Length: this chapter has 1301 words

A SnowBaz fic.

An AU where Baz and Simon never got together, and Simon kept his magic, and they meet after a few years and Baz is doing ballet. Simon thinks it’s hilarious, and stays just to torment Baz. 

Written for a prompt from @basiltxnpitch told ya I would do it :P

Pretty sure I don’t need and t/w’s for this. Angst, dancing, swearing (of course there is swearing. if you are advers to swearing you wouldn’t have read Carry On).

A/N: This is the first fic I have ever posted anywhere, and for a publshed author i am extremely self-consious about my writing. Please be kind and bear in mind that I’ve never done this before. Enjoy! Later chapters posted when I’ve written them.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]  [Chapter 7]  [Chapter 8]  [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10]  [Chapter 11]  [Chapter 12]  [Chapter 13]  [Chapter 14]  [Chapter 15]   [Chapter 16]  [Chapter 17]  [Chapter 18]  [Chapter 19]  [Chapter 20]


Chapter One: Simon

I strode through the streets of London, as lost as a bloody curtain in a rug shop. I’d thought Penny said left, left, right, but apparently she had said something else. Or maybe I had missed a turn. I don’t know. To make matters worse, I had left my phone… somewhere. Maybe at home. Dunno. But I was getting flustered, and frustrated, and I couldn’t find the damn bookshop that Penny was working at.

Crowley, where is it?

I crossed another road, and just as I was stepping up onto the curb a red convertible sped by, almost hitting me.

“Slow the fuck down you fucking idiot!” I shouted, but the car was already turning the next corner. A few people were shooting me strange looks. A woman wearing an olive green pantsuit with a dyed blonde bob cut and crow’s-feet approached me, a snide sneer on her face. I rolled my eyes inwardly and sighed quietly.

“You really should watch your language young man. That is an inappropriate way to –”

Fuck off.” I growled.

She stepped back, shocked, as I pushed past her and scanned the streets, looking for any sign of the Let Nothing Separate Us Bookshop.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That prick nearly ran me over, I’m allowed to swear.”

The woman spluttered and reached out for my arm, but I pulled away from her catlike nails and jogged along the pavement.

Right, I thought, that’s it. I’m done. Time to ask for directions.

I wasn’t against asking for directions, I didn’t feel like I was above it or anything stupid, I just preferred to try and sort things out my way first. (It rarely panned out that way.)

I turned to my right into a tall building. I didn’t read the sign on the door; it was in an area full of shops and such, so it had to be something like that. I knew that at least I wasn’t walking into someone’s house. (I had done that before.) (A few times.)

There was a marble desk on the wooden floor, but nobody was attending it. I checked out a business card on the desk: Beat’s School of Dance.

Of course I had wandered into a dance school. I didn’t have anything against dance, but I was hoping against hope that nobody I knew had seen me come in here, especially nobody I knew from Watford. I could just imagine someone like Dev, or Niall or Baz seeing me come in here, and spreading it around all our old schoolmates: Simon Snow does ballet! The Greatest Mage, the guy who saved the world, the guy who used to date Agatha Wellbelove, dancing!

That would be embarrassing. But I was here now, so I figured I would be best to find someone to ask for directions, then get out of there. I jogged up a narrow staircase lightly, and followed my ears towards a room overflowing with ballet-type music. I peered in through a window, expecting to see a bunch of kids leaning on a bar. Instead, it appeared to be an adult’s class. That didn’t bother me either, I just didn’t expect it.

I was about to go in and ask the instructor for some directions, but then I stopped. The class was full of probably nineteen women and one man, who I had briefly mistaken for a woman. His hair was tied up in a tight ponytail, and he was quite slender and graceful, which is what led me to believe he was a woman. But then the dancers all stopped dancing and he stood up straight, and I saw some recognisable traits.

He was a man, definitely. Despite being relatively slender, he was still a little bit broader than your average female ballerina, and his arms were bulging with muscles. (I mean, imagine how much strength it would take to be a male ballerina. They get all the lifting parts, where they’ve got to support a woman on one hand and tiptoe across a stage. It’s almost scary how strong they would have to be.)

