciative smile she gave in return told him he had done the right thing. He was still trying, and that was enough.

For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the soft hum of wind and the creak of the floorboards beneath their feet. Declan found himself studying her expression, the way her eyes mirrored his own weariness but had a resilience that was unmistakably hers.

“I suppose sadness is easier to live with than resentment,” he said, more to himself than to her.

Taggie nodded, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Well, I should get back to work. The buffet for Mrs. Spencer’s gala won’t prepare itself.”

Declan raised an eyebrow, “A gala? And they’ve roped you into catering for it?”

“Not roped,” she corrected, “I volunteered. Keeps me busy.”

He gave her a look, one that carried both fondness and a hint of fatherly skepticism.

“Just don’t let them take advantage of you.”

Taggie laughed softly, the sound warm but subdued.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I can handle Mrs. Spencer.”

She turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back at him. Her expression softened, the hint of concern in her eyes mirroring the quiet care she always tried to mask with humor.

“And you? Will you be okay?”

Declan offered a faint smile, “I’ve got notes to review and a show to prepare for. I’ll manage.”

Taggie nodded, staying for a moment longer before slipping out of the room.

The silence that followed her departure wasn’t empty; it was filled with the echoes of their conversation, the unspoken words that always seemed to hover between them. Declan’s gaze fell to the envelope on his desk, its stark presence a reminder of what had already unraveled. He stared at it for a long moment, his fingers brushing the sharp edges, the sensation grounding him in the heaviness of the moment.

The ache in his chest deepened, not sharp but persistent, like a bruise that refused to fade. Maud’s absence wasn’t new; it had been a constant shadow for months, haunting him at the edges of every room, every thought. He could still hear her voice in the quiet moments, see her smile in the periphery of his mind.

They had tried, hadn’t they? Yet, here it was—the finality of a marriage reduced to paper and ink.

Declan leaned back in his chair, his head tipping slightly as he closed his eyes. The memories pressed in, uninvited but relentless. The laughter they had shared, the fights that had grown sharper over time, the silences that had said more than words ever could. He wondered, not for the first time, if there had been a point where they could have turned it around—if he could have been someone different, better, for her.

The ache tightened, and he exhaled slowly, as if trying to release it. But as his thoughts circled Maud and the void her absence left, another voice crept into his mind.

Cassie.

Her words reverberated in his memory, not as a balm to the pain but something else. The raw honesty in her tone, the conviction laced with doubt, had a way of unsettling him, of pulling his focus from the ache of what was lost to the possibilities of what could be.

That's what she usually talked about in her past broadcasts, right? In the projects she had done in Chicago? How there was always a possibility, a light in the end of the tunnel, despite people locking all your windows and doors?

He sat up straighter, his gaze falling to the notes scattered before him again. The words blurred for a moment, stubbornly refusing to take shape. But as he thought of Cassie—her eyes, her words, her fear—it was as though something clicked into place.

It wasn’t just about giving people a platform, he remembered, it was about finding the voices that mattered, the ones that could cut through the noise and make people listen.

Declan’s lips quirked into a smile, the kind that came unbidden, as he turned his attention back to his notes. The spark of inspiration she had ignited within him was enough to push the rest aside, at least for now.

There was a show to prepare for, and tonight, he felt ready.

The bar was alive in its muted way—a quiet chatter and the occasional clink of glassware against polished wood. It wasn’t the raucous energy of a weekend crowd but the steady rhythm of regulars, the kind of people who found comfort in routine. Cassie sat at her usual corner, her drink untouched, save for the condensation slipping down its sides.

The golden light from the overhead fixtures cast a soft glow on the surface of the bar, making everything look warmer than it felt.

Baz moved with the practiced ease of someone who had owned this space for years. His motions were fluid, as though the rhythm of tending bar wasn’t a job but an extension of himself.

His dark hair, perpetually tousled in a way that suggested he didn’t care—or maybe cared too much—caught the light whenever he turned. His eyes scanned the room, but they kept returning to Cassie, watching the tension in her shoulders, the tight grip she had on her glass.

“Alright, Jones,” he said, leaning over the counter with a lopsided grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “You’re quieter than usual. Either someone’s died, or you’re brooding about something big… Again.”

Cassie shot him a look, one that was stabbing but softened by the weak tug at the corner of her lips.

“Always with the optimism, Baz.”

“It’s my charm,” he quipped. But the teasing in his tone didn’t mask the concern that was beneath it.

She sighed, her fingers drumming lightly against the bar’s surface, “Let’s just say it’s been a day.”

Baz’s eyebrow arched as he slid a pint across the bar to a waiting regular, his movements unhurried but precise. His attention, however, was fixed on Cassie, the practiced ease in his gaze giving way to a flicker of curiosity. The murmured conversations, the muted clatter of glasses—seemed distant, a backdrop to the conversation they were having.

“A day, huh?” Baz leaned a little closer, his lips drawing into an amused smile, “Sounds vague,” he added, lifting an eyebrow in mock challenge, “Care to elaborate, or should I start guessing?”

“You’d only guess wrong,” she replied almost immediately, a smirk curling at her lips before she took a long sip from her drink.

Baz didn’t miss a beat. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on the counter, the polished wood cool beneath his hands. His teasing expression softened just a bit, the shift subtle but perceptible.

“Enlighten me, then,” he said, his voice dropping a notch.

Cassie hesitated, her gaze dropping to her glass. But her grip on the glass hardened, her thumb tracing absent patterns against the condensation. She inhaled quietly through her nose, her lips pressing into a thin line as if bracing herself.

“Declan O’Hara showed up at my door this morning.”

The words landed heavily, drawing Baz’s full attention. His playful demeanor faltered, his brow knitting together in thought.

Cassie could see the gears turning behind his eyes, his indissoluble wit piecing together implications faster than he let on. He blinked once, his lips parting as if to speak, but then he let out a low whistle, a sound of disbelief mingled with admiration.

“Well, that’s not nothing,” he said, straightening as his grin returned, this time full of intrigue, “What did the Irish Wolfhound want with you?”

Cassie’s lips twisted into a wry smile, though there was no humor in it. She shrugged, her voice tinged with weariness.

“He wants me on Venturer. Just like you and my uncle.”

Baz’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his head tilting as he considered her words.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice almost reverent. He reached for a cloth, wiping down an already spotless section of the counter as though the action would help him process the news, “One thing’s for sure—it’s not every day Declan O’Hara comes knocking at your door, specifically your door. I mean, me and Freddie? Sure. But him?” His dark eyes narrowed slightly, “That’s big.”

He set the cloth down, his gaze steady on her, “What did you say?”

Cassie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her shoulders hunching slightly.

“That I’d think about it,” she admitted, the words clipped as though they’d been dragged out of her.

Baz studied her in silence, his expression unreadable, though his brow furrowed as he watched her fidget with her glass. After a long pause, he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“You never seem thrilled about this,” he remarked, his tone carefully neutral, “Most people would jump at the chance of joining Venturer—especially if it was me inviting them.” His lips drawn into a lopsided grin, a flash of his usual humor breaking through.

“Yeah, well, I’m not most people,” Cassie replied, her voice sharp, the words a defensive barb.

Baz’s grin softened, the teasing edge fading as he regarded her more closely. He reached for a glass of water, taking a slow sip before setting it down with deliberate calm.

“Alright,” he said, his tone quieter but no less insistent, “Let’s hear it. What’s holding you back?”

Cassie’s fingers stilled on the rim of her glass. For a moment, she seemed to shrink into herself, her expression tightening. Her eyes darted to the counter as she wrestled with words that didn’t want to come.

“It’s not that simple,” she muttered finally, her voice low, almost to herself.

“Nothing worth doing ever is,” Baz countered.

Cassie shifted in her seat, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass again.

“I just… I don’t think it’s for me.”

Baz’s laugh was short and dry, a single puff of air that carried no mirth.

“You don’t think it’s for you? Come on, Cass. That’s not an answer. You’ve got a voice people listen to—even when they don’t want to. Hell, you made headlines just by opening your mouth. And now you’re telling me you can’t see yourself in a chair next to Declan?”

Cassie clenched her jaw, the muscles tensing in her neck. The words were there, but they felt too heavy, too real to say out loud.

Her thoughts spiraled, never giving her a rest—Could I? Be in a chair next to him?

What if I say yes and ruin everything?

The offer, the screen, the lights… It was all too much.

What if they really do see something in me that I don’t see in myself?

But that wasn’t the real issue, was it?

“I can’t do it, Baz,” she whispered, as if saying the words could keep the fear at bay.

The issue was if they saw all the mistakes that she knew that was beneath her skin, her choices and her attempts.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, leaning her elbows against the edge of the counter, her head hanging low.

It wasn’t the stage, or the lights. It wasn’t even the fear of failure.

Her mind raced with the images—the screen, the questions, the voices of people in her head, judging, scrutinizing, always waiting for her to slip.

“Why not?” he pressed, not giving up so soon over this subject.

Cassie’s breath caught, she had hoped that he would drop it, as he usually did.

Her pulse quickened, the discomfort twisting in her stomach like a knot pulling tighter with every passing second. She knew what was coming, and still, she couldn’t find the strength to articulate it.

To say the words that circled her thoughts.

Why not? Her mind repeated the question and, as if it was a broken record, it started to repeat again and again., why not? Why not?

What was holding her back?

“Cass—”

Why not?

“I can’t even look you in the eye while we’re talking, Baz,” she snapped, her voice trembling, “How the hell am I supposed to talk to a camera? To an audience?”

There it was—the rawness of the truth.

Her fear wasn’t just about the screen. It was about her inability to stand in front of anyone and not feel exposed, vulnerable. She wasn’t ready to show that side of herself, not to millions of strangers, not when she could barely face the people she cared about.

