The Whole Lemon🍋

When That Light Hits the Sky

a fic by me for the @carry-on-au-fest (CO AU fest post here)

rating: T

Chapters: 2/6

Words: 3455/~15k

tags: superhero au (but more like ex-superhero AU); Batman AU; but more like life after Batman; Penelope Bunce is a Good Friend; Baz Pitch is Not the Joker; mentions of drinking and depression; non magical AU; despite this it is in fact a getting together meet-cute

based on this comic

Summary: Simon’s in his thirties and suddenly unemployed. His old job had its downsides, but he felt useful, full of purpose—and he didn’t have to worry about pesky things like making more than one friend, or minding his personal safety, or even picking out his own clothes (the uniform might have been the best part). Now he’s adrift, and he can’t even talk about it—revealing even an ex-Batman’s secret identity comes with some pretty hefty penalties, after all. But that shouldn’t be a problem—who’s he gonna tell, anyway?

READ IT NOW! (IF YOU WANT)(HOPEFULLY YOU WANT)

thank you to @monbons and @bookish-bogwitch for the beta read! and thank you to @monbons for my gorgeous banner!

I'm thinking about what my MalMage post for side/alternate ships during COC will be...

HELLO. It's been a while since I've done this, oddly enough (sarcastic; I've barely written anything).

Last week I finished NEAR BEHEADINGS with its sixth and final chapter, if you'd like some AWTWB pwp:

“You can’t give up on us, on me again, Snow,” I say. No words of endearment now. No “Simon”, no “love”. I want his thick head to get past the first layer of his brain. “I want you to try or die trying,” I continue. “Whoa, hold on.” “I want you to slay a dragon before you give up on this.” He shakes his head. “I mean, yes. I won’t.” There’s teasing in his eyes. “I thought you didn’t like when I killed dragons.” “Swear it, Snow. Swear to me that you’ll stay and that you’ll keep trying.” “I swear it,” he says, taking my hand from his wrist and holding it between his fingers. “I promise.” He kisses the back of my hand, pressing it against his heart. “Give me your other hand.” I do. “An Englishman’s word is his bond.” He says it without magic, and it rips a laugh right from the centre of my chest, completely against my will. I hate that he makes me laugh. I spent years pretending Snow wasn’t funny, that he didn’t make my heart jump and my tummy tingle.

And I'm working on a secret (or not-so-secret?) project for September, but IT'S JUST around the corner, so I'm a bit nervous, and I've written things I can share with you.

“You’re an irresponsible oaf. If you hadn’t forgotten the assignment—˝ I get into his space. “If you hadn’t distracted me, you mean.” “—you wouldn’t be bothering Bunce, and Wellbelove too, it seems.” “Jealous?” I’m smirking. This is usually what Baz does. “Sod off,” he says, looking away. “That’s my phrase, pretty boy.” I could kiss him. I want to. I want him to be my boyfriend first. “Fuck you.” He pushes me away, chuckling, making me take a few steps back to gain balance. “I’ll see you at 10 in the White Chappel. O'clock, Snow.” “It’s a date!” “Ew, no.” “Ew, yes.”

The project is MEXICAN (to no one's surprise), so PLEASE send good vibes and words of encouragement to help me write. I need all the gods of writing on my side.

Also, I've been daydreaming about MalMage (also to no one's surprise), and I'm wondering what my entry for their day during COC will be. I'm thinking of a fanfic... Maybe cheating too. Or maybe their younger versions... Maybe I'll make them Mexican hahahaha. (I would be the only audience of that.)

But I'm also considering doing thee Carry On Countdown. The past couple of years I've done it (and kind of hated it), but I haven't managed to get on the podium because I keep getting behind for several days. I suck at updating and writing daily and this fest needs me to do both.

What do you people think I should do? Should I do a Mexican SnowBaz COC, or maybe just post some days but not every prompt? Or maybe challenge myself to write only 50 words? Or make another MalMage COC? I'm out of ideas, but I will make an MM entry; that's for sure.

Anyhows, thank you to every single person who keeps tagging me. I send all the bestest vibes for life, work, and fan-made art. It makes me happy that there are people still holding onto Simon and Baz as much as I am.

Now tagging: @mooncello @monbons @fiend-for-culture @yakichoufd

summerland [T, 68.4k] by @ineffable-grimm-pitch / itsprettygrimm - fic complete!

Me: it’s meat, spider!

Spider: I’m , I’m , I’m, I’m

Me: take your time

Spider: IM MADE OF MEAT

me: yeah you are spider. Humans are made of meat.

Spider: is Bug made of meat??

Me: all humans and all animals are made of meat, spider.

Spider: are you made of meat?

Me: yes spider, I’m a human and I’m made of meat.

Spider: is Bug made of meat??

Me: yes.

My child Bug and THE BLACK WIDOW are not especially close, despite lifelong acquaintanceship and shared years of nursery; they go to different primary schools, and are diametrically opposing personalities. However, my child Mouse (aged 3) and THE BLACK WIDOW get along extremely well. Worryingly well. Despite being twice the age, two-and-a-half-times the size and possessing three times the wickedness of Mouse, THE BLACK WIDOW is tenderly gentle and attentive with Mouse. Perhaps because they are both the youngest of three.

