Simon Snow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fuckingtragedy) wrote2021-06-06 04:35 pm
fuckingtragedy) wrote2021-06-06 04:35 pmEntry tags:
TFLN OVERFLOW
[Placeholder for appropriate fanart/meme when I find it]
fuckingtragedy) wrote2021-06-06 04:35 pm
FOR VAMPITCH
when is it NOT goblins??
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Is Bunce with you?
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No Penny's not here
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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?
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sure, simon getting into a fight and not knowing where the blood came from is a little different than, say, coming back from fighting the humdrum with all his pores bleeding. but baz still worries. maybe twice as much, now, as if to make up for before. simon could return in a torn-up heap during their school days, and as much as baz stressed about it, he couldn't actually do anything. he hated simon, after all. for all that simon knew. ]
Then I feel less bad for the scolding I'm going to give you. I'm coming over.
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[ not arguing about baz coming over though. ]
bring your wand. Both of them 😉
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[ he won't. he's not going to go to simon's apartment just so they can fight.
even if that wand comment is worth throwing hands over. ]
You say that like I could choose not to bring it.
[ and then simon gets radio silence beyond that, because baz is rushing out of fiona's flat and into the car. the speed at which he makes it to simon's could only be described as spell-enhanced. but what the normals don't notice won't hurt them.
he raps on the door. they're far beyond knocking, but if simon doesn't have the chain on after getting attacked by a goblin, baz has something else to scold him for. ]
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simon does, at least, look freshly-showered when he answers the door. in fact, he's elected to greet baz in lounge pants only (baz's lounge pants, in fact; as if simon would own lounge pants, but they're comfortable despite the floral print), and his hair is still dripping onto the towel draped around his shoulders. ]
Entrez vous, mi amor.
[ is that all the same language? no. does simon care? also no. but simon does press a kiss to baz's cheek before snagging his wrist to pull him inside. ]
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whatever irritation he feels is forgotten in light of a freshly-showered simon. merlin and morgana.
he'd thought once, naively, that there would be a day where he could look at simon snow just out of the shower, and not feel like he'd been sucker-punched. certainly after they'd started dating, and baz didn't have to repress every single feeling he had towards him. but no. it's actually worse, now, since simon's gotten into the gym. thick biceps and ridiculous core muscles, a towel slung over his broad shoulders... yeah. much worse. ]
Incorrect. All of it, somehow.
[ but baz can't help the grin that tugs at his mouth as simon takes his wrist and pulls him into the flat. the broken french-- and spanish, evidently-- is endearing. the kiss pressed to his cheek, endearing. his lounge pants on simon, ridiculous. (but endearing, too.) he was supposed to be mad at simon. ugh. ]
...What happened to the blood?
[ baz halts, lets the grasp on his wrist jerk simon to a stop. he gives him a once-over, this time for cuts rather than muscles. then, reflexively, he tips his nose up and sniffs. and... does it smell good in here? ]
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[ an encouraging way to begin any story. simon pushes the door shut behind baz, then jerks his thumb toward the kitchen as he leads the way. ]
I cannot overstate how unbelievably hammered I was last night. Can't remember a thing.
[ which is, frankly, shocking when one considers the obscene amount of blood on the kitchen floor. not even a few drops, an errant splatter; no, it fully looks as if something has completely exsanguinated in front of the kitchen sink. occasionally, there's a break -- or a smear -- ostensibly where simon was sat, stood, grabbing, etc. and scattered among the pool are a few pair of ladies tights (and the brightly-colored plastic caps of the eggs they came packaged in).
simon tries his best to frown, but there's no universe in which this isn't comical. or absurd, at the very least. ]
According to the bin and my search history, I was attempting to make black pudding.
[ probably for baz, if he's following the line of his own drunk almost-logic. vampire, blood, black pudding, why haven't i thought of this before, et al. not that he'll admit to it, of course. but it could be argued that drunk simon was attempting to be very sweet. ]
Could you just magic it clean, please? And we'll never speak of this again?
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[ said in the incredibly skeptical way that should tip simon off that baz can and will hold him accountable.
when they step over the threshold into the kitchen, he stops dead (or at least undead) in his tracks. ]
Circe, Snow.
[ nausea curls in his stomach at the sharp sour tang he can smell in the blood, now that he's closer. and at the realization that it's blood that he thought smelled good. (he's still working on becoming more accepting of that character trait. uphill battle.) sure, he'd help simon bury a body in a heartbeat, but the tights are a little concerning until-- ]
...Black pudding.
[ yeah, that's a grin in his voice. a poorly-restrained smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. he's already connected the dots, and really, what could spur a drunken simon to undertake a blood-centric cooking endeavor in the middle of the night besides... well, him?
he bumps his hip gently against simon's, avoiding a wing. ]
Cleanliness is next to Godliness!
[ the sort of spell that only succeeds if you really value cleanliness. the blood, stockings, and other drunken leftovers disappear.
but, despite simon's request to never speak of it again-- ] So...