delirium fanfiction


Prince Simon Snow has been struck down by an inevitable curse, only reversible through true love’s kiss. But when his betrothed, Agatha, is unable to break the spell, all measures are taken- including calling in renowned magician Basilton Pitch.

The ball is lovely, but Basil has other plans for his evening.

one two three four five

You are surrounding all my surroundings
Sounding down the mountain range of my left-side brain
You are surrounding all my surroundings
Twisting the kaleidoscope behind both of my eyes
And I’ll be holding onto you

The lights were dim and music was rising in waves from some unseen orchestra behind well-placed curtains. Baz thought perhaps the sound came from somewhere above, and he glanced up, but was greeted only with high, white ceilings. He took a deep breath and fiddled with the collar of his suit. It was scratching him, so he popped it up. Walking past one of the many windows, he caught sight of himself and gasped. His hair looked sleek and posh. The suit was a lovely color on him, as promised, and the popped collar gave him a little bit of extra edge, an air of cockiness he wanted to hold onto. The room was sparsely populated, and he was one of the only people in it, but he knew that with a thousand people there, he’d still be the best looking man. Not in a vain way- in fact, the thought shocked him, and he tried to shake it from his head. He stared into the mirror, steadying himself against the constant flow of people now at the door.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” a pretty young girl with a ridiculous amount of hair cascading down her back in frighteningly long, ginger waves said, examining Baz’s widened eyes. “I’m Elspeth.” She held out her hand for a shake. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” he mumbled absently, kissing her hand out of pure habit. She giggled.

“I do so like your suit.” Her voice had a strange, foreign lilt to it. Baz wondered vaguely if she was from some other country. He found he couldn’t make himself focus on the details of her face without wanting to yawn, and he felt a bit bad about it. Still, he tried to keep his face impassive.

“Thank you,” he replied with a bob of his head. He felt his ribbon loosen, but didn’t bother tightening it again.

“Would you care to dance?” Elspeth asked, a blush rising to her cheeks. Baz stared a minute before the words hit him. He shrugged, uncaring, and then nodded. Why not. He took her by the hand and led her onto the dance floor, trying to ignore the abundance of ogling eyes.

“You know,” she said, leaning in. Her tone implied gossip. “All my friends wanted to ask you to dance. But I was the only one brave enough to do it. They all said you looked too posh to dance with any of us. Are you a prince?”

Baz was stunned. “No, I’m not.”

“Surely you must be!” Elspeth seemed shocked. Baz shook his head, intrigued for a moment by something he saw out of the corner of his eye. A recognizable princess, Trixie, her dark hair piled atop her head, dancing with some other girl quite intimately. Both their eyes gleamed, and Baz held back a chuckle. He resisted the urge to give her a salute. She was bolder than him already.

“Oh, don’t bother with them,” Elspeth said dismissively, following his gaze. “I’m sure they’ll up and marry each other.”

“If that’s what they’d like to do,” Baz said, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. He felt his cheeks burn with shame.

“You can’t mean that!” She protested, but the song was over. Bas shrugged. “Again?” Her tone was hopeful. Baz explained that he had something to attend to, ignoring her crestfallen face, and sauntered off to clear his mind.

Why had no one cared how openly Trixie was dancing with her partner? It was obvious that they were more than just friends. He recalled the desperate clench of fingers on Trixie’s waist, frilly fabric gathering in folds between them, and the adoring smile playing on Trixie’s own lips. They’d gotten a few coy glances, but other than that, no one seemed to care. And Trixie was high up in royal standings, too! She’d be next in line for some kind of throne after her older sister. Why wasn’t she held to the same standards as Prince Simon? Why was the prince in such need of a female companion if Trixie wasn’t being forced to attend the ball with a male suitor? Were they all just in denial about Trixie’s true feelings? But no, there had to at least be rumors. Elspeth had said so.