Baz’s reaction was immediate. The mischief that usually animated his features vanished and turned into something quieter, more serious. He straightened slightly, as though anchoring himself to the counter while Cassie’s turmoil unfolded in front of him.

The ambient noise of the bar—a murmur of laughter, the clinking of glasses—faded into a distant sound, no longer relevant in the charged space between them.

For a moment, Baz said nothing. His gaze held her frame—not in judgment, but in understanding. He wasn’t a man who filled silences lightly, and Cassie had come to appreciate that about him.

The absence of his voice gave hers the room to breathe, even as it quaked under the weight of her uncertainty.

“You’ve always been harder on yourself than anyone else,” he interrupted the silence once he noticed she was more at ease, “You don’t trust what people see in you, Cass, and maybe that’s part of the problem. You think you’ve got to hide everything, like people can’t handle the real you.”

She winced, her fingers hurting against the edges of her glass. Baz had an infuriating way of hitting nerves she hadn’t realized were exposed.

Her eyes flicked to the countertop, the wood grain blurring as a knot tightened in her chest.

“It’s not about hiding,” she muttered, “It’s about… Not giving them the ammunition. You don’t get it, people don’t just listen. They dissect. They pick you apart until there’s nothing left, I’ve seen it.”

“You’re right. I don’t get it—not in the way you do,” He let out a breath, rubbing a hand along his jaw, “But I’ve been in enough storms to know that people don’t waste their time picking apart someone who doesn’t matter. The fact that they’re looking at you? It means you’re already doing something worth their attention.”

Cassie shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one they’re staring at right now.”

“No,” Baz agreed, his tone too calm, “But I’ve seen what happens when someone refuses to stand up because they’re scared of the fallout. It doesn’t stop the storm—it just leaves someone else to clean up the mess.”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his figure, a spark of indignation flaring in her chest.

“So what?” she wondered, “You think I owe it to the world to put myself out there? To be ripped apart just because I have something to say?”

Baz leaned closer, resting a hand on her shoulder—not heavy, but firm enough to anchor her. His dark eyes locked onto hers, steady as ever, but there was something deeper in his expression now. Not pity, not even frustration. Just belief.

This time, Cassie tried to force herself to stare at him back, to see what he was gonna say.

“No,” he said, “I think you owe it to yourself.”

Cassie froze, his words cutting through the haze of her spiraling thoughts. They weren’t flashy or grand, but they had a quiet truth that she couldn’t ignore. For a moment, the emotions that were pressing down on her chest lightened, replaced by something that felt disarmingly close to hope.

She couldn’t stop herself before a smile creeped out of her teeth.

Cassie wanted to believe in him, she truly wanted to. Perhaps, that time she would.

Baz’s hand lingered a moment longer before he stepped back, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips in response to hers.

“Now,” he said, his voice returning to its usual easy warmth, “don’t make me pull out a soapbox, Cass. We’ve got a show to watch.”

She managed a weak laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slowly as he reached for the remote. The television flickered to life, casting a pale glow over the bar as the opening notes of Venturer’s broadcast filled the room.

Declan O’Hara’s face appeared on the screen, his sharp, commanding presence filling the bar as the opening notes of Venturer’s broadcast faded. The backdrop was strikingly simple—sleek, modern lines contrasting with a warm palette that suggested approachability. The kind of visual balance that made the show feel personal without losing its gravitas.

Cassie leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She didn’t say a word, but Baz caught the way her fingers tapped lightly against her arm in a rhythm too calculated to be unconscious.

“You good?” he asked, keeping his tone light, though his eyes didn’t leave her face.

“Yeah,” she muttered, her gaze fixed on the screen, “Just... Curious to see how he spins it.”

Declan’s voice came into the segment seamlessly—a live interview with a city council member who had been at the center of recent housing debates. The guest looked composed, but there was a tension in his smile, the kind that came from knowing you were about to face someone who wouldn’t let a single inconsistency slide.

He was the Irish Wolfhound, after all.

“Here we go,” Baz muttered, leaning in his seat, clearly expecting fireworks.

Cassie didn’t respond, her focus on the screen unbroken. Declan’s approach was surgical, every question calibrated to draw out information without tipping into outright confrontation. His tone remained calm, professional, but there was no mistaking the intent behind his words.

He was peeling back the layers of the council member’s carefully rehearsed answers, pushing him to explain vague statements and sidestep slippery rhetoric.

“Man’s a scalpel,” Baz said under his breath, shaking his head, “Doesn’t let up, does he?”

“It’s effective,” Cassie admitted, her tone grudging. There was something fascinating about watching Declan work—how he managed to command the room without ever raising his voice, how he drew the audience into the conversation without alienating his guest.

It was a skill she recognized, even admired, though she’d never admit it aloud.

Her attention was drawn even further as Declan leaned forward, his next question landing with deliberate weight.

“As Cassie Jones accused in Dan Murphy’s broadcast at Crawford’s FM yesterday,” Declan glanced down at a note in his hand, the movement unhurried, “there are claims that the council’s housing allocations lack transparency. Specifically, that contracts were awarded to developers with personal ties to sitting council members. What’s your response?”

Cassie blinked, her body instinctively leaning a fraction closer to the screen, as though the words might hit differently if she were nearer. Hearing her name roll off his tongue in that voice—the cadence carefully deliberate, each word with the precision of a blade—was something she hadn’t prepared for.

It wasn’t just that he repeated her accusations; it was the way he positioned them as essential to the conversation, stripping away any lingering doubts about their importance.

But then there was the other thing—the truth of it all. What truly shook her in her seat.

She hadn’t been the one to say those words during Dan’s broadcast.

The story, the study, the facts—they were hers, yes. Yet Dan had been the one to voice them, stealing her moment before she arrived at the station to reclaim it. By the time she had taken control of the broadcast, the opportunity to lay out her findings in full had slipped through her fingers. All she could do then was pivot, focus on the other truth she’d uncovered.

And now? Declan O’Hara, of all people, was giving her story back to her.

Baz’s head whipped toward her, his expression part shock, part amusement.

“He’s quoting you?”

“Looks like it,” Cassie muttered, her voice faint as her gaze remained fixed on the screen. Her chest felt a lot heavier, a strange warmth stirring in the pit of her stomach, though she tried to brush it off.

On screen, the council member’s practiced composure faltered before he recovered.

“I’m not aware of any evidence to support those claims,” he said, his tone clipped, “And I think it’s reckless to give air to accusations of a—”

“It’s not about recklessness,” Declan interrupted him, as calm as he was since the beginning of the show, “It’s about accountability. Jones provided specifics—figures, dates, patterns. If they’re inaccurate, wouldn’t it benefit the council to set the record straight?”

Cassie bit her lip, fighting back the urge to grin. For the first time in weeks, it felt like her work wasn’t just hers—just something she could keep on her shelf. No, it was out there, undeniable.

Different from Dan and Crawford, Declan O’Hara wasn’t stealing it. He was amplifying it.

Declan gave my story back to me, Cassie repeated again, as to remind herself that this day wasn’t a dream.

Baz snorted, “Looks like someone’s got a fan.”

“Shut up, Baz,” Cassie muttered, her voice threatening but there was no bite. Still, she could feel the heat creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks, a flush she didn’t dare acknowledge.

Did Baz mean that she was Declan’s fan or Declan who was her fan. Either way, both made her blush even more.

She folded her arms tighter across her chest, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

The council member stumbled over his response, scrambling to reframe the narrative, but Declan was relentless, pressing for specifics with a calm determination that left no room for evasion. When the segment ended, Declan delivered a closing remark that felt both pointed and perfectly impartial, a masterful capstone to the exchange.

The screen transitioned to a softer feature—a local artist creating murals across the city. The shift in tone was smooth, offering viewers a reprieve from the tension.

Cassie exhaled, her eyes fixed on the screen after a beat.

“He’s good,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

Good as a presenter or a good person? Her mind asked her and, well, Cassie didn’t have an answer for that.

Baz chuckled, “That sounded dangerously close to actual praise.”

“Don’t push it,” Cassie warned, though the curve of her lips betrayed her amusement.

The bar’s energy had shifted as the night deepened.

Voices softened into murmurs, glasses clinked with lazy rhythm, and the warm glow of the overhead fixtures seemed to dim ever so vaguely, making the room feel closer, cozier. Cassie and Baz were still at their corner, both a little slouched, their earlier sharpness dulled by the hour and the lingering warmth of their drinks.

From an outsider's perspective, they might have appeared as companions deep into their cups, the way Baz’s posture had relaxed, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, his grin loose and easy. Cassie, by contrast, seemed more guarded, though the light flush across her cheeks and the way she covered her mouth mid-laugh betrayed a rare moment of vulnerability.

A laughing fit took over Cassie as Baz told her a story about a patron mistaking a bottle of soy sauce for whiskey last week. She was shaking her head, trying to compose herself, her cheeks flushed from laughter and the residual embarrassment of the earlier show.

Baz placed a hand dramatically on his chest, “I swear on King’s Ransom,” his grin wide and unapologetic.

Cassie shook her head, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the tug of a smile.

“Right, because your horse makes you credible.”

“Don’t disrespect King’s Ransom,” Baz shot back with mock indignation, “He’s got more class than you’ll ever have.”

Cassie leaned forward, her elbow propped on the table as she took a sip of her drink. The ice clinked softly against the glass, and she watched Baz with a bemused expression, her free hand lightly tracing a circle on the tabletop.

“You know,” she said, setting the glass down, “you’d make a terrible lawyer. Your evidence is a horse, and your defense strategy is sarcasm.”

Baz grinned, leaning back in his chair as though settling into the role of a court jester.