And then I saw his face. (Don’t sing I’m a Believer. Don’t do it.)(Fairly strong love spell.)(Well, it makes you confess your love, anyway. It only works if you’re already in love.)

His long black hair was doused with sweat, loose strands sticking to his face. His pointy, regal (slightly crooked) nose. Blue-grey eyes like the ocean after a storm. And he was three inches taller than me.

Baz. Basil. Basilton.

Tyrannus Basilton fucking Grimm-Pitch.

The guy who made my life hell for the entire time I was at Watford. The vampire who tried to kill me too many times to count.

Doing ballet.

Baz Pitch does ballet and he looks graceful as fuck, damn the pompous prick. He would manage to look graceful falling off a fucking cliff.

He was wearing black tights that didn’t leave much to the imagination (oh Crowley, Simon, look away!), and a loose-fitting black shirt. Even his ballet shoes were black. The guy was basically darkness incarnate, and here he was doing ballet.

It was almost enough to make a grown man cry. (I giggled instead. Try telling me you wouldn’t.)

He was stretching his arms up above his head, joking with one of the women, and his shirt lifted up slightly, exposing his belly. Holy shit he’s ripped. Was he like that when we shared a room? 

It was almost entrancing to watch him drift around, grinning at people, laughing softly. It was like another world.

Then the instructor saw me peering in through the window and bounded lightly over to the door.


She opened the door.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit sh-

She beckoned me inside without a word.


I followed her sombrely into the studio, eyes on the floor.

“It seems we have a new recruit!” she announced to the class, auburn ponytail forming a dead straight line down to her shoulder blades. Damn, even her hair was disciplined.

“No,” I insisted, “I was just-”

“Staring into a room full of women in skin-tight clothes?” She asked sternly.

I felt blood rush to my cheeks. “No I wasn’t watching them, I just-”

“Oh, so you were watching Basil? Watching a man in skin-tight clothes is as poor an excuse as watching women.”

I could feel Baz’s eyes burning into the side of my head, but I didn’t dare look. Oh, it would be fucking glorious to be able to bask in the joy of having this over his head, but I was blushing far too furiously to even consider smirking at him to be a viable option.

“No, I wasn’t doing that either I was just-”

“Looking for directions?” She asked, giving me a sharp look.

“Yes!” I insisted.

“And you thought you were going to find them by peering in the window did you?”

No. I was staring at Baz, but only because this is so weird.

“No, of course not, but the dancing and interactions of the dancers were so entrancing, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

She raised an appraising eyebrow, but I was certain she didn’t believe me.

“Right. Well, if you want directions from here you will wait until the end of class. You can either join in or sit in the lobby. Or you can leave, and find them somewhere else. Your choice.”
I’ll go. I’ll leave. I need to find Penny’s bookshop.

I felt Baz’s eyes as hot as flames on the side of my head.

I should go. I thought.

“I’ll stay.” I said. “I’ll learn how to dance.”

I glanced at Baz out of the corner of my eye and it looked like he was going to burst into flames.

Oh yeah, this would be worth it.


Length: this chapter has 1618 words

A SnowBaz fic.

An AU where Baz and Simon never got together, and Simon kept his magic, and they meet after a few years and Baz is doing ballet. Simon thinks it’s hilarious, and stays just to torment Baz.

Written for a prompt from @basiltxnpitch 

Pretty sure I don’t need and t/w’s for this. Angst, dancing, swearing (of course there is swearing. if you are advers to swearing you wouldn’t have read Carry On).

A/N: This is the first fic I have ever posted anywhere, and for a publshed author i am extremely self-consious about my writing. Please be kind and bear in mind that I’ve never done this before. Enjoy! Later chapters posted when I’ve written them.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]  [Chapter 7]  [Chapter 8]  [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10]  [Chapter 11]  [Chapter 12]  [Chapter 13]  [Chapter 14]  [Chapter 15]  [Chapter 16]  [Chapter 17]  [Chapter 18]  [Chapter 19]  [Chapter 20]


Chapter Two: Baz

Fuck. No.

