Things about Rainbow Rowell I can confirm

-Her favourite Hamilton song is The Schuyler Sisters
-Or in her words ‘the one that goes “look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now"’
-Her favourite character from Hamilton is Angelica Schuyler
-She enjoys hurting people with her books (there was a gorgeous lil boy who looked around 11 and he asked if her and david levithan enjoyed hurting people and they both answered yes and laughed)
-Loves the Captive Prince series

This snowbaz fic was gooing to be vaguely based on real life events but I got a little carried away (1.3 k carried away lol) so now it’s very, very, very vaguely based on vaguely real life events. Enjoy.

SIMON

It was long past midnight, but Simon wasn’t in his bed. He was on the football pitch. It was a great pitch, of course, even when there wasn’t anyone playing on it, but Simon didn’t take much joy in wandering it in the small hours of the night. Now that he didn’t have to follow Baz around to make sure he wasn’t up to something or try to find Baz to make sure he wasn’t up to something, he still couldn’t sleep properly. Snakes know why. Baz had really fucked up his sleeping schedule.

Simon almost knew the school grounds by heart. Even if the full moon wouldn’t have illuminated his surroundings, he could probably still have made his way around just fine. 

Instead of focusing on where his feet were taking him, Simon tipped his head back and was overwhelmed by the amount of stars he could see.

Keep reading

yellow umbrella

the gays are at it again, but this time, it’s raining. enjoy! :)

-

Fucking rain, Baz thought, looking up at the dark clouds. It was about to start fucking raining again, and he was still six blocks from his flat.The humid summer air hit him like a smack in the face, and he could feel it in his hair, blowing against the sweat that culminated there. It was gross. This whole day had been gross.

The first droplet hit him in the nose, and he tried to ignore it. “Fucking rain,” he muttered, quickening his pace. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a full out thunderstorm- after all, the day had been disgustingly hot and muggy. So sweltering and bright that it hadn’t crossed his mind for a half second to bring an umbrella when he walked the ten blocks to Uni. In fact, on the way there, he’d found himself wishing he’d worn a lighter shirt. Now, as the rain got heavier and began pitter-pattering down onto the white fabric, Baz cursed it. It stuck to his reddish gold skin and he peeled it off like a sticker with two fingers, only to let go and have it cling even tighter. The entire back of it was already seethrough.

He was just about the only person on the street, and everyone inside the shops was looking at him like he was a bloody halfwit. Which he was. He could have waited at Uni, surely, until the storm passed. Just hung out in the cafeteria with some friends (or rather, friend-like people) for an hour or two. Or he could have caught the bus down at the station a few minutes back. But even then it didn’t look like rain, and Baz was reveling in the newfound cool breeze, a grin spread across his face as he looked up into the blue sky- and realized it wasn’t blue anymore. Thus, he was here, six- now five- blocks from his place, with his bookbag over his head to protect at the very least his hair (and it wasn’t working very well), running and looking like an absolute dolt.

Suddenly, thunder rumbled from some faraway place, shocking Baz so hard he dropped his bookbag. The red plaid bag landed facedown in a large puddle, covering Baz’s expensive jeans in muddy water and staining his brand new white Converses. “Fucking rain,” he muttered, picking up the bag like it was contaminated and holding it as far away from himself as he could. He tiptoed delicately around the puddle (not like it mattered- his shoes were a wreck already- but he wanted to still retain some semblance of dignity). Lightning shocked the sky. For a half second, the grey of it turned purple. Baz stood stalk-still, listening to the breeze whisper in his ears, watching the sky as the outline of the lightning faded. He reached up traced it with his fingers, momentarily distracted from the situation at hand.

“You look a bit… wet,” a voice said behind him. Baz spun around, startled.

“Well, yes,” he replied, irritated, before realizing he was looking into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. It was a boy, a few inches shorter than him but about his age, with fluffy bronze curls and dimples. He was smiling with his pink mouth, a big smile that took up most of his face and almost swallowed up those Crayola-crayon blue eyes entirely. “Can’t you tell it’s raining?”

The boy laughed. “I’m Simon,” he said, and held out his left hand. Baz gave him a strange look, then saw that the right was firmly attached to a large yellow umbrella. “And I think you need this more than I do.” He gestured at the umbrella with a nod of his head, curls bouncing.

“Baz,” Baz replied, shaking his hand awkwardly. “You can keep your umbrella.”