“A lawyer? Please. Too much paperwork. I’d rather keep slinging drinks, making people laugh and playing polo.”

“Ah, here we go to the noble profession of bartending again,” Cassie teased, raising her glass slightly in a mock toast, “Defender of soy sauce incidents and peddler of questionable anecdotes.”

“Questionable?” Baz raised an eyebrow, his hand dramatically clutching his chest again, “That story was the highlight of my week.”

“Well,” Cassie replied, her lips twitching as though fighting a laugh, “your weeks must be very uneventful.”

Baz opened his mouth to retort, but his attention shifted mid-thought. His expression stilled for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before his grin returned—sharper now, edged with mischief. He sat up a little straighter, his eyes drifting past her shoulder.

“Uh-oh,” he murmured, amused.

Cassie frowned, following his gaze halfway before stopping herself. The bar was quieter now, the conversation muted, the warm light softening the lines of every figure in the room.

She turned back to Baz, raising an eyebrow in question.

“What?” she asked, her tone half-curious, half-suspicious.

Because everything that made Baz grin was suspicious.

Yet, he didn’t answer immediately, his smirk widening as though he were savoring the moment before delivering a punchline.

“Oh,” a voice behind her said, smooth and far too familiar, “I thought Rupert would be here already.”

Cassie froze, every thought in her head stalling at once. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass, the earlier warmth of laughter fleeing in the face of a sudden, overpowering heat that had nothing to do with the bar’s cozy atmosphere.

Her pulse kicked up, erratic and insistent. She didn’t need to turn to recognize the voice. That deliberate cadence, the trace of an accent—it was as unmistakable as it was infuriating.

Declan O’Hara.

Baz, unbothered and clearly enjoying himself, leaned back further in his chair.

“Rupert’s at Mrs. Spencer’s gala,” Baz replied easily, his tone almost conversational, “Something about giving someone a ride.”

“Hm,” Declan mused, the sound more thoughtful than dismissive, “Taggie’s doing their buffet, isn’t she?”

Baz hummed in confirmation, the sound low and knowing. His smirk teetered on the edge of outright glee, and Cassie could feel it radiating off him like heat.

Cassie still couldn’t bring herself to turn around. Her earlier humor had vanished, replaced by an overwhelming awareness of Declan’s proximity. She could almost feel his breath against her neck, irrational as it was—however, she was sitting and he was standing.

Images flashed in her mind—his piercing gaze earlier that day, his voice echoing through her living room as he made a case for Venturer, and the way her name had rolled off his tongue during his broadcast.

In the end, what did he want with her? Truly? He had already done so much tonight—repeating her accusations, giving her the credit Dan Murphy had stolen, framing her work in a way that no one could ignore. And now, here he was, unbidden and unexpected.

A sharp thought pierced through her tangled emotions: All of this... Was it just to get her attention? For her to finally accept his offer?

If yes, then...

She swallowed hard, trying to force the thought away, but it was already there, fully formed and impossible to ignore:

Bloody hell, he was good.

Her thoughts spiraled, and though she wanted to blame it on the warmth of the room or the residual adrenaline from the broadcast, she knew better. Declan O’Hara didn’t just walk into places—he arrived, every movement perfectly calculated, every word perfectly placed.

And then, the moment she’d dreaded:

“Hi, Cassie,” Declan said, his voice taking on a lighter tone, “I imagine you saw my show tonight?”

The words were delivered almost as a challenge. And, unfortunately, for some reason, her brain was built to never ignore a challenge—so, Cassie, despite every instinct screaming at her to remain frozen, finally turned.

Her movement was hesitant, as if her body was testing each muscle before committing fully to the action. She didn’t know what she expected to see—something intimidating, perhaps, or something too familiar to handle—but the reality was worse.

Declan stood there, relaxed in a way that was almost infuriating, his suit still immaculate from the broadcast, the crisp white shirt open just enough at the collar to suggest he’d taken the edge off a long day but hadn’t fully unwound. The muted lighting of the bar softened the sharpness of his features, but his presence remained undiminished.

His dark eyes found hers immediately, the corner of his mouth lifting in a wide smile. It wasn’t a smirk, not exactly—it lacked the arrogance she might have expected—but there was something inherently self-assured about it. Like he knew exactly what effect he had on her.

The kind of effect that made her unable to look away when he looked at her.

Her lungs burned from the effort of keeping her composure, but Declan didn’t press. He simply smiled, the gesture disarming in its simplicity, and waited.

#declan o'hara #rivals 2024 #rupert campbell black #taggie o'hara #taggie x rupert #cameron cook #tony baddingham #baz baddingham #declan o'hara x reader #declan o'hara x female original character #declan o'hara x oc #freedie jones #lizzie vereker

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azsazz · 2 years ago

Text

Here for You

Azriel x Reader (Zuzu Centered)

Summary: Anon Request: could we get something zuzu centered? we don’t get enough of the girls, and it would be so sweet to see az being a girl dad and y/n being a girl mom for a bit 🥹 maybe them being super excited to finally have a baby girl, when she’s really young or something? whatever you thinks best!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,076

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“C’mon Zuz! Keep going, you’re almost there,” Azriel shouts from your side.

You can’t contain the smile on your face, beaming as your daughter races across the open field on her little legs, kicking the ball with a determined look on her face. Her sleek black hair is twisted into tight plaits courtesy of her father, who had – like all things – studied the intricacies of braiding until he was near perfect. There had been many late nights you and your husband had spent together, letting him practice different hairstyles on you while you read, tucked up as far into his warmth as you could, giving him gentle reminders and praises on his final looks.

Zuzu also has dark streaks of paint on her cheeks, a gift from Uncle Cassian, who’d also given her a pep talk before her Moonball game had started. Between him, Azriel, and Rhys, you didn’t know who was cheering the loudest for your little girl, and your heart is bursting with joy at the pride your family is showing in the matching ‘Zuzu Rules’ shirts Rhysand had made for their final game.

Malos pouts where she’s been jostled in Azriel’s arms, on the verge of falling asleep when he’d excitedly begun cheering as Zuzu was passed the ball. Nesta notices at the same time, and is quick to take the babe and soothe her, waving a dismissive hand to Azriel who gives her an apologetic look for a brief moment before returning his gaze to the Moonball game before him.

He’s nearly vibrating with excitement, and you’ve had to pull Baz out of the way as his wings flared when one of the children on the other team had stolen the ball from Zuzu.

She’s certainly come a long way since her first game, where the same thing had happened and she’d tried to pummel the child into the ground for doing so. You had glared at your husband and his brothers who had all ducked their heads to hide the grins they were biting back. That was their girl.

Even your older sons had stopped their game of playing warrior to come cheer on their sister, their cousins pushing between all of the tall adult legs for a better view.

One of the children in a navy jersey chasing Zuzu towards the goal suddenly trips and falls into the grass with a surprised gasp but Zuzu doesn’t take notice. Unfortunately, you do, shooting Baz a warning look that says he’s going to get in trouble when he gets home. He’s only eight but he’s already learned a multitude of tricks with his shadows, and to an untrained eye they would’ve thought the child had merely tripped. You knew better than that, and by the way Baz switches sides with Wren so he’s standing further away from you with red cheeks and hunched shoulders, he did too.

Even Knox is intently watching his sister race across the grass. The midnight purple of her jersey brings out the ribbons in her hair, provided by her Auntie Elain and Uncle Lucien, who hadn’t been able to make it, as they were visiting Day for a surprise getaway.

“Come on baby, come on baby,” you mutter under your breath as she goes. Two children from the opposing team are blocking the way and if she uses her wings again she won’t be able to join the team next season, so you pray to the Mother she doesn’t flare those little wings wide and sweep these kids off of their feet.

“Yes, Z!” Wren jumps, shouting at his sister as she side-steps the offending players. He’d taught her that move when Uncle Cassian hadn’t been playing very fair in the backyard. Everything she’s learned about Moonball had been from her brothers and the rest of her family. She’s a warrior through and through, tough as nails and never backs down even when she was learning with all of the roughness her brothers and male cousins showed. Asteria hadn’t shown interest in the sport, instead she liked playing with her dolls and putting them in poses to draw in her coloring book.

“You got this, Zuz,” Baz encourages, while Jax claps his tiny hands and chants her name over and over again.

Your entire family holds their breath as she sets herself up to kick the ball into the goal. The child in the goal has a ready stance that’s startling for that of someone so young. He looks nearly professional, arms spread wide, knees bent, with a determined look in his eye. He and Zuzu had faced off before, and even her brothers had complimented how good he was at the sport.

Zuzu had scored against him this season once. The other time she had the chance, the little boy had blocked her ball from hitting the goal and you almost hadn’t stopped the rest of your sons from running out onto the field to defend their sister from the goalie who had gloated more than Cassian when he’d won the annual snowball fight, a smug smile on his face.

She’d been more determined than ever, immediately asking her brothers to go out into the yard with the instruction not to go easy on her.

Zuzu cocks her leg back. There’s steely determination in her fierce eyes. Her mouth is set in a firm line as she stares down the child like he’s her worst enemy.

And maybe he is.

The entire field is silent as her leg swings forward. The ball goes soaring through the air, looking like a shooting star, and everyone waits.

The child in the goal pushes off of the ground, throwing his body sideways into the path of the ball.

But he’s too late.

Your family erupts in mass of cheers and excitement, storming the field to gather the star player in congratulations and celebratory hugs.

She’s beaming, grinning like the day you and Azriel had told her that she was going to have a little sister.

Azriel hikes her up on his shoulders, spinning her around as the other parents gather their children and usher them away, but you don’t care, so utterly proud of Zuzu for scoring the winning goal of the game.