Anger curled in his stomach like a knot, and he worked the strings to try and get it out. He seemed only able to pull it tighter. Was it because they were girls, and Simon was a boy? Not just a boy, a man- capable of making his own decisions. How come it was so wrong if his decisions merited ruling with another king by his side? But Baz was getting ahead of himself. Simon was, after all, straight, as far as he knew. Any rumor otherwise he would have heard, he was certain, and he’d heard no such thing.

Baz tried to go back out to the main part of the ball, but the pretty music seemed headache inducing, the high ceilings dizzying, the sparkling dresses blinding. Even the handsome men and the good food seemed rather unappealing. He didn’t realize he was headed to his and Simon’s room until he was at the door. He wondered if he should knock, then decided he didn’t need to.

What he saw did not make him feel any better.


This was all wrong, all wrong, Simon decided. This wasn’t his Dream Boy, for sure. The lips on his own were too full and too soft, the hand cupping the side of his face to small. Hair fluttered onto his face and reeked of strawberries. Dream Boy smelled distinctly like cedar and bergamot, with a hint of woodsmoke. And this kiss was too eager, too inexperienced, yet too rehearsed. He wasn’t at all disappointed when the kisser retreated.

This had been happening all night. Unfamiliar people all kissing him, intrusive and alien. He disliked it. It had been a little while since he admitted to himself, a bit reluctantly, that Dream Boy was the only one he’d like to be kissing.

And just like that, here he was. Simon’s heart soared somewhere near his throat, and he fought not to choke on it. Was it possible that Dream Boy would be among the kissers? He held his breath with anticipation.


It was like their minds worked in synch. Baz needed an excuse to clear the room, and Simon gave him one. “Everyone out,” he shouted, shoving aside the disheveled and greatly disappointed girl, as well as the shocked overseer. “He’s not breathing. Let me take care of this, I’m a doctor.” The room was vacated quickly, but for a lone courtier, who asked if Baz wanted him to send for more help.

It was almost like Simon’s voice was telling Baz no, a soft whisper in his ear. “No need. This is standard protocol, just leave me to it and he’ll be fine.” The courtier nodded, unconvinced, but left.

Everything was still. Time seemed to have ceased, and silence hung in the air like it had been draped there on purpose. Baz felt himself holding his breath as well, just as Simon exhaled. He had to try this, if only once. He had to at least see what would happen, confirm what he already knew- that Simon wouldn’t, couldn’t possibly wake up. Baz didn’t know much, but he knew one thing at this moment- there was no alternative. If he didn’t kiss the golden boy, his insides would burst into flames.

It was no use either way, because he melted anyway when he leaned his forehead against Prince Simon’s and the prince let out a happy little sigh. Shaky, ever so shaky, Baz brushed his fingertips against the prince’s face, letting himself trace the moles from the corner of his nose to his jaw to his earlobe and his neck. Simon shuddered. Goosebumps trailed his arms and legs. Baz kept his one finger moving steadily, up and down his constellation-path, as he got a bit closer. Their noses touched now.

Simon seemed to be trembling, though he didn’t so much as move. Perhaps the entire world was simply trembling with the weight of what Baz was about to do. He placed his other hand on one of Simon’s broad shoulders and rubbed against the fabric of his dark blue top. It was gorgeous, as deep as the night sky. Baz imagined that was exactly what Simon’s eyes would look like- deep and mysterious and romantic, with twinkling lights hidden behind them for the people he trusted to see them.

Baz inhaled, deep, catching the apples-and-sweat scent of Simon’s hair. Even his lungs felt unsure and tense. The air he sucked down was made of desire. His lips quivered. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it, he just couldn’t make himself-

Simon jutted up his chin.

Done in one’s sleep, it would be an innocent gesture. A tick, a twitch, an inconsequential bit of nothing.

It had to be an accident.

Simon couldn’t have wanted their lips to be touching now.

Certainly he didn’t intend for it to happen.

It didn’t matter now, anyway, whether he’d done it on purpose or not. Because it had happened. It was still happening. Simon’s lips were soft as butter, Baz’s hard like ice. They molded into each other like two separate pieces of the same broken thing. It was a moment Baz could have held onto forever- perfect, unchanging, immutable. Brilliant.

