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Flower Crowns and Brass Knuckles

Punk!Simon and Pastel!Baz for @carryon-countdown! Set in the 80′s for some reason??

Warning: homophobic slurs


It was 1987.

Princess Diana was still alive, The Pogues were touring, and Baz and Simon shouldn’t have made sense.

Simon Snow was a punk of the highest order, full stop. He wore combat boots that he scavenged in the lost and found, scuffed and ripped along the soles. His bomber jacket hung off his shoulders in tatters, Fuck Margaret Thatcher scrawled across the sleeves in blue marker, and dragon wings sewn wide across the back.

Simon Snow was young, tough, and out of control. He came to Watford on a grant. The headmaster would say you can take a kid out of Hackney but you can’t take Hackney out of the kid.

Simon Snow was a mash of split lips, black eyes, and bloody knuckles. Blonde curls that tumbled in his eyes and a tarnished cross that rattled around his neck like a harbinger of trouble.

Simon Snow hung out on the steps of school with two girls that carried knives in their pockets instead of lipstick. Penny, with a purple nose ring that flashed in the light, and Agatha, with a shaved head and killer eyeliner.

Simon Snow was the boy that hit first, that had rose tattoos winding up his neck and across his collarbone. If he were a poem, he’d be the type of beat poetry spoken in back alleys and street corners, harsh and explosive words that incited revolution rather than revelation.

Then there was Baz Pitch.

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