Simon fucking Snow.

I could feel the rats from last night rushing to my face.

How dare he fucking march in here and ruin my life all over again?

How. Fucking. Dare. He.

It’s not that I was over him. I would never be over the bronze curls and the blue eyes and the magic that spilled out of him. (And it did spill out of him – like he was a cup.) (Not just any cup, a fucking golden chalice with sapphires embedded into the metal.) (Like he was a cup, and somebody left the tap running full bore and the liquid of life was just slipping over the edges and down the sink, as if his reserves were endless and he didn’t care who felt the water, who saw it, because it was all his.)

No, I wasn’t over him. But I was done letting him ruin me. I was done sharing a room with him, done sharing classes with him, done sharing a school with him.

I was done, and he was supposed to be too. He certainly wasn’t meant to show up at Beat’s and join in the fucking class.

Crowley, I can never escape him.

And I can’t believe Jemima Beat – Miss Beat, the class teacher and the school owner – offered him the opportunity to make me miserable in one of the only places I feel safe. All the women here treat me like one of them, and they all know my secret, the thing I won’t ever admit to Simon. (The secret where I’m gay, not the vampire one.) Even now, they’re all looking at me wryly, like they can guess my thoughts. (I guess they can, kind of, in that I totally want to snog Simon Snow.) They can see the gobsmacked look on my face, and the touch of pink on my cheeks, and they can guess.

I am ashamed to say, I spluttered. Miss Beat looked at me sternly.

“Yes, Basil?”

“You – you can’t let him in here!”

“Why not?”

“Because – because he’s… a boy!”

The women laughed.

“You say that as if you’re not one.” Simon smirked.

“Shut up, Snow.” I growled.

Miss Beat looked at us curiously. “You two know each other?”

I groaned. I hadn’t meant to let that slip.

“We were roommates. We shared a room all through school.”

Miss Beat raised that damn eyebrow again. “Good, so you already know each other. Basil, since Mister…”


“Mister Snow, here, has no appropriate clothes, would you mind lending him your spares and showing him to the change rooms?”

I was furious. I was burning up from the inside out. I was going to explode.

“Certainly.” I replied coolly, suddenly snapping back to my old defence mechanisms. Act cool and hard and distant and they will never get to you.

I picked up my bag and strode out through the large double doors, calling back to Simon:

“Coming, Snow?”

He trailed along behind me like a lost puppy.

Crowley help me.

“Baz,” he called, “wait up!”

He was only two meters behind me, so I kept going.

“If you want to keep up Snow, keep up!”

He jogged and caught up.

He raised an eyebrow at me and grinned in a smart-arse kind of way.

“Ballerina Baz. Have to say, not what I expected to find today.”

You weren’t meant to. You weren’t ever meant to find this.

“Well, Snow, it’s not hard to surprise you.”

“Was that meant to be insulting?”

“Most likely.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I stopped walking and turned to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time since he turned up. It hurt like hell, and it felt like there was a wildfire in my stomach slowly creeping up through my throat and into my mouth.

“It means that what I said was most likely meant to be insulting.” I said it slowly, like I was explaining it to a child. I knew patronising him made him angry and frustrated, and I used that to my advantage. (I only knew that because once he told me that people used to always say ‘use your words’ and that he hated that.)(He was drunk and I was the only person around.)

He pouted and frowned at me, and I was sure he almost stomped his foot. He was so cute when he was angry. He was tiny, too. (He wasn’t really tiny, he was five-foot-ten and I was six-one. But still.)

Baz.” It hurt to hear him say my name, even in his gorgeously exasperated voice. I had given up on hearing him say my name the way I wanted to a long time ago.

“Baz,” he repeated, “why are you being such a dick?”

I groaned and rolled my eyes.