And then he felt Simon’s hand clutching at his hair- and the moment broke open and spilled.

@thecruciblegavemeyou @sword-of-mages @breezefall @bltchwithwifi @everlarkminewt @penguin-flight @crazyrandomme @theotakureader if anyone else would like to be tagged, please let me know (preferably through ask or message) :)


Prince Simon Snow has been struck down by an inevitable curse, only reversible through true love’s kiss. But when his betrothed, Agatha, is unable to break the spell, all measures are taken- including calling in renowned magician Basilton Pitch.

Basilton arrives at the castle.

one two three four

The outfit they’d stuffed him in was itchy and uncomfortable, and it was far too short in the trousers, so he kept feeling like he needed to pull the ankles down. He knew he looked good, though, posh even, which was both a happy memory and a terrifying flashback. He hadn’t worn clothes this nice since the fire. He looked so nice, in fact, that when the king came out to see him, he’d had to introduce himself (humbly, of course. King Davy had been known to be quite cruel at times). Davy had been looking for a peasant, and what he found looked like something entirely different.

“Basilton Pitch, your highness,” he bowed before the king, his dark hair spilling over his forehead. He tried to hide the tremor in his hands.

“I’ve heard, Mr. Pitch, that you’re a fantastic magician and doctor. Renowned, even. Is that true?” Davy’s words held a biting edge, and Baz hesitated before answering.

“That’s what people say, your grace.”

“And are you skilled in dealing with curses?”

“Depends on the type of curse, I suppose.” Baz bit at the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit.

“Sleeping curses?” The king was fully glaring at him now. Baz felt like he was trembling in his boots, but he held his ground as best he could.

“Yes, your highness, those are quite common, especially in-” he stopped in his tracks. “You mean to say that the rumors are true? About Prince Simon?”

The king’s stare intensified. His eyes were ice-blue, and they looked mean. Baz felt sorry for his servants. “Show him to the prince’s room,” he motioned to one of the attendees, who took Baz by the arm and began to lead him out. “And Mr. Pitch?” Baz looked back over his shoulder at the king.

“Yes, your majesty?”

“I’ve heard other things about you, as well, and about your romantic escapades. My son isn’t… like you. If you try anything with him, the outcome won’t be pretty.”

Humiliation colored Baz’s cheeks a deep rose. He nodded and turned back to the attendant, shuffling out of the room as quickly as possible.


For all intents and purposes, the prince could have been dead. Though when he’d first fallen asleep, he had looked bright and youthful like always, now the color was beginning to drain from his cheeks, and his usually golden skin had a pallor that suggested a far worse sickness lying beneath the surface. The first thing Baz did was check for a pulse, which to his relief, he found quickly. His heart was beating steadily and strong, and now that he looked closer, Baz could see the faint movement of breath under the heavy quilts.

He reached his hand to Prince Simon’s forehead to check for a fever, but he was actually quite cold, his face covered in clammy sweat. His curls were limp and his pink mouth seemed too brightly colored for the rest of him. “He seems to be in good health,” Baz said to the servant. “But he’s too thin, and he’s dehydrated. He needs to eat and drink. It would probably be easiest to sit him up and see if he’ll swallow things when we put them in his mouth.” The servant scrambled to help Baz prop the prince against the backboard. His head lolled to the side. “Go get some water, at least,” Baz told the servant, who rushed off eagerly.

There was no doubt that all the stories about the prince were true. Even in his death-like sleep, he was one of the most beautiful boys Baz had ever seen. His hair was made of messy bronze curls that reflected light like precious metals. His skin was smooth and creamy, dotted with freckles and dark moles. He was tall and broad shouldered and had round, full lips that were parted slightly to reveal obnoxiously straight teeth. Baz resisted the urge to reach out and tuck his unkempt curls behind one ear. It was easy to imagine a lazy smile playing along those lips, and bright eyes (he’d heard they were blue) dancing with mirth.

