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AU where Simon and Baz are high school teachers who are always fighting and the whole school ships them
Professor Pitch and Coach Salisbury couldn’t be more different. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch was the kind of professor that would pile the kids up with piles of foreign language homework, demanding a three page essay by the next class. Professor Basilton Grim-Pitch was the kind of teacher who could hear the faintest whisper in the back of the class. Professor Pitch’s class is the class all high-school students dreaded, even if language and literature was one of their strong suits.
Luckily, they had Coach Salisbury’s class to balance it out. Coach Simon Snow Salisbury was the kind of teacher kids wave to in the halls. Coach Simon Snow was the kind of teacher that asked kids which they preferred to do, football or basketball. Coach Simon was the kind of teacher kids could talk animatedly about the latest football match. Coach Salisbury’s class was the class that students looked forward to, even if sports wasn’t their strong point.
Because of their different methods of teaching, there were countless of heated battles whenever their gazes met.
Once, Simon came up to Basilton while he was grading papers in his office.
“What do you want, Snow?” Baz says irritably. Half of it was because Simon Snow was disturbing him in the delicate process of failing almost every single student in the grade, and half of it was because Snow called him by that dreadful nickname. Meaning that, in return, Baz greeted him with the nickname Snow, which always got on Simon’s nerves.
“I was just wondering….. Why are you so harsh on these kids? You can’t expect them to write a three page essay in flawless french when they’re only teenagers.”
“I’m just preparing them for college.”
“Baz. They are in ninth grade. Can’t you give them some slack?”
“And why should I do that, Snow? It’s going to happen anyway. Why shouldn’t I prepare them for what’s yet to come?” Baz says, his voice rising in volume. The few students who are staying after school for homework club press their ears against the door intently, hoping that Coach Salisbury can talk some sense into Professor Pitch.
“I get that Baz? Can you just listen to me for once? You’re too harsh. They’re still kids, they deserve some slack. I’ve had them show up to my P. E. lessons dragging their feet, their eyelids drooping, claiming that they were up all night finishing the homework you assigned them. It’s outrageous Baz. And now they have the big end of the year projects, and you just keep giving them more and more. They don’t deserve this.” Baz doesn’t know how to respond. He looks at Simon, trying hard not to change his expression. All he really wants is the best from these kids, but he never knew he was hurting them. They were always too scared to tell him anything.
“Please tell me you’ll try Baz,” Simon says, grabbing Baz’s hand. Baz is shocked by the touch. All the little freshmen hanging out by the door gave a little squeal and whipped out their phones, texting every single person they knew.
“Alright. I’ll try,” Baz says, rolling his eyes for effect. Simon smiles one of his smiles that radiates sunshine. For a moment, the freshmen in the hall swear they see a hint of a smile on the teacher’s face.
It didn’t take long for that little meeting to become known to the whole school. Small groups of people knew about it at first, and then people started questioning why Professor Pitch didn’t give them homework that day. And the next. And the next.
So as people got more and more curious, people started to come up with their own interpretations of what could be.
“Do you think that maybe Professor Pitch and Coach Salisbury could, you know, become a thing,” a girl whispers to another behind her hand.
“OMG I never thought of that before…. But OMG I can see it now. I can see it a lot.”
“I know right? Wouldn’t they make a fantastic pair? Maybe Coach Salisbury can make Professor Baz less…. strict.”
“OMG does this world exist? Because I want to be in it.” Different versions of the same story were discussed around lunch tables and behind hands. Whenever Baz and Simon just happened to pass by each other in the halls, there was always someone who would erupt into a fit of giggles. Whenever Coach Salisbury went to discuss something with Professor Pitch, students would always press their ears to the doors, hoping to get even the tiniest bit of evidence that they’re falling for each other. All they got was heated arguments and Professor Salisbury stumbling over his words.
This didn’t stop the students though. In fact, the more artistic students loved to draw pictures of tall figures with long dark hair kissing boys with messes of blond curls, moles mapping out a constellation. The art teacher, Ms. Wellbelove, started to worry about her students habits, wondering how each blond boy looked exactly like her ex, Simon. Agatha Wellbelove, however, quickly dismissed it as a horrible fantasy and didn’t give a second thought on it.
However, this was not the case for Professor Bunce. Professor Penelope Bunce taught math class. One day in her class, she noticed a particular boy who was always eager to participate in her class bent over his notebook, sketching fiercely.