Her braids flop against her shoulders as she twirls, giggling like a mad woman and hands raised in the air in victory.

“I did it! I did it,” she screams.

And you couldn’t be more proud.

#azriel x reader #daddy azriel #azsazz next gen #azsazz #azsazz zuzu #azriel #dad!azriel #daddyaz #acotar #acomaf

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sailorblossoms-snowbaz · 10 months ago

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(some stuff about the perception of Simon and sex and horniness)

I've hinted at this (and maybe have even just said it, can't remember) in the past but now I'm just gonna say bluntly it because well, I use this blog to rant, and who gives a shit, this is long enough nobody will pay attention to it anyway. (This rant is brought to you by "anyone can do whatever they want obviously but I can't help but wonder... do people think this is actually in character? why?”)

Canonically, Simon is horny. He shows high libido. Canonically, these things are centered on Baz. "Baz is the only person I have ever wanted," he thinks in the context of thinking about having sex. "Maybe I'm some kind of Baz-sexual," he says, in the context of thinking about sexual attraction ("Maybe I'm only sexually attracted to Baz," he's saying.) And sure, libido is a separate thing from attraction, but good ol' Simon still centers both things on Baz...

I have no idea where the idea Simon would be the type to sleep around comes from, or why that idea is more often associated him than Baz (which I have wondered when considering "people think character is hot and so the people just want to see character fuck" – a tale as old as time, which is something I get, as opposed to "this is in character," which I do not). To be clear: I don't have anything against characters who enjoy a life of slutdom, I think such characters can be very fun to read, ya boy here likes erotica novels, etc. My specific issue is that I don't get where the idea Simon is the type comes from, and when picking up everything he's putting down, it kinda feels like a disservice? Like we're taking someone who challenges expectations, who moved past them because they were limiting and insufficient to help him understand himself, and... confining him to certain expectations, anyway?

This is someone who's not even comfortable wearing pajamas outside of the room he shares with Baz (very telling, that). He's not the type to even go into the bathroom to masturbate (no appeal to it if you don't know what you're into or what type of touch you even tolerate, anyway). He's not someone who will be down to get naked (while fully conscious and willing) in front of someone he doesn't, at the very least, know and trust. His one sexual experience outside of Baz is described as something he didn't actually want to do, as something he felt he had to do because “that's just what happens” when you have been dating someone for a long time.

I know "character is good at sex" is a logical continuation to "I want to see hot character fuck" but the idea that Simon would be good at sex in general, based on what he does... would he, really? I mean, it's perfectly fine if he's not. He has no reason to be! He has never done anything without any sort of guidance. Simon shares "the talk" he had didn't cover the truly important things, and we see him discovering "the point" and appeal of sex (for him) with Baz in real time (as closeness and intimacy). "He's good with his hands" – personally, I don't think knowing how to incapacitate, decapitate, or break someone's neck would translate into "knows how to touch someone in a way that's even remotely pleasurable." I would think those type of touches require a different set of skills, but that's just me. I mean, if you think about it, Baz describes Simon's hands as "being everywhere" as in, Simon wants so much he can't decide how to touch him, but also, he doesn't even know how to touch him. Simon jumps Baz like an animal in heat (literally dry humping him in the library!). Sometimes, Baz can get aroused by Simon in spite of the way Simon touches him (because is Simon). Simon is so rough he's bashing Baz's head against a bookcase at some point, probably without realizing (which makes sense for a fighter who has only ever know how to touch violently) (also, some scenes have made me wonder whether Simon, in his eagerness and without realizing, is grabbing and biting and pushing hard enough that if Baz was a regular human, he probably would just find painful).

I think it makes the most sense that Simon would struggle like this. It makes him relatable! Sex starts to be good between Simon and Baz when they start communicating. Sex is good for Simon when he's pleasing Baz, which is also about Baz and his feelings for him, specifically. I don't know how that turned into "sex is good for him when he's pleasing someone, anyone" – those are very different things! That there are areas in his life where he cared about what others thought and wanted to fulfill expectations doesn't mean that would translate into the sexual area, there are other things that would factor into it. This is someone who never once thinks about his cock unless it's close to or in contact with Baz's person. The entirety of his desire, of sex being good or enjoyable for him, of wanting to please (linked to wanting to take care of/make Baz happy) is all centered on Baz. Simon ties desire and the appeal of sex to intimacy with the person he's in love with. There's nothing fucking casual about Simon when it comes to sex and romance, even before he properly identifies those feelings and who he actually has those feelings for. ("I think I'm going to marry the first person I've ever dated" – you couldn't get any further from "casual" with that shit, even if he didn't really believe it was going to happen because he thought he would die, which is also not casual). "But Simon doesn't think–��" he thinks a whole fucking lot, actually! He avoids processing, but everything is already inside of him, waiting for him to have the tools to process it and understand it. It's already on his radar. That doesn't necessarily translate into "enjoying casual sex" either.

And then there's horniness. Being horny doesn't mean one would turn to sex. Simon is insanely horny, but not in general... he's horny for Baz. And even then, horniness didn't always mean he was trying to have sex with him, or that he even knew what he wanted to do with it. By awtwb he's very much jumping Baz in a sexual way when he's horny, but Simon literally tells you "when I was horny for Baz, I used to pick fights with him." Before getting together with Baz (and even when he's with him) trying to blow off steam for Simon meant going to activities that are not at all sexual. Perhaps practicing with his sword until he gets tired. Picking fights, as mentioned. Getting moody and irritable and bitchy. As I said, he's not the type to ever even felt comfortable masturbating (being sexual) before he's thinking about how much he wants to cum on Baz. This is a "going to a late night run" type of person, a "engage in a form of combat to not feel so stressed" type of person, not a "casual sex enjoyer" or "one night stands" type of person. He's way more likely to go out to pick fights with strangers than to try to pick up a stranger for literally anything else.

#there have been comments in my mentions that can only be explained as 'these people dont read'#because why are you telling those things to me specifically #like what part of my posts gave you the impression that i would agree #simon snow #snowbaz #baz pitch #carry on #simon snow trilogy #simon x baz #baz x simon #baz grimm pitch #awtwb #wayward son

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worlddevoid · 4 months ago

Text

MASTER POST: World Devoid Essentials

!!!HALT!!! - READ BEFORE ENGAGING -

+Rules of Engagement+

DNI if you are homophobic, aphobic, transphobic, racist, ableist, sexist, classist, etc.- basically don’t interact if you're going to be a dick

Respect our characters' sexualities and identities. Baz is ASEXUAL (sex repulsed - NSFW media will be blocked) and Cassie is AROMANTIC (romance repulsed - Romanticized/Love content will be blocked) [Cassie is very sex positive though, so NSFW art for her exclusively is welcome ;)]

BAZ AND CASSIE ARE PLATONIC ONLY. BAZ+CASSIE SHIPPERS DNI

Reblog, Reblog, Reblog! If you like our content, please help us reach more people by reblogging it beyond just liking it. Unfortunately, likes don’t count for much out here in the wild wild west. We appreciate you!

With those things being said, we welcome all respectful engagement and look forward to sharing this story with you! We would love, love, LOVE to see your fanart and theories/takes as the story progresses! We can’t wait to see what you create! See you soon, freaks!

Summary

The cold, autumn sun just peaks over the horizon on a small, dirt road in the middle of rural Illinois. It is Sunday, October 1st in the year 2000. Two self-centered college students, Cassandra ‘Cassie’ Clive and Sebastian ‘Baz’ Moraz, are returning from a several month long trip after ditching classes to hunt cryptids in the woods of the Sand Ridge State Forest. Upon their return, they begin to unveil that things are anything but normal. Can these dense besties figure out what’s going on?

***Master list***

Episode 1 - This Is (Not) Your Morning

1.1

1.2

1.3

1.4

1.5 (New! FINAL PART OF EP. 1)

Episode 2 - Ey, Mall Of Terror, Ay!

2.1 (Coming Soon To A Tumblr Near You!)

...

Other Links

Cassie Clive Character Sheet

Baz Moraz Character Sheet

Author’s Note

This is the quickest idea we have ever put into action- it just kind of happened. We were driving on a long road trip and our two brains combined into one and suddenly it was taking form. We spoke the idea out loud and within the same day we had started our text based role play. We haven't stopped since! More details fell into place as we played and the story just started to take shape on its own. This spontaneous texting turned into an entire world with a full plot and line of characters. Buckle up and join us for the ride in a story that is basically writing itself...but the prophet to paper transcribing is being done by a couple of nerdy siblings- Charley Sikora (They/Them) & Chester Sikora (He/They). This is our passion project and both the story and the characters have been rotating in our heads at the speed of fast; non-stop like a 7-Eleven weiner heater that's been zapped by lightning. We only hope you enjoy it half as much as we do! Thank you for taking the time to read :)

Charley @charzardmain

Chester @same-soup-just-reheated

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philaet0s · 5 months ago

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written then pass it on to at least five other writers (except me because obvs I have done it). Spread the self love ❤

Ehe thanks for that! I wouldn't know who to send it to and I get embarrased about asks so let's say I'm sending it to anyone who wants to do it lol

Now my 5 fav fics I've written...