“Snow. You came here into my dance class and you opted to join. Just when I felt like I was breaking free of the great Simon Snow Saga, you came into my class and made me a background character in your story again. I was starting to be able to be me, Basilton Grimm-Pitch, instead of Simon Snow’s roommate, Simon Snow’s enemy, the antagonist in your tale. I would’ve appreciated it if you could have just pissed off when she gave you the chance, but you only ever think about yourself. Now I have to share my clothes with you, and they’re going to be drenched in your sweat and your magic, and I am going to have to go home and wash your stink off of them, when I thought I was done having to even think about you.” I intensified my glare. “So, Snow, you tell me why you think I might be being ‘such a dick’.”

He barked out a laugh and rolled his eyes. The gall.

He looked at me like I was being ridiculous, and it was like I was back in second year and I was trying to tell him that sour cherry scones would kill him one day.

“Baz,” he said, his voice serious, “grow. The fuck. Up.”

I turned away from him with a scowl and stalked off towards the change rooms, away from the cackling laughter that filled the halls.

Unfortunately, he kept following me.

I dumped the duffel bag on the floor and gestured to a stall.

“Right,” I said. “You can get changed in here. I’m going back, bring my bag back when you’re done.”

Simon had already taken the bag into the stall, but he popped his head out in alarm, bronze hair hanging down in front of his twin pools of blue.

“What?” he said. “You can’t leave me alone in here!”

He sounded like such a child, he sounded so innocent, like the twelve year old boy who didn’t want me to leave him alone in our room for a few months in case it locked him in. It’s no wonder I fell in love with him – he just made it far too easy.

“Why not?”

“What if you have a bomb in your bag? What if you’re trying to kill me?”

I groaned and leaned on the wall. He shut and locked the stall door.

It was always plotting with him. I was always plotting the downfall of Simon Snow. If I breathed in, he was watching me to make sure I didn’t whisper a death curse. If he could’ve, he would’ve watched my dreams to make sure I wasn’t plotting against him in my sleep. (I did dream of him quite often – sometimes I was killing him, sometimes I was kissing him, other times…)

“Snow. How on earth could I have known you were going to turn up here today and plant a bomb in my gym bag?”

“Dunno, but I’m not gonna risk it. If I’m getting blown up, so are you.”

I sighed.

I heard the rustling in the stall stop, then there was a small gasp and a little giggle.

“Snow, what happened? You finally lose it?”

He didn’t respond to that.

“Baz,” he said with a touch of amusement in his voice, “are you friends with all the girls here?”

I frowned. “All the ones in my class. We’re all mature adults. Why?”

“Do you ever interact with any of the younger groups?”

“Once a week we group up with a mixed class of teenagers. Why?”

“Well, one of them has been talking smack about you in the stalls.”

My heart, if it had ever been beating, stopped. Alarm flashed in my mind, noise between my ears.

Oh shit. Shit shit fuck.

“What on earth do you mean?”

He mimed a teenage girl’s voice. “Basilton Pitch is the gayest of the gays. He is so gay that – I don’t really want to say the rest. It’s kind of vulgar.”

Alarms screeched behind my eyes.


Outwardly, I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me.

“There is a certain stigma towards male dancers.”

“Yeah, I know, but that just seems kind of rude.”

I frowned. He sounded serious. One moment he’s laughing about it, the next he’s… defending my honour? Crowley, he’s ridiculous.

“It is kind of rude, but I’m not going to take offence to it.”

Because I wrote it. I was drunk. It was a dare from one of the girls. Last Christmas party. And the worst part was, it featured the name Simon Snow.

“There’s… it looks like a name in there, but I can’t quite read it.”

Thank god.

“Snow, are you going to come out of there any time soon?”

“Come out of where? The closet?” he cracked up into laughter while I cracked into pieces.

“Just hurry up.” I snapped.

Why me?

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A Double P Review: Uncharted: Fortune Hunter is puzzle game that is surprisingly entertaining for a free advertisement for the upcoming release of Uncharted 4: A Thief’s End. Fortune Hunter starts off relatively easy and ramps up the difficulty by throwing more obstacles in the maze. Your main objective in this game is to get the treasure marked by an X on the map. Like any other “adver-game”, this one rewards players with unlocks for the console game. 

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