Breathless, the servant ran in with a pitcher of water. Baz carefully tipped the prince’s head back and poured a bit of water into his mouth. A bit dribbled down his cheek, but when Baz shut his mouth for him, he swallowed. Baz breathed a sigh of relief- he could drink, at least, which was a good sign. As long as he wasn’t asleep for too long, he should be fine. “I’ll need to know the details of the curse, of course,” Baz said to the servant after a quarter of the pitcher was gone. The servant looked uneasy.

“I’m not sure it’s really my place,” he wheedled.

“Look at me,” Baz said quietly, drawing himself up to his full height. The servant glanced up at him in fear. “If there’s any hope of me saving the prince, I’m going to be made aware of every detail, no matter how small, pointless, or secretive. Unless, of course, you’d rather he dies. In which case, I can leave right now.”

“N-no, no, I’ll go inform the king.”


Baz sat, tense and uncomfortable, at the long mahogany table. It wasn’t quite large enough to be used as a dining table, and it was too low to the ground for his long legs to fit underneath without being cramped. He drummed his fingers restlessly on the wood, waiting for the king to arrive.

The room was obviously used for meetings. It was sparsely furnished, with only a few tapestries hanging on the walls, clean and simplistic. In the corner was an easel-type stand with a pad of parchment paper on it and an inkwell in a small stand beside it, presumably for note-taking. There were no windows (privacy and all), but an oil lamp hung on the wall, emitting an incense-like smell and giving the room an eerie glow.

The door swung open and the king entered, looking harsh and untouchable as always. “You requested to see me?” He asked, gesturing to his servants to leave. Making sure the door was shut tight, he sat down across from Baz.

“Yes, your highness. I thought you would be the most appropriate person to talk to about the details of the case with the prince.”

“And what details will you be needing?” A slight edge gathered in King Davy’s voice. Unease, Baz wondered? Or simply hesitation?

“Everything possible, your majesty,” Baz replied in a firm tone. “Whatever ails Prince Simon, it’s not to be taken lightly.”

King Davy sighed heavily. “Very well. But just know, Mr. Pitch, that there are dire consequences if any of this is to leak to the public. I can make your death look like an unfortunate accident.” A shiver ran down Baz’s spine.


“You killed her! You bastard!” Davy struck the old wizard across the face, his wrinkled skin swelling up and purpling on contact. His teeth were bared, his breathing heavy. “I’ll kill you, I swear to Merlin I’ll have you killed!”

“If you’ll simply wait-” the wizard began, but the his words were drowned with another blow from the fuming king.

“Do you know who I am? Do you know how easily I can ruin your insignificant life? Bring her back this very instant, or I’ll-”

“Your highness, if you’ll just listen-”

“I won’t listen to a word that comes from that grimy mouth of yours, you pathetic old numpty!” Davy spat. He swung once more, but the old wizard caught his wrist with incredible agility. Shock ran across Davy’s face and was replaced instantaneously with fear as the old wizard opened his mouth and began to speak. His voice was clearly thick with magic, and his eyes blazed with a thousand-year-old fire that struck Davy to the core.

Listen here, and listen well,“ the wizard began, tightening his grip on Davy’s forearm.
Not even royalty can escape my spell
Your cruelty and rage has sparked my own
And through these words my revenge is won
A lovely wife you now will lose
Whom you would have had with a moment’s pause
A beautiful son is yours to keep
Until a spindle puts him to sleep
On the sixteenth day of his sixteenth year
A death-like sleep, his greatest fear
Will come to be, and then you’ll see
The true meaning of misery
His light will be forever missed
Unless he’s awakened by true love’s kiss.”

The wizard’s grip on Davy’s arm slackened, and then he was gone.

In case you haven’t noticed, there is still magic in this world, but it’s a little bit different then in Carry On (and Simon isn’t a magician). Enjoy! :)

@thecruciblegavemeyou if anyone else would like to be tagged, please let me know)

For those of you who have read Delirium, and like fanfiction

I posted my new Delirium fanfic on a little bit ago. :)


If you love Divergent, I just added a recently new chapter to my Al fanfic that is based off my own ideas, and not so much the novel. (With my own little plot twist)

You should go read them, and review it. (If you’d like)

But reviews would be great