The first one is, UNDOUBTEDLY,

1. Live and Die For Moments That We Stole

My baby (literally, it took me 9 months to write it), my masterpiece. I love what I've done with this fic, I love the characters and the trajectories their lives take, I'm really, truly satisfied with this fic. Which is rare. Obviously if I rewrote it now I might change a few scenes, but as a whole, I love the fic and I'm very proud of it. It was a huge challenge because of the time period I set it in and because of the sheer lenght of that fic, but I did, I wrote it :)

2. Second Chance

I have a weird emotional attachement to this fic, I couldn't explain why but I reread it so often (because yes, I reread my own stuff, what's the point of writing stories I want to read if I don't read them?), and it always puts me in a good mood. I love the idea of a second chance, and of characters GROWING as people before they get that second chance

3. Woundrous and Mystical

I have to put it in the top three. Before I wrote Live and Die it was my favourite fic of mine, I'm just so proud of that story. Baz is my favourite character in this universe and the way that his trauma -psychological and physical- from the coffin is dealt with in canon is something that genuinely upsets me so for the longest time I wanted to write my own version of that, a version of the story where Baz gets to be affected by the fact that he was, you know, locked in a dark box for weeks without food. That story is very dear to me because of that, because it's centered around Baz and his trauma, but also because when I look at my fics as a whole, it's really with this one that I started to get a sense of how I wanted to write the characters and their relationships. The most striking example of that is Niall, the way I wrote Niall in Wondrous and Mystical is the way I've been writing Niall in my other fics since (except Live and Die, funnily enough), like Woundrous and Mystical really shaped my writing

4. The Ephemeral Nature of Flowers

Probably the fic of mine I've reread the most after Second Chance. I just love the vibes of that fic, I like the bittersweet ending, and I especially love the idea that a strong connection can be born in a very short time. Not in a 'love at first sight' kind of way because I don't really like that trope but in a 'we've had one real conversation and I feel like you and I connect in a very special way' kind of way

5. Thirteen Days to Fall in Love With Your Worst Enemy

That fic was soooo much fun to write. Putting our Simon with a Baz that considers him their best friend, and our Baz with a Simon that considers him his best friend + non!binary Baz my beloved <3

Simon getting to see Baz for the person that he truly is and not this evil mastermind he imagines him to be is always my favourite thing to write in fics where they start out disliking each other, and this fic is literally just that, so

#snowbaz #baz pitch #simon snow #fanfiction

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lindszeppelin · 4 months ago

Note

I have a lot to say, so buckle up lol:

I definitely feel a break up is coming for Austin and Kaia. The abrupt change in Austin's attitude towards her has been very noticeable. Even people who like them together, I've seen talk of them starting to notice a negative change. Some are holding on for dear life but, I think we all know the writing is on the wall. No idea when he'll do it, but Austin will for sure be the one to end it. He just seems so done with it all and her. She did all this stuff with the paparazzi for her book event. An event no one really knew about or cared for. If people went it was for the play itself or if they knew Kaia was doing some interview afterwards, they went to possible see Austin. She did all this and got no real payoff. The only thing her calling the paps the last 2 weeks did was hold off the break up rumors. That's what she wanted. But all it did was upset Austin.

Like I said earlier in the last week alone, he's grown very cold and distant towards her. If he's acting like this towards her in public, I imagine in private, there's no love either.

I think the only time I've seen Austin appear genuine with Kaia was the night of Cannes (literally two years ago). In general, that night was huge for him. A huge moment in his career. A 12 minute standing ovation. Praise from everyone. His family got to be there, who he hadn't seen in years. I think it was a lot of emotion. A weight had finally been lifted off his shoulders because the movie went over well.

He and Kaia were still in the honeymoon stage of the relationship that night. I won't lie, I noticed how much Austin was into her that night. During Baz's speech he was seen grabbing onto her hand, kissing her hand. He was smiling at her and gave a wink. He was smitten. Sure, they played up some it for the camera's on the red carpet. But Austin was happy. The after party they were dancing together, taking pics, etc. They seemed genuine.

But that was shortly lived because then they were getting papped all the time. I think that's when a lot of people started to notice what this really was. She jumped from Jacob Elordi to Austin in a matter of weeks. She told the press she was in love with Austin after only dating a couple of weeks. I saw the game Kaia was playing. I think Austin was slightly naive getting involved with a girl like Kaia and her family. Unfortunately, this relationship has come back to bite him. Kaia is clingy and self absorbed. She has to be the center of attention all the time. He's seen it first hand. At one point her parents kept medaling in his relationship. He's too grown to be dealing with overbearing parents. But this is why you don't date a nepo baby 10 years younger than you. She still relies on mommy and daddy for everything.

Austin went the cliche route in getting with a model once he broke out. Kaia was perfect to be his arm candy during award season. In fact she was referred to as arm candy at the Oscars in 2022. That's all she's been for him. Austin went for the complete opposite of Vanessa in every single way. As much as I didn't like Vanessa, she was in love with Austin. She loved him with every fiber in her being. Their love shined through anytime they were together. But her career was dying down, while his was finally taking off. She wanted to settle down and start a family. He wanted to work. I believed that was the final breaking point in their relationship. On top of other problems they were having. So getting with a girl younger with no ambition, or rush to have kids and marriage was appealing. Until it wasn't.

Kaia's lack of ambition has been her downfall. Her book club and interviewing isn't going to save her here. Austin sees things clearly now. He even went to the press to talk about how much her lack of ambition bothers him. Given the way she's been behaving the last few weeks, she knows it's coming to an end. She's acting desperate and pathetic. It's her own fault.

Beautiful anon, this was an amazing read. And you detailed everything so perfectly! I do agree that Austin will be the one to end it with her. There is no way Kaia will ever be the one to let him go, he is a valuable commodity to her career and persona as this bookish quirky girl. And it gets her foot in the door for more acting jobs etc. She knows she'd lose that forever if she let Austin go. Austin putting his foot down and choosing his happiness is the way it has to go. And when the time is right, he will.

I too think that him getting with Kaia was initially a choice that to him at the time seemed like a good one. I mentioned before that him turning 30 a few short months before meeting her was probably also a reason why he went after a girl 10 years younger than him, who didn't have anything going for her. And I think it's so true that after a hard breakup, you go for someone who is the complete opposite of your ex. That's a common thing. So I get it. And he was probably okay with it and was interested in seeing where it went, but then once he got to know this girl he realized he made a mistake. And it's not always easy to admit to yourself that this is a situation you need to get out of. Her parents and Kaia and her brother seem so overbearing that no doubt they backed Austin into a corner. Lest we forget that in January this year her parents ran to L&S with an exclusive that they don't want Kaia to continue with him unless he commits. Like...be so for real. Pressuring a man to commit to your 22 year old daughter is a tough sell, especially when said man does NOT want to be with her in any regard.

His demeanor towards her these last few months is detached, but more so especially in these last few weeks in NYC. She is sucking every single bit of clout from this man before he leaves her, and she is also panicking. But it's not her I feel bad for, she brought this all upon herself. I have no sympathy towards her. It's Austin I feel bad for. And he deserves his happiness. He deserves a chance at a real love and future marriage with his forever woman when he eventually meets that person. It's not easy to breakup especially when it's clear Austin really wanted this to be a quiet split with no fuss, but since she's making it complicated and she's clawing onto the walls for dear life, he has to fight for his right to be happy. Kaia deserves to be happy too don't get me wrong. I might not like her, but she deserves to be with somebody that enjoys playing the Hollywood game and likes to be papped often and loves that life. Austin is not that man. The sooner these two free themselves from this situationship and find better partners for them, the sooner they can be happy.

#lindsay's anon asks

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sarandipitywrites · 5 months ago

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🐍- How do you deal with it when you come across a plothole?

I sit on the edge of it, my little shovel in hand, and stare into its depths as I contemplate my life choices.

Once I finish doing that, I try to look at what happens before the hole, after the hole, and at what's currently in the hole and figure out where the problem actually is. Like, if it's a "[character] would not do that" sort of issue, for example, I need to figure out if the problem is that [character] would, in fact, not do that, or if they would, but I just haven't done a good enough job of convincing the reader of that, yet.

Sometimes, though, a plot hole comes up because something I've written legitimately makes so sense with an existing bit of worldbuilding. When that happens, I have a choice: I can change the plot hole, change the worldbuilding, or dive headfirst into the plot hole and change the rest of the story to accommodate it. I chose the third option near the end of the first draft of The Art of Empty Space, which is how I ended up with an entirely new story lol

Not sure how much you saw of it while I was posting last year, but the basic premise of the first draft was a Beauty and the Beast style, monster-in-a-castle story, with the curse centering around Baz (the monster) and his real name. The plot hole came at the very end, when Lienzo was meant to learn the true name and break the curse; the problem was that anyone who learned the monster's real name would immediately forget everything about him (as, you know, part of the curse). What would make Lienzo so special? Why wouldn't he forget, when everyone else did?

The solution was: he wasn't special. He did forget. And that's now where the second draft of AES starts: after all the events of the original draft. Now, instead of it being a Beauty and the Beast retelling, it's a mystery thriller where Lienzo has to uncover what's already happened to him, break the cycle of this magically-induced amnesia, and break the curse on the beast and the city (and figure out who originally cursed them and why).

So, short answer: sometimes I fix the plot hole. Sometimes the hole fixes the plot 🤷

Thank you for the ask! 💜

#writeblr ask games #plot holes #writing shop talk ask game #saran answers #the art of empty space #starlit hopes and dreams

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monbons · 8 months ago

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an ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIP(s)

thanks for tagging me @bookish-bogwitch, @thewholelemon, @cutestkilla, and @noblecorgi!

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s): Currently, living, breathing, and eating my one and only WIP: The Eternal Life of Baz Pitch. Also, I am probably retiring after this fic because I do not think I can top it!

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___” Addie LaRue + SnowBaz = so much pain and angst

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it? Period-typical homophobia, Implied/referenced DV, Blood and Injury, Death... I mean truly the works. This is SnowBaz in the darkest possible timeline.

4. 🧭An alternative title to one of your WIP(s)? At one point, I joked with @thewholelemon about naming it "Baz Pitch's 300 Year Long Grope-Fest" but for obvious reasons that title would really do a disservice to this fic (although it is sort of true).