“Ahem, Mr. Van Eck?” Penny says, causing the boy to jump up, blond curls flopping over his forehead. He settled his blue eyes on Professor Bunce.
“Um… Yes Ms. Bunce?” he says, his cheeks going bright red. A boy with dark skin smirks at him.
“What is the value of x?” Penelope says.
“Um…. What?” the boy says, confused.
“Mr. Van Eck. May I please see what you’re drawing?” Penny says. Wylan Van Eck’s blush deepens.
“S-s-sure,” he says, handing over the paper, hoping that Professor Bunce won’t show the whole class. Penelope looks at the picture and immediately recognizes the two boys in the picture.
It’s a rough sketch of Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch and Simon Snow Salisbury holding hands while walking through a garden. Simon’s face, as always, radiates light as he looks at Baz with a goofy grin on his face, full of love. Baz looks back at him, a small smile starting to form on his lips. Penny is shocked. The art was so good. But it also made her wonder if these small little rumors going around the school deserve some credit. Looking at that picture, it made Penny see why these students shipped them. They were perfect for each other.
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Van Eck, I’m going to keep this for a bit,” Ms. Bunce says, pocketing the picture to show Simon later. She wanted to make sure the students’ ship sailed.
So, Penelope Bunce approached Simon once she finished all of her classes.
“Simon, we need to talk,” Penny says, getting straight to the point.
“What is it Penny? There’s cross country after school that I have to supervise.”
“I think you should move on from Agatha and see someone else,” Penelope says, trying not to be too obvious.
“You mean date again? Yeah right, like any lady’s gonna want to date me.”
“Maybeitdoesn'thavetobealady,” Penny says, trying to not make things awkward. It is not working.
“What did you say?”
“I said maybe it doesn’t have to be a girl.”
“Are you implying that you think I’m….. Gay?”
“No no no no no. I’m merely implying that here may be someone who is perfect for you that just so happens to be a boy as well.”
“Oh god Penny. Just spit it out.” Penelope takes the picture out of her pocket and hands it to Simon.
“I found one of my students drawing this today….” she says, handing it over. Simon eyes it suspiciously, as if it’s a ticking time bomb. He takes it into his hands and carefully unfolds it.
“This is the second time I’ve heard about it. Is there any truth to these rumors? Or at least something that can make it true?” Penny says. Simon has been a bit less joyful ever since Agatha broke up with him. She’s really trying to make him happy.
Simon stares at the picture, his brow furrowed. He recognizes both figures immediately.
“What the freak, Penny?” Simon says.
“The students have been talking about this for quite some time….”
“I get it Penny, but seriously? Baz?”
“I don’t think they’re far from the truth, honestly.” Simon scoffs.
“This is mental. Who would ever believe such a thing?”
“Simon. It’s literally every student in the school, and I think even some of the teachers are getting on board with it. Basilton only ever listened to you.” Simon sits there, letting this sink in.
“Maybe it’s true for him, but it isn’t true for me,” Simon says, crumpling the paper into a ball and dumping the picture in the bin on the way out. Penny walks over to the trashcan and pulls the picture out, smoothing it on the desk.
“Don’t worry. It’ll happen someday,” she whispers.
Simon ends up having to sit next to Baz on the after school bus. His conversation with Penny runs through his mind as Baz moves his bag aside for Simon to sit down. Simon swears he’s blushing.
All of the attention is on them. Every. Single. Kid on the bus has their gaze trained on the two teachers, holding their breath. Some people spaz a little when Simon blushes.
“So um… How was your day Mr. Pitch?” Simon says, feeling that he has to say something. Even if it is awkward. Even if sitting next to him is awkward. Even if everything is awkward. Baz doesn’t answer, just looks at his book with a scowl.
“Okay….” Simon whispers quietly. The whole ride, Simon stares at his hands, unsure what he’s supposed to do. He can never be normal around Baz with what Penny told him.
Everytime the bus goes over a particularly big bump and Simon and Baz’s knees knock together, Simon himself almost jumps a foot in the air. Baz doesn’t react at all, but does seem to be hiding a smirk behind his book.
Finally, it’s time for them to get off the bus. Simon quickly gathers up his gym clothes and rushes out of the door, ready to just be in the comfort of his own home cuddling with his dog, Cherry.
