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A Parliament of Rooks

the many places here can mean

Fic: Fade To ... the inevitable fangirl Fic
Fandom: Fangirl
Characters: Simon/Baz, (Cath)
Rating: Mature-ish
Note: If somehow you, the internet, missed that Rainbow Rowell brilliant wrote about fangirling and fanfictiona nd slash fanfiction go read now. Then come back here.

            “Boyfriend,” Baz repeated, bouncing a fireball, like it was made of rubber, against a suggestion of a fortress wall. “We already know college--”
            “University,” Simon corrected, rolling his eyes.
            Baz held up a hand like, gurl please. “I haven’t been Brit-picked yet. We already know college and that was patchy for what—a day? This is different.”
            Simon wheeled his slow pace around, tugging his cape—now fur-lined, now not—straight at the neck. He glared up at the scuttling clouds, at the on-again off-again torrential-again snowflakes, at the weather in general. This standard between wintery-scene shite was the worst. It gave him the feeling that somebody had gotten the vague idea enough time had passed that a change in the weather was due but some rereading needed to be done first and some timelines made firmer to make sure. It left him wondering if he’d also suddenly sprout longer hair. Which was disorienting, And itchy.
            “Would you relax?” Simon turned when Baz, predictably, threw the fireball at him. Baz had a tendency to fall into his old canon habits while they waited. Simon caught and returned the ball with a grin. “It’s been, like, three days.”
            “Three internet days,” Baz said, throwing the ball higher against the fortress wall, testing how tall it had been written this time. “Scaleable,” Baz pronounced before turning on Simon. “Three internet days, Snow. That’s like thirty actual years; by the time she updates we’ll pretty much be a throw back. We’re bell bottoms and vinyl.”
            “Vinyl’s big right now.”
            “We’re too mainstream for the hipsters,” Baz said in his no-nonsense I can’t believe you would fucking suggests that to me, Snow, tone.
            “Maybe if you weren’t a goddamned vampire.”
            “Thank you, how very  Holden Cauffield,” Baz dropped to his back with a huff, swimming out a snow angel.
            Simon looked on, aghast. “You’re right: boyfriend.”
            “I know I’m right. But how do you know I’m right?”
            “You’re making a snow angel. You’ve never made snow angels before.”
            “I’ve never had to wait around this long before,” Baz said snidely but he looked out at his arms and blinked snowflakes, barely melted, from his lashes. “You think stuff is creeping in.”
            Simon nodded. “That’s the usual boyfriend pattern.”
            “That’s the usual crush pattern.”
            “Not with this one. She’s so canon faithful…. Have I…been doing this thing…with my hair lately? Like….”
            “Like running your hand through it to make sure it’s still messy?” Baz asked, unwontedly solemn. “Yeah.”
            “Yeah,” Simon said, knotting his knuckles in his hair.
            “Yes?” Said Simon.
            “Simon,” Baz corrected, since they’d crossed that bridge months ago. “I have a confession. I’ve started drinking coffees.”

(1 of 2)
            “Coffees. In the morning. And the afternoon. With too much milk.”
            “You’ve been drinking lattes?!”
            “Did you just speak with made up punctuation? She hates that. It’s been way, way too long. You’re going feral.”
            “You’ve been drinking lattes. I think even she would agree the situation calls for an interrobang.”
            “They taste like Christmas!”
            “Oh my god, are you grinning?”
            “Shut up, you’re grinning.”
            “I’m always grinning.” I’m Simon goddamn Snow.
            “Yeah but, I mean I think I just realized that when someone grins like that, anyone would, any sane person, would grin back?”
            “Boyfriend!” Simon shouted.
            “Boyfriend!” Baz shouted like, I know!
            “Well, on the bright side,” Baz said after a long pause during which Simon had also flopped down in the snow. Baz quirked his eyebrows and shifted his gaze in a very deliberate fashion.
            “Did you just look at my crotch?”
            “I looked at the nebulous region between your legs that is variously stirring or hard or heated and yet still nebulous.”
            “So my crotch?”
            “Crotch,” Baz repeated, deviously. “Maybe we’ll get cock or dick or balls. Head. Suck. Fuck. Blow,” he said dreamily.
            Simon felt a blush rising in his cheeks but Baz had a point. “Maybe at least penis.”
            “She hates ‘penis’.”
            “How do you know?”
            “How could she not? Too Latin, too reptilian. Penisssssss.”
            “Reptiles are sexy. Snake in the garden and all that.”
            “Reptiles are sexy? They make people want to scream and run away. Particularly people who are girls.”
            “No girls here. We’re gay.”
            “No,” Baz corrected. “We’re straight-girl gay. There’s always a girl here.”
            “But it’s her. She’s good a this stuff. I mean….”
            “Snow, we don’t even speak gay.”
            “What do you mean?”
            “I don’t even know. That’s the point.”
            “I don’t follow.”
            Baz turned up on one elbow with a look on his face that said, hate to break it to you, kid (not to be confused with the banned spell, “Here’s looking at you, kid” which actually melted actual panties). “We’ve been together a year, Snow. And, you know, like, basic shit? Like, which one of us likes to…be…on the bottom?”
            “Baz?!” Simon interrobanged like he was choking.
            “Okay, okay. Less threatening one. Where’s our gay posse?”
            “I don’t think that’s a real thing.”
            “Of course it’s a real thing! I mean, we’re 18-year-old guys, who do we get to brag to about our escapades?”
            “I don’t really brag….” Simon caught Baz’s my point, exactly look and stammered, “Our friends. I mean Penelope swears she knew how I felt about you before I did.”
            “That’s love stuff. What about sex stuff?”
            “What about it?”
            “You can’t talk to straight people about gay sex.”
            “What? Of course you can. Look at our readership.”
            “Our readership is straight women who want adorable, tragic pocket gays.”
            “Pocket gays do not get to have sex.”
            “But we have sex.”
            “We have fade to straight dialogue and morning after.”
            “Like right now?”
            “Not like right now. Right now is just because we’re laying in the snow with otherwise half-developed scenery and it’s boring to read about non-threatening cold seeping into a cloak that may or may not be fur-lined.”
            “My ears are really cold.”
            “I hope she comes back soon so we can go inside.”
            “How do you think it’ll be?” Simon looked down, remembering that shooting star battle and his singed left hand. “You said the wall’s scaleable this go round, right?”

(2 of 2)

PS: Reagan wrote the mean gay stuff. Shocker.

Comment posted in 2 parts by Wrenegade and thenReagansaid, April 2012, posted to “Carry On, Simon” by FanFixx.net author Magicath
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