5. ⚠️Which WIP you're most likely to finish or update next? Now that I've created a posting schedule for The Eternal Life of Baz Pitch, I want to stick to it. While I'm "done" drafting, I am still making a few big revisions to the last six chapters. I've also been re-reading the first chapters for continuity issues that may have cropped up now that I know how this ends. Either way, I can see the finish line.

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as) It started out as "Addie LaRue Working Draft." Once the one doc got unwieldy and long, it spun out into multiple docs titled all sorts of things - mostly chapter numbers, but I do have one not as fun as it sounds doc called "Sex Playground." (ha!)

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP. “Are you so naive as to think I cannot watch you whenever it pleases me, even if you cannot see me?”

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP. I actually have SEVERAL scenes I scrapped...like pages and pages! Largely this is because I have a whole document titled "Voice," which served as a sandbox of sorts where I could play with every possible combination of POV, tone, and style before committing to the final version you see in the story now. There's even a scene in there told first-person Niall! (Bonkers.)

I also have a whole ACTUAL scene I'd love to include as an answer to this question because it was well-written, but I cut it because it made the plot unnecessarily complicated, was frankly too close to the original plot of Addie, and would have made my ending impossible. It is also--sadly--too big a spoiler to include here, so let me give you a few sentences from "Sex Playground" that will not be making the cut:

“Stay.” Baz pushes his hand into the center of Simon’s chest, pressing him back into the mattress. “I want to look at you.” Simon gives Baz a filthy smile. He can look all he wants.

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet? I really want to write a canon divergence where Simon successfully but somewhat accidentally reveals Baz is a vampire fifth year, so Baz and the whole Pitch family have to flee from the Mage. I already have the "everybody finds out" scene written and the scene where the Mage realizes the Pitch family is gone, so I guess I have started it. But, I also have no idea where it's going or what it's about, so I haven't really accomplished anything. If anyone has ideas or wants to be a partner-in-crime on this, give me a little shout!

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on? Literally just this one. Again, I am retiring after this fic! (Or at least taking a very well-deserved break.)

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now? Absolutely 100% it is writing the smut. Having never written any on-page sex means I'm figuring it out as I go. Lots of frustrated growls from me (not nearly as frustrated from Simon).

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send. I know many of you have already posted, but tagging anyway since you've commented/liked past WIPsdays and such, in case you're interested in the behind the scenes!

@valeffelees, @roomwithanopenfire, @noblecorgi, @cutestkilla, @iamamythologicalcreature, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold, @drowninginships, @emeryhall, @hushed-chorus, @rimeswithpurple, @aristocratic-otter, @larkral, @artsyunderstudy, @brilla-brilla-estrellita

#tag game #writers asks #the eternal life of baz pitch #carry on #i really wish i could share all the things but part of the joy of this story is the slow reveal #feel free to ask me again once it's all done!

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yellobb · 10 months ago

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Tell me about ye olde "cold case outline"

Ooooo I was hoping someone asked about this one when I first posted the ask game!!!!

From this ask game

Cold Case Outline

This is another WIP that my sister and I did that we actually fully fleshed out, but I am still holding out a bit of hope that one day I’ll actually write the damn thing.

Simon is a mechanic and Baz is an Instagram model. They first meet when Baz brings his Jag in, and he’s immediately enamored with Simon in his oil-stained tank top, messy curls, and freckles. Simon immediately falls in love with Baz’s Jag and fawns over it, which does not help Baz’s predicament. He starts coming to the shop as often as possible with any excuse he can think of (oil change, tire rotation, “the building is just very aesthetic, Snow, so I need you to take my picture while I pose all sexy”). He even keys his own car at one point to have an excuse to visit him (it was a moment of desperation and he’s not proud of it, but he stands by his actions).

Simon lives with Penny and Shepard. Shepard is very into true crime and is hoping to start a podcast of his own about it. Shep visits Simon at work one day, but he gets very quiet and starts staring at Baz when he walks in to drop off the Jag, looking like he’s seen a ghost. Baz is visibly uncomfortable, so Simon kicks Shep out until Baz is good to go. He asks Shep what the hell that was all about afterwards, and Shep is like “that’s Baz Pitch”. “Yeah, and?” “Like, Natasha and Malcolm Grimm-Pitch’s son?! From the 2002 Olympics! Do you think he’d let me interview him for my podcast?”

It turns out, Baz isn’t just mildly famous for his Instagram presence. In 2002, when he was just five years old, his mother was an Olympic figure skater. The day of her event, she didn’t show up to warm-ups. She was found dead under suspicious circumstances over a week later. There are clips of some of her last moments where she acts erratically that went viral, and her case has fascinated the public ever since.

We didn’t get far on actually writing out this story, but what I did finish is a news report that explains the circumstances of Natasha’s death 👀 I’ve included it under the cut if anyone wants to read it! I’m actually pretty damn proud of how it turned out and have always wanted to share it, so I hope y’all enjoy :)

Natasha Grimm-Pitch Death Still Stumps People 20 Years Later

Natasha Grimm-Pitch, world-renowned ice dance figure skater from Great Britain and 3x Olympic medalist, went missing on February 9th, 2002. That morning, her husband and partner, Malcolm Grimm, woke up to find she had not returned in the night. Assuming she had stayed the night with her sister, Fiona Pitch, who had traveled with the pair in order to watch their 5-year-old son, Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch, while they competed, Grimm got ready for the day’s competition, but began to grow worried when Pitch met him at the Salt Lake Ice Center without her sister. She had met Grimm to take Tyrannus, known as “Baz” by those close to the family, but was shocked to find out that Grimm-Pitch had not returned to the couple’s room in the Olympic Village.

“Nat had come over the night before, yeah,” Pitch said, when interviewed about the disappearance the day after the event. “She came over to my hotel room to get some stress relief. I mean, this was her moment. She’d been out of the public eye for a while, after having Baz, and felt like she needed to medal in order to prove herself. I couldn’t tell you who she was proving herself to, though. She never cared what other people thought of her; not even me.”

Grimm was hesitant to alert the police, hoping that his wife had stayed with a teammate, but couldn’t hesitate any longer once warm-up was scheduled to start and she had yet to make an appearance.

“Nat would never have missed a warm-up, especially not now. She’s always on time. Something happened to her,” Grimm told the press the day of the disappearance. Grimm-Pitch’s disappearance caused a stir in the Olympic Village, especially amongst her teammates.

“I knew Natasha. That woman was a force to be reckoned with. When I heard that Malcolm had forfeited their position, I knew something was wrong. Everyone was uneasy as soon as we heard. I think we all knew, deep down, what must have happened. None of us even saw Natasha take a sick day. There was no way in hell she was going to let something stop her from competing again,” said teammate, Mitali Bunce, a year after her disappearance.

A mass investigation was launched into the disappearance, with state and local police leading the search. Grimm searched the streets with his sister-in-law in the hopes of finding her, often leaving their child in the care of the other British athletes. Though the ice dance competition continued, this would not be the case for long.

Natasha Grimm-Pitch’s body was found, washed-up in nearby Farmington Bay, on February 20th, just over a week after her disappearance. The Olympic Village, and the world, watched on in shock as her death was officially announced by the Salt Lake City Police Department at 11:08 AM. The Olympic Committee officially suspended what remained of the ice dance competition that evening, putting out a statement about the tragedy:

“In light of the recent tragedy involving ice dancer, Natasha Grimm-Pitch, the Olympic Committee has unanimously decided to suspend the ice dance competition for the remainder of the Olympic season. We ask the figure skating community to come together at this time to honor her legacy and mourn her loss. The Committee will reconvene in the next month to determine when the events will be completed.”

Her body was flown back to the family’s home in Hampshire, UK, but the FBI stayed in contact with British authorities for the resulting investigation. In the coming months, the mystery only grew. According to her autopsy, Grimm-Pitch had been dead for around 230 hours, placing her death sometime on the evening of February 10th, the day after she went missing. To make the case more shocking, she had only been submerged in the water for five days upon being found, meaning there was a six day gap between her death and her body being, supposedly, dumped in the bay. Despite this, she appeared to have died of natural causes, with nothing to indicate that she had resisted an attacker. There were already rumors in the news surrounding foul play, but things really exploded once security camera footage was made publicly available in April 2002.

In a now infamous clip, Grimm-Pitch is shown entering the Olympic Village at 3:00 AM, missing her shoes and the bag her sister claimed she left her hotel room with. Grimm-Pitch appears to be disoriented, running to hide behind walls and looking around wildly, despite no one being in the vicinity. The footage lasts six minutes, with Grimm-Pitch circling the building she was staying in, even briefly entering the entranceway before stumbling back out.

Her erratic behaviour combined with the confounding circumstances around her actual death threw the media into a frenzy. Every major news outlet reported for over a month with updates in the case, but no suspects were ever identified. It seemed that there were no leads whatsoever. The figure skating community and the true crime community alike waited with bated breaths to find if her death was ruled a suicide, homicide, or accident.

Unfortunately, the answer never came. In 2013, the case was unofficially closed after over a decade with no new information. The case has gone down as one of the most shocking and mysterious disappearances in British and American history alike. The Grimms and Pitches are still desperate for answers, though.

A year after the death of his wife, Malcolm Grimm officially announced his campaign for Prime Minister in the United Kingdom. Despite critics saying he was using Grimm-Pitch’s death to further his political aspirations, which had begun in 1997 with the birth of his son, he won the seat. With his victory, the most popular conspiracy theory surrounding Grimm-Pitch’s death was born.