“No, really. You should have it. I want to dance in the rain.” The boy- Simon- didn’t wait for an answer. He shoved the umbrella into Baz’s arms. Baz held it above his head tentatively, sighing at the reprieve from the harsh storm. “So, where are you headed?” Simon asked, as if it wouldn’t be at all disconcerting for Baz to see a near-grown man spinning around and holding his hands up to the sky.

“Um… um, my flat.”

“Which would be located where?” Simon replied, a teasing edge in his voice.

“Just a few blocks that way,” Baz replied, pointing to a left turn. “And on the right.”

“I’m going to take you there, then,” Simon said as he splashed into a puddle. Muddy water clung to his bare calves. Baz swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his long, thin throat. Simon was a very pretty boy, he admitted to himself. Even if he was acting like a five year old. Perhaps, Baz said to himself, that’s part of his charm.

No matter how fast Baz walked or talked, Simon was always one step ahead of him, throwing questions at him like darts- and always hitting a bullseye. He knew how to keep a conversation light and with every word that he spoke, Baz felt his heart do a little exclamation point. That’s the one!  It kept saying. Him! That one! “Shut up,” Baz mumbled under his breath, and Simon turned around.

“What?” he asked. Baz took a sharp intake of breath, but let it out quickly. Simon obviously hadn’t heard what he said, because his eyes were still happy and bright.

“Nothing, I was just talking to myself,” Baz said quickly. Simon nodded. “We’re here.”

For once, Baz felt self conscious of his apartment complex, something that had never happened before. With Simon standing there, looking up at the concrete staircase that lead into the grand-looking building, he felt his cheeks burning. “It’s not much, but it’s what I can do.”

“Not much?” Simon grinned. “Baz, it’s fantastic. You must be rich!”

“You could… you could say that, I suppose.” His face was getting redder by the second.

“Well, it’s much better than I could ever do. My flat is so tiny. It only has three rooms!” Baz smiled and turned to go up the stairs, eager to change into something dry. “Wait!” Simon cried.

Baz turned around, confused, then remembered the bright yellow umbrella he still held. Simon waited at the bottom of the staircase, an amused, expectant smile on his broad face.

I’ll probably never see him again, Baz thought, then shoved the thought into the corner of his mind. He closed the umbrella and held it out to Simon, who grabbed it, fingers brushing lightly against Baz’s, and tucked it under his arm.

“Thank you,” Simon said, and looked down at his feet. For the first time, his voice dropped in volume. “But that’s not- that’s not why…” He glanced up at Baz through his golden eyelashes, his watercolor-blue eyes wide, a blush forming fleetingly across his freckled cheeks.

“Why, then?” Baz asked gently, tucking a lock of black hair behind his ear, suddenly self-conscious. The rain pitter-pattered down, soaking both of them to the bones. Simon wiped water out of his eyes, brushing one of his eyebrows the wrong way. The little hairs stook up all over the place, and Baz repressed the urge to reach up and smooth them down.

“It’s just, I thought maybe you would… Could I maybe…” He trailed off again.

“Out with it then, Simon,” Baz teased, but a nervous edge still lingered in his tone. What was he getting at?

“CanIkissyou?” Simon spat it out like one word, then looked shocked, like he hadn’t really meant to say it. Baz jumped back, physically flinched with surprise and putting up his arms. Simon dropped his eyes and hung his head, already starting to mutter an apology, turning away.

It was almost too late when Baz reached out and pressed his hand into Simon’s shoulder. The curly-haired boy glanced back, tears in his eyes (or maybe raindrops, Baz couldn’t be sure). “Yes,” Baz breathed, so quietly it was lost to the wind. Simon cocked his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed together in an unspoken question. “Yes. Yes, you can kiss me. Yes.”

Simon’s face broke open into a grin, and Baz could have sworn pure sunshine was pouring out.

“Then I guess I’ll do that,” he said, stepping closer and weaving his arms around Baz’s shoulders.

“I guess you should,” Baz responded, wrapping his own arms around Simon’s waist and leaning down to meet his lips.

Snow kissed me last night until my mouth was sore. He kissed me so much, I was worried I’d Turn him with all my saliva. He held himself up on all fours above me and made me reach up for his mouth—and I did. I would again. I’d cross every line for him. I’m in love with him. And he likes this better than fighting.

Carry On - Rainbow Rowell