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
no subject
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? ]
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
[ 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...