Many people believe that Grimm knew their performance would fail, leading to them fading from the public eye. To prevent this, Grimm chose to murder his wife and use the sympathy he garnered following her death to get elected. He, allegedly, drugged her, waited for her to die, and hid her body in their room until, six days later, the police grew suspicious of him, so he dumped her body in the bay as a cover-up. Proponents of this theory claim that the mortician performing the autopsy was paid off to lie about finding drugs in her system.

Another popular theory surrounds Fiona Pitch. Pitch has a record of substance abuse, so theories have circulated about her, accidentally or otherwise, giving Grimm-Pitch more than she could handle (despite multiple sources stating that she never used drugs). The theory states that Grimm-Pitch managed to leave her sister’s hotel room before she started experiencing delusions and paranoia. Her sister, who had aided in the search for her, then found her body six days later, dead from overdose, and dumped her in the bay to avoid indicating herself in manslaughter. Many point to a 1995 case involving Pitch where her boyfriend, Nicodemus Petty, overdosed in their London apartment. Pitch herself barely survived the ordeal, but was saved when Petty’s sister, Ebeneza Petty, happened to visit that morning and was able to call paramedics. Pitch was convicted of illegal substance abuse and spent five years in rehabilitation facilities. She claims that she has been clean ever since.

Others believe that it was simply a case of mania, despite Grimm-Pitch’s nearly spotless mental health record. She had been prescribed Wellbutrin following the birth of her son, but stopped using it after only a year. To this day, the case remains unsolved.

Despite the rumors surrounding the family, they have seen unbelievable success. Grimm still enjoys a successful political career, but the star of the show is Tyrannus “Baz” Grimm-Pitch. He has grown a large following online, amassing thirty million followers on his Instagram since its creation in 2018. Grimm-Pitch enjoys a life as an Instagram model with an estimated net worth of nearly $10 million. Despite being in the limelight since his mother’s death, he has yet to publicly comment on the infamous case. His aunt acts as his manager, but abstains from all public appearances.

#m writes #m answers #tag game #wip #the simon snow series #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz

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that-disabled-princess · 1 year ago

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Fic Rec Sunday

Decided to do a rec post today! This post is chock-full of aro rep because why not? Aromantics are valid and deserve to be represented.

Turn and say "Dear heart, it's me" by @terrayoung [T, 4k, Nimona, complete]

Super duper sweet friends to lovers fic! Demiromantic Ballister is handled in such a wonderful way, and I love the exploration of Bal and Ambrosius' relationship through the years. An absolutely wonderful fic with all the Feels--patching your friend up, angst, hurt/comfort, and proposals.

Lonely and Alone by invisible_aliens [G, 1.6k, Carry On, complete]

A Mordelia-centric fic following her on her journey of self-discovery. Beautiful and real and full of aro feelings. And aro Agatha has some wonderful advice for baby aro Mordelia.

i want your dreary mornings by @martsonmars [G, 1k, Carry On, complete]

An absolutely lovely fic featuring a QPR! QPRs are so important to me, and it's lovely seeing more people write them. A super sweet sickfic full of fluff, comfort, aromantic vibes, specky snowbaz, and blanket cocoons. This fic is a weighted blanket on a bad day.

figure it out (together) by @tea-brigade [SFW, one-shot, Carry On, complete]

Not on AO3 but on Tumblr, but this fic deserves a mention! A very wonderful fic featuring rainy days, crochet, tea, and musician Baz! And a sickfic and taking care of your best friend. A super sweet friends to lovers with neopronouns and demiromantic Baz. Literally what more could a girl want.

Enough courage to trust by spookygreen [T, 6k, Nimona, complete]

This one doesn't center around aromanticism, but it features aroace Nimona! Also pizza, kicking ass as a bonding activity, anarchist Nimona, and a fantastic Nimona&Ambrosius friendship. There are also trust issues, which are dealt with in a great and real way. Overall, a very fun and heartfelt fic!

Tags under the cut 💖💖

Tagging @bazzybelle @j-nipper-95 @artsyunderstudy @theearlgreymage @forabeatofadrum @tea-brigade @hushed-chorus @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @yeonjunenby @valeffelees @ic3-que3n @larkral @confused-bi-queer @aristocratic-otter @stitchyqueer @ivelovedhimthroughworse @wellbelesbian @imagineacoolusername @palimpsessed @cutestkilla @mostlymaudlin @moodandmist and anyone else who wants to!

#it also says something that i can't find many aro fics across all the fandoms i'm in... but anyway #these are some fabulous aro fics :)#fic recs #fic rec #carry on #nimona #aromantic

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everwitch-magiks · 1 year ago

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Hashtag Soulmates

Alex is perfect and handsome, the golden boy, everybody’s secret crush. So there is absolutely no way that he is the reader who screeches in caps lock every time that Henry posts as much as a drabble. There’s no way. Except Alex just closed his browser fast as fucking lightning, but not before Henry had gotten a good glimpse of the page Alex had open: AO3. ‘Don't Stop Me Now’, Henry’s current wip. The one that Henry literally just updated.

Sweet Jesus. Could it really be?

I love fanfiction. I probably love fanfiction more than I love anything else. When I started to write 'Hashtag Soulmates,' I wanted to write something that tapped into all of that, something with fandom as the setting and fanfiction right at the heart of it. I didn’t actually have much of a plan (to center each chapter around a fic trope was something I decided on a whim for chapter two), but it felt very in character to have Henry be a passionate fic writer, and it seemed fun to have Alex be both someone Henry knew in real life and someone who was reading Henry’s work.

My favourite part of writing and posting this fic has been hearing how readers relate to it. So many people have talked to me about how much Henry’s journey resonated with them, and all the ways this story made them feel seen. I absolutely love all the conversations I've gotten to have through this fic, and how much that's made me think about fandom and its role in all our lives, the good and the bad of it and how I wouldn’t be the same person without it. 'Hashtag Soulmates' will always be special to me, because fandom is so incredibly special to me.

Below the cut is an excerpt from the fic that's from chapter one: it’s where we get to know about Henry’s day-to-day life as a prolific Jabriel fic writer. (Jabriel - James and Gabriel. I made up a fake ship based on Alex and Henry - see what I did there with the middle names? - so that they could effectively ship themselves. Simple, right?) Please enjoy this little window into Henry’s daily fic writing habits!

Henry is a respectable member of society.

He's worked as a copywriter for six years now. Most of his colleagues seem to like him well enough, although he's pretty sure that they all think of him as somewhat reserved. Still, he's entirely capable of navigating the office gossip by the water cooler and he tags along to the bi-weekly pub quiz gatherings often enough to actually keep getting invited. He’s sociable, polite and occasionally even funny. And he’s good at his job. That goes a surprisingly long way.

When Henry comes home from a day at the office or a night out at the pub, he curls up on the couch with his laptop and a cup of Earl Grey, and he writes. He writes about young men falling in love and subsequently falling in bed. He writes about kissing, and touching, and being kissed and being touched, about desire and desperation and sweet, sweet release.

Some of it he pulls from memory, but most of it is pure fantasy. Although it's not a wishlist, exactly. Henry is happily single for the most part, and the sex he writes isn't necessarily the sex he wants to have. It's more along the lines of very elaborate, often impossible daydreams, except Henry captures them on the page, edits them furiously and gets thousands of hits when he publishes them. All in a day's work.

Henry’s best friend, PezLikeTheSweets, lives in New Zealand. Pez has beta read every single one of Henry's fics for the past decade. They'd first connected back when Henry still wrote Wolfstar fics, except it wasn’t actually called Wolfstar back then, although the whole wizarding world has since lost its appeal to Henry either way. Fucking Joanne.

These days Henry writes about Simon and Baz, and those sweet Swedish teen gay royals, but his current main ship is definitely Gabriel and James. And he’s not alone in that. The scorchingly hot romance between a civil rights lawyer and a queer historian has been on the New York Times Bestseller list for months. There’s a movie in the works and a rumoured sequel, but in the meantime a lot of people are looking to get their Jabriel fix from fanfic. A lot of people. And Henry somehow managed to churn out his first few oneshots just in time to hit that elusive sweet spot in a fandom on the rise. Everyone read them. And now, whenever Henry posts a new story, everyone reads that too.

Read 'Hashtag Soulmates' on AO3!

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #first prince #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #fanfiction #spotlight saturday #evie writes #hashtag soulmates

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fshoulders · 3 months ago

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Just saw someone on here say the Baz Luhrmann Romeo & Juliet is “considered the most faithful movie version of Romeo and Juliet” and had to stop myself from chasing them down the internet like the meme goose going “BY WHO?! BY WHO!?????” Don’t start internet beef over this, self! They didn’t say THEY liked it best! They might be an innocent bystander! Also you are weirdly aggressive about Shakespeare!

Okay, deep breath, short post. Short post! We can do this!

Romeo and Juliet has an oddly small cinematic footprint, compared to its cultural impact. That’s probably why Luhrmann’s version can still hold any primacy. (Gods, are there English teachers showing this in class? Because they don’t have to fast-forward through the Zefferelli nudity? What a thought. Stay on target.) I can only theorize that other Shakespeare plays get more adaptations because they’re centered on a huge male role, so they can be a Serious Showpiece for a single male actor. R&J doesn’t operate that way.

And in my experience (having seen four or five live productions, off the top of my head) it’s a play that really lives in the theater. Stupid as it sounds, every time I see Romeo and Juliet live, some part of me feels like this time, it might end happy. The letter might not go astray: the messenger won’t get caught in a quarantine, Romeo will know Juliet isn’t dead, and everything will turn out fine. It’s so often noted that the play isn’t structured as a tragedy, but as a New Comedy (like Midsummer Night’s Dream, et c. — a story about young people defying their parents for love) that goes wrong: somehow this works on me, in person, such that I really think maybe we’ll pull it off! The kids will be all right, the parents will be chastened, and all will end well. It breaks my heart, every time, when it doesn’t.