THE BLACK WIDOW’s family came by and the adults lounged around gossiping while the four elder children amused themselves sensibly. Mouse and THE BLACK WIDOW set up a complicated coffee shop roleplay and demanded that the four adults queue up and place orders.

“Ask them what they want,” THE BLACK WIDOW prompted Mouse.

“It’s all poisoned,” Mouse said brightly.

“Don’t TELL them that,” THE BLACK WIDOW hissed.

They proceeded to serve us cups of coffee, told us it was poisoned after we had mimed drinking it, and we all had to fall about dying while they laughed like hyenas.

Tonight, Mouse laid dreamily in bed, having spent three delightful hours soaking up THE BLACK WIDOW’s undivided attention. “I love THE BLACK WIDOW,” they said blissfully.

“What do you love about them?”

“They push me in my pushchair,” Mouse said affectionately- (this is true, it gives me a fucking heart attack when THE WIDOW grabs the pushchair and charges around ramming people with Mouse.) “and,” Mouse went on, “I love poisoning and attacking people with them.”

“Yes,” I said, dubiously.

“I want to poison and attack people with them more. They said I can come to their house and poison and attack people -“

“I think you should go to bed,” I said.

“Mummy, when we are finished being friends, we are going to marry each other.”

i'm cooking something ...

deniall nation where you at?

<sneak peek under the cut>

Hey everyone! Thanks for the tags this morning, @books2beach and @monbons!

Things have been pretty good on my end. I’ve been busy with family stuff, but I’ve still had time to write! Since the last update, I’ve posted a firstprince college AU fic with a bit of enemies-to-lovers and Alex Wearing Glasses.

Now I’m focusing on my fic for @when-henry-met-alex, inspired by Players. I just finished the opening scene yesterday. It might make zero sense if you haven’t seen the film, but here goes nine sentences:

Nora picks up her drink, and for a moment, Henry mourns his button-down which is about to be covered in liquor. Thankfully, she only plucks her lime off the rim of the glass and squirts it in Henry’s face. 

Bar-goers titter as Nora stomps outside. When Henry opens his eyes, Alex is there, pulling the sleeve of his jumper over his hand. He gently dabs the lime juice off his cheeks and nose. A genius move from Nora—a drink down the shirt would’ve been horrendously soggy, but this easy fix highlights Alex’s charm. 

“Are you okay?” Alex asks, loudly enough to be overheard. “I’m here with my sister, but she won’t mind me comin’ over here. If you want someone to sit with.” 

Happy weekend—I hope you’re having a good one! Sending hugs, stay cool (or warm, or temperate, case-depending).

Stitch (and SnowBaz Shrine) Sunday

Friends, break is over and I go back to work tomorrow. Although I'm sad to lose all my free time, it's been a good summer and I wanted to hit some highlights, including revealing my SnowBaz shrine. Find all below the cut!

Hello all! I hope your sunday is treating you better than mine.

I was really hoping to finish the scene I'm working on today alas, the neighbours are renovating and the kids are bouncing their football outside and it resonates SO MUCH and I feel like I'm losing my mind! I mean, my nerves are on their last nerve at this point so I'm gonna watch a movie instead and try to relax but not before I share a snippet from yesterday! This one's a bit more fun than the ones I shared last time (no wayward son vibes!!)

He straightened, knees spread apart, hands flat on his thighs, and closed his eyes.  And then nothing.  Simon remained perfectly motionless, taking deep, even breaths that he let out with just as much care.  “What are you doing?” Baz demanded after a minute of nonsensical waiting. Simon did not open his eyes, merely held a finger in Baz’s face and made a soft shhh sound. “Give me a minute.”

It did not take a full minute, in the end, for Simon to sprout an erection. Modest at first. Less so as time passed and Simon cupped his groin, purring low in his throat. And then, he offered Baz a proud and bawdy smile and said, “See?”

Baz had always had a good grasp on the English language. He prided himself on being well-read and quick-witted, yet words failed him now. In the face of such a performance, he knew the litheness of his tongue could not come to his aid anyhow (unless he decided to bend down, which he would not) so he kept quiet, and gawked at the shape of Simon’s membrum virile, conspicuous beneath the fabric of his wool trousers. How easy it had been for him to get that stand, Baz marvelled. He did not imagine it would ever be so easy for him: it had to be done in the right state of mind, at the right time, with the right person, preferably in the dark and always with his eyes closed. And even when he had been alone, before, he had taken his seat in the amphitheatre of his mind and watched anonymous bodies entangle themselves on Priapus’s great stage. Never in his life had there been anything casual about the pleasures of the flesh.

Seemingly unperturbed by his glaring tentpole, Simon took a deep breath, fracturing the silence. “I’m not a sheep, Baz.”

I added this last sentence simply because the non sequitur makes me laugh. Tags & insights under the cut ❤️