Meanwhile, at El Casa de Pitch, Baz sits on his couch, staring blankly at the TV screen, his brow furrowed. He couldn’t make sense of Snow’s behaviour, or why he was acting so squeamish around him. Or why he even bothered talking to him. Maybe Baz should’ve answered. Snow was only trying to be nice. That’s all Snow ever was. Sweet, kind, a little ray of sunshine. Sometimes, Baz wishes he wasn’t dark and brooding. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t act like an emotionless vampire. Sometimes he wanted to feel. But today was one of those days that he was glad he could still look cool and collected. Today was one of those days he was glad he can force himself not to blush.
The next day, after a long time for both boys to think of the events from the day before, both boys came to different conclusions.
Baz dismissed Snow’s behaviour to his usual energetic composure. He decided that Snow must still be ticking from the day’s cross-country practice.
Simon however, reached completely different conclusions. He started to wonder what Baz was like and why nobody seemed to know much about him. He wondered if all there was to Baz was the hard surface everyone saw. He came to the conclusion that these thoughts were geared towards the hate that has been bubbling inside him for so long.
So, Simon finds himself literally running into the one and only Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.
“Oh I’m so sorry sir–Oh.” Simon says, as he bends to the ground to pick up all of the tests Baz dropped. His hand stops when Baz kneels down too and he sees that the man is Baz. Simon looks at Baz with a look that seems to be hate.
“Stop looking at me like that, Snow. It looks like you’re constipated.” Simon humphs and starts to gather the papers in a neat stack, with Baz helping him. A few times, their fingers brush and both boys feel as if electricity passed through them. Simon also takes note of the various A’s on the tests.
“What’s this?” Simon says, holding up a paper with 92% written on it.
“Oh um…” Baz, for once, is speechless. TIny hits of heat creep into his cheeks.
“I figured I was going to hard on them. They’re only freshmen,” Baz says. Simon smiles at Baz, putting his hand on his shoulder.
“Thanks for listening, Baz,” Simon says, no hint of hate in his voice. Baz, for the first time anyone has ever seen, blushes. All traces of the strict foreign language teacher have vanished. Now, he resembles more of a teenage boy who’s staring into the eyes of their crush. Maybe, in some ways, that’s what he was.
Simon sees the look on Baz’s face and it just fills him with happiness for no apparent reason. Simon, not really thinking at all about what he’s doing, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, he realizes just how close him and Baz are. He realizes what he could do at this exact moment.
And he does. He does what both of them have had tucked in the backs of their hearts. He did what they both had fantasies about, but never really thought of.
Because it was on this day that Simon Snow Salisbury kissed Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Somewhere in the background, you could hear kids squeal as kids watched their ship sail.
Mom: Hey can you-
Me: Alexander Hamilton’s financial plan included paying off war debts, raising government revenue, and establishing a national bank. Thomas Jefferson and James Madison were against because they had a strict interpretation of the constitution and the banks were in fact unconstitutional.
Me: It was also an outrageous demand with too many pages for any man to understand
I’m a freelance copyeditor and I recently helped a client with a book manuscript she intended to self-publish. I should have known she would be trouble when I offered her a 5-page free sample and she instead demanded 10 single-spaced pages. After a lengthy conversation about her needs and my services, we had this exchange about the price and timeline.
Me: Ok, at that length it will cost [price] and I will return the fully copyedited manuscript to you two weeks after the date you send me the full manuscript.
Client: What can I expect from the editing? I mean, is it just grammar/proofreading or will it be something more, i.e. editorial comments/suggestions and reworking of some of the texts? Given the fee you quoted it better be the latter. And if I spend this week further refining my manuscript and send it to you next week I’ll still get it back from you by end of next week anyway right? Not sure if I misunderstood the two weeks’ timeline, please let me know.
Harry Hart didn’t sing. Not vocally at least, but his fingers sang for him. His left hand directed the pitches from his cello’s strings, calluses well worn on the pads of his fingers. His right hand coaxed the notes from the instrument, soft, airy whispers and bold, demanding cries.
There were pages upon pages of half finished songs that filled his workspace, not a single one complete. Still he was well-known among the right circles, and even among the regular population his name wasn’t exactly unknown. His albums sold remarkably well for someone who still performed strictly the classics. A master at calling forth the works of the great composers.
He was happy enough. Content. Satisfied. There was order in his life and he wanted for nothing, save perhaps a singing voice that sounded less like a cat in heat. But he’d long since resigned himself to that misfortune, and the Kingsman symphony orchestra was home enough.