I have small quibbles with the Luhrmann R&J, but I won’t enumerate them here. I simply want to point out that Luhrmann makes the most appalling directorial choice he possibly could. And he’s not the only one! This choice was in vogue during the 19th century in England (which is also when Bowdler took the naughty bits out of Shakespeare, so…yeah. Not very concerned with being faithful to the text.) Luhrmann, and the rest of the 19th century text-criminals, have Juliet wake up while Romeo is still dying.

I suppose some of you are now going, “why is that such a terrible thing? It allows for more acting!” Well, yeah, that’s why the hams of the London stage liked to do it in Romantic and Victorian times. Everything for more melodrama!

But it’s a sin against the text, and I’ll tell you why. That breathless stupid hope I talked about above, that the entire play’s structure induces? The hope that everything will turn out right? It builds up in you like a flood, and everything goes wrong again, and the entire weight of your hope is penned up in your heart, and they came so close! It was so close to being all right, but Romeo kills himself, and nothing will be all right.

And Juliet wakes up, still a citizen of the Country of Hope where this trick is so clever and Romeo’s going to save her, and she finds him there. And nothing makes sense to her. He was supposed to be here, but he was supposed to be alive. It’s a cruel inversion of her hopes, it’s her love made Death at last, it’s her whole world collapsing. We know how close it came to being all right, but she doesn’t know. She despairs. She sees he poisoned himself. And then she kisses him. And she says,

“Thy lips are warm.”

Now she knows as clearly as we do how nearly they were together, how close they came to a happy ending. Total understanding crashes over her, and crashes out of us. It’s the perfectly weighted moment of catharsis for the entire play. No lie: just typing her words above, I started crying with no warning. It’s the sharpened point of the play in Juliet’s heart, and ours. Those four words are the most devastating, understated thing. They are the cold, uncaring touch of Death.

And if she saw him die, they don’t work. They make no sense. She sounds like a fool saying them. And the whole weight of the play lands wrong, because some director thought he knew better than William Shakespeare how to wring the salt tears from human hearts.

#Shakespeare nerd #favorite play #Romeo and Juliet #performance history #fuck bowdler #fuck the Victorians #failed happy ending #fuck baz luhrmann #responding over here #theater #william shakespeare #Shakespeare #i have too many opinions #i have studied this intensely #close reading #catharsis #drama #in my feels

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sailorblossoms-snowbaz · 1 year ago

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Baz & biting Simon

(And why I think it’s ok if he never wants to do it)

I never thought about this before (maybe because I don't get the appeal of a vampire's bite, what with all the blood and the stabbing and being poisoned and the pain, but other people finding it hot isn't my business) (neck kisses though... that I get). I have seen the arguments in favor of Baz biting Simon, ranging from "I think that would be good for Baz's character development" to "I personally think it's hot." I accepted them (hell, I might have even thought of or written a biting scene considering the former, I don't remember) and that was that... until I saw the arguments in favor of respecting that Baz doesn't want to bite Simon.

For starters, one needs to consider what biting Simon would mean. People have read Baz's vampire nature as connected to his queerness – he often thinks about them in the same breath (very grimly including "which one is the one getting me discriminated against right now" scenarios... "I don't know if Daphne means me getting cured of the vampirism or the gayness" kinda puts homophobia on the same level as being against vampirism).

In that vein, Baz being alright with biting Simon as part of sexy times is seen as synonymous with Baz fully embracing his queerness; Baz loving every part of himself just like how Simon loves every part of him. This is where I would usually call it a day, but... actually, I don't think it's right to completely lean on the vampire identity as synonymous with his queer identity 100%. As a metaphor, it's not the only thing it can represent (I once read a good meta that saw the ways he has to plan around it etc as a metaphor for disability). In a more literal sense, the books give you enough to question the WOM's treatment of vampires. But seeing vampires in Las Vegas getting smart about drinking blood without killing doesn't erase the predatory nature associated with them... so I think it's a delicate conversation that needs to know where to draw lines, where to connect, and where to separate things.

I think much comes out of the scene where Simon says there's "nothing about you I don't want." But one also needs to consider that, while Simon absolutely means it (which is a powerful thing to convey to Baz, who has always felt he's loved in spite of who he is) when asked about why he wanted Baz to bite him, his answer to that specific question is not "I think that would be good for you" but "I personally think it's hot" (even if wanting to be with Baz when he hunts and "they should see him draining a deer!" or something highlights that it makes Simon happy and proud to see Baz getting his needs fulfilled without shame, "I want him to bite me, specifically" is more about Baz's hotness, compared to Simon wanting to try kinky stuff). And you can see that without him having to say it: when Baz is asking him about past sexual experience, Simon keeps trying to change the subject, eventually going to "I want to focus on actually sexy things, so you should let me watch you drink the nasty little rats I lovingly helped you catch."

So eventually we arrive at: it makes Baz uncomfortable to be asked this. It causes him distress, even. The fact that Simon would be into it, by itself, or even as motivation is... not a good reason to challenge Baz's feelings. One should never do anything they don't want or feel comfortable with sexually for someone else's sake. Centering Simon's desire over Baz's comfort is... well. Even more when Simon himself is just discovering desire and what it means to him – at this point, he doesn't actually know what he would be into, so he's just saying shit. All Simon actually knows is that he's into Baz, and all Baz-related things are a turn on (just like how Baz is like "wouldn't have considered myself a tail guy, but since Simon has one..." before giving him a tail job.) More importantly, I think Simon means it when he promises he won't bring it up again upon noticing Baz's distress. Simon wants to take care of him and make him happy – he won't push Baz to do anything that makes him uncomfortable (especially since Simon has experience with unwanted sexual situations, which has very likely contributed to his issues with intimacy) (I have many posts about that, finding them though...)

Then comes the point about self-acceptance. About how Baz deserves to love every part of himself as much as Simon loves him. Realistically, a lot of us have parts about ourselves that we don't like, parts that we can't change, but become okay with them by negotiating with them. Perhaps not really comparable, but just for the sake of giving an example: disliking one's body shape, but learning how to dress in a way that flatters it. Finding features we like and highlighting them. Learning how to manage bad moods.

I don't really think Baz needs to bite Simon to find any sort of self-acceptance. Baz is a natural caretaker. He has a soft heart. Even in a fight where he's in actual danger, he holds back – he doesn't want to hurt others (and only snaps if Simon is in danger or gets hurt). The predatory nature of a vampire goes against Baz's very core. And an essential part of that predation is in making humans targets. In putting humans at the bottom of a food chain. This is not something Baz can separate from a vampire bite, and he's not the type to be into about whatever role-power-play shenanigans that someone else could get out of that. When someone in Las Vegas is taking a sip, they have enough practice to let the human walk away alive, but for convenience – they don't give a shit about the actual human (I imagine people died in the process of figuring out when to stop and in mastering the control required for it). On top of that, Baz has trauma around hunting (killing) in a way that hurts him (pets). Simon is the person Baz loves the most – what Baz needs is not to put himself in a "predatory role" when Simon is the target. He doesn't need to put Simon in a position where there is even the slightest chance of Simon getting hurt, and worst of all: of Baz being responsible. Just the thought it's traumatizing for him. When Baz chooses to only eat certain types of animals (because pets too feed into his self-hatred) he's already negotiating with something about himself he doesn't like. He's turning something he hates about himself into something he can accept. Into something he can live with. I do think Baz has issues he needs to work on, but I don't think modifying his diet is required. The way in which he figured how to solve his drinking needs is pretty good when considering Baz's essence, his wants and needs. When considering how Baz wants to live his life.

Which takes me to health and immortality. Another argument in favor is that Baz will look more "healthy" if he were to drink human blood... but what else is there? Are optics important if Baz is still able to function healthily with his dietary choices? The only other thing human blood brings in this universe is immortality, something that's so unthinkable it's actually paralyzing for Baz. I've seen the idea that Baz should embrace that too; I disagree, and I fail to see an argument strong enough in favor ("it would be cool" for him? the hell it would). Immortality too goes against Baz's very nature: the idea of outliving everyone he has ever loved, for someone like Baz, would be the worst kind of torture. The fact that drinking human blood is the key to living forever just means there's actually not a single reason strong enough for Baz to have a change of heart. On the contrary: it's a good reason to fucking double down on his stance. "He could just take a little sip; enough to gain some color but not enough for immortality" But why? He can barely control when his fangs drop, why would he bother doing all that, when it implies trial and error with something that could risk Simon's safety? He wouldn't do it even if it meant just Simon getting a bit dizzy and shit.

Finally, there's the argument on why people would rather respect Baz's wishes. The thing that made me reconsider every single point in favor of biting and not finding them as strong as this. It's very simple, really, so I'll be brief here: it's the idea of having a boundary or hard line that others can't understand... that others believe it's something to "get over," that "can't be good for you," and needs to be changed. Something one "should grow out of," which heavily resonates with people who are in the acespectrum (I think the writing in these books are very ace friendly) or who are aromantic, or don't want to drink alcohol or do or want anything that society pressures us to do or want or else "something is wrong with us."

Baz not biting humans is a boundary that matters to him, even if biting doesn't end in death... His own experience with getting bitten sucked ass, anyway. It changed him in ways beyond his control – his boundary is how he gains control of who he is, and how he sees himself. It provides comfort. So when the author says "I might change my mind someday, but I think this boundary is important for him to maintain" and wants to honor that, I'm inclined to support it.

#simon snow #snowbaz #baz pitch #simon snow trilogy #baz x simon #baz grimm pitch #carry on #awtwb #snow for christmas #simon x baz

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