TFLN OVERFLOW

[fuckingtragedy]

[Placeholder for appropriate fanart/meme when I find it]

Comments

FOR FLAMMABLEPITCH

[fuckingtragedy]

((continued from here))

Promise or threat, as you will

[flammablepitch]

Saying you're going to fuck the hell out of me is always a promise, Snow.

[fuckingtragedy]

Always? No exceptions whatsoever?

[flammablepitch]

I can't think of one. Maybe if one of us is horribly sick.

[fuckingtragedy]

The fact that that's a "maybe" instead of a firm "no"...

[flammablepitch]

If you're sick that's a no. If I'm sick I doubt you'd want to have sex.

FOR VAMPITCH

[fuckingtragedy]

continued from here

when is it NOT goblins??

[vampitch]

When it's vampires, or trolls, or paindeer, or whatever else you've stuck your sword into over the years...

Is Bunce with you?

[fuckingtragedy]

been told I've gotten quite good at sticking things in vampires lately

No Penny's not here

[vampitch]

[ baz may be in love with simon, but he right now he does not like him. ]

If that turns into the last text message you send me before you bleed out, I swear, I will bring you back just to kill you myself.

Where are you?

[fuckingtragedy]

home and good news, I have found the source of the blood and it is definitely not mine!

[fuckingtragedy]

((continued from here))

That DOES seem to be the implication, doesn't it?

[vampitch]

It does.

[ he sinks down low in his chair. it's baz, so of course he sounds very composed-- but if simon could see him now, he'd know that he's succeeding at slamming his buttons. repeatedly. ]

But I don't want implications. I want you to tell me.

[fuckingtragedy]

Do you need an invitation for this too?

Baz, I cordially invite you to put your cock in my mouth.

[vampitch]

[ well. that was great while it lasted. in one fell swoop, simon snow has unpressed any button he ever fumbled his way into pressing. ]

Great chat, Snow. Suppose I'll try putting it on a billboard next time, maybe that'll get the point across.

[fuckingtragedy]

wait

[ Shit. What the hell was the right answer here?? ]

can I try again??

FOR FLAMMABLEPITCH

[fuckingtragedy]

((continued from here))

absolutely smashing. what about some besame lippy to match?

Re: FOR FLAMMABLEPITCH

[flammablepitch]

Now I'm the one not getting it.

[fuckingtragedy]

not keen on me in bright red lipstick and pearls?

[flammablepitch]

Fuck, that's hot.

[VOICEMAIL FROM T. BASILTON PITCH, TIMESTAMPED 4:44 AM]

[youreflammable]

[When Baz speaks, his voice is thick, heavy, not quite like his fangs have dropped, but like he's trying to force his tongue to cooperate when its on a different wavelength as him.]

Simon, Simon, Simon...

[Each 'S' is enunciated harder than the last; Baz is working hard to be clear in his message, harder than he should have to work. Except, he's drunk, extremely drunk and there's the thump of something long and lanky on cushions.]

Ohhhh Simon.

[A shuffle of fabric and then a thunk, a quiet fuck, and fingers scrambling on carpet. Baz must have recovered his phone because his voice is much louder now and the slurring of his words far more apparent.]

Simon why are you so far away from me. I miss you. I miss being around you, even when you're spitting mad at me. You could punch me right now and I'd be alright with it. I just.

[He blows out a long breath and there's the telltale click-click-click of a lighter. Baz doesn't need a lighter to light a cigarette, but where's the fun in using magic when the lighter could accidentally catch him on fire.]

Oh these are my favorite. My dad caught me smoking these when I was younger. Still taste the same.

[Still taste like they could snuff him out if he were to drop it in his lap. But then the smoke alarm goes off because the idiot decided to light a cigarette inside a hotel room instead of the balcony.]

Oh fuck, forgot about that thing. Gotta...

[Baz wanders a good distance from the phone to snub out the cigarette and silence the blaring alarm before he returns.]

You always were like a cigarette, always burning and something I couldn't ever have.

[He laughs, much harder than the situation calls for, but the laugh turns into something darker, something more hollow until he's sobbing and then the voicemail ends with a robotic: END OF MESSAGE.]

[fuckingtragedy]

[ Simon wakes up to a physical and metaphorical mess.

The new kitchen cabinets are being delivered this morning. Earlier than expected, apparently, because two hours before the appointed time, there are angry contractors slamming on Simon's door, and the jolt of panic is slow to ebb even after they've left. But, seeing as he's up anyway, Simon resolves to start on demoing the old cabinets, and it's close to noon before Simon even makes his way back to the bedroom to check his phone.

From there, it's another two hours of paralyzing numbness before he can drag himself out of bed again. It must be close to sunrise in Vegas by now. Maybe Baz won't even see the text Simon sends in return: ]

Go hydrate, you're going to be hung over

And get a fucking vape

[youreflammable]

[When Baz finally stirs for the day, he’s facedown on the carpet, an unlit cigarette in his mouth and lighter in hand. Lamb is there to snatch both away, tucking them into his coat, and try to help Baz sit up. Oh, oh no don’t do that. The swell of nausea is instantaneous, but so is Lamb sweeping him into the bathroom. Murmuring something about lightweight, the older vampire gets Baz a veritable pitcher of water and a pitcher of blood to help with the dehydration. Only after Baz has finished emptying his stomach of everything he’s ever eaten does he attempt a shower, sitting down against the glass walls as Lamb scrubs him over, washes his hair, and picks out something for him to wear. He also proposes breakfast, but Baz can’t imagine eating anything at this moment.

Instead he wanders over to his phone to check for any messages from Fiona or his father and instead sees the text from Simon.

What?
Baz then searches his outgoing calls and sees a string of attempted calls and then one connected call. Did he talk to Simon last night? What did he say? Clearly he’d been drunk enough for Simon to notice, to suggest that he hydrate, but the vape comment? Surely Baz didn’t light up--- he frowns, trying to remember the blips in his memory.

I miss you. Why are you so far away from me?

Seven snakes. Just when they were starting to get along, he’s gone and fucked it all up. Baz curls one hand into his hair as he reads Simon’s text again and again. This is over. All that progress, all those carefully balanced conversations, dancing on a razor’s edge, it’s all been for nothing because he decided to call his ex after imbibing far too many shots.

Lamb is behind him, rubbing his shoulders, but Baz can’t take any solace in the contact now. He thinks he might be sick again and he doesn’t know what to do with it this time.

It's late afternoon Las Vegas time when Baz responds, having run through too many responses to be comfortable.]

Sorry.

[fuckingtragedy]

[ It's Simon's turn to be drunk.

He's tried to stay away from the bottle lately. It never helps, and it's a 50/50 toss-up whether it will numb him out or make him feel worse. But as far as Simon can reason, he's well within his rights to tempt fate a bit tonight. His therapist can scold him for it later.

So rather than an actual response, all Baz receives is a copy of his voicemail's sound file. After all, isn't accountability important? ]

[youreflammable]

[]Baz just barely misses picking up Simon’s call and what he receives as a voicemail is frankly horrifying. Yes, he does miss Simon with every beat of his dead heart. Yes, he wishes for once they weren’t so far away so they could talk in person about everything. And yes he feels like he could never really have Simon.

But all of those words came out wrong. Horribly, devastatingly wrong.

He immediately tries to call Simon back, to just hear his voice if nothing else. Even if he’s angry, even if he’s upset.

Baz just needs to try.]