It’s one of the quieter nights, really. The lights are out, the curtains open to let the city lights spill across the dark living room, across the rug, the couch, running up Jace’s legs and catching in his eyes when he turns at the faint sound of a door closing. The only other source of noise are the voices on the TV screen in front of them, most of them watching it with some interest, none of them seeming to have noticed. Jace glances over at Magnus, but Alec is pressed up against his side, his face against Magnus’ neck, and Jace turns his gaze to Isabelle, whose eyes are locked on Clary. She’s smiling, small but bright, and the light from the screen plays across her face, lighting up her eyes as Clary sits on the edge of the couch, leaning forward, hanging onto every word.
Jace looks over his shoulder toward the door. It’s dark in the hallway, but he can faintly hear someone shuffling across the floor. He reaches down and draws a dagger from his boot, and very slowly begins to stand. No one notices, and he very quietly makes his way toward the front door, blade raised, eyes scanning the space in front of him.

He hears someone draw a breath and lunges forward.
He shoves the stranger up against the wall, his blade to their throat, and something cries out at around waist level and hits the floor, scampering off.
“Ow! Jace, what are you doing?!”
Looking rather bewildered, Jace lowers his dagger.
The lights flickers on, and they both turn. At the end of the hallway stands Magnus, eyes dark and sharp, hair spiked, magic still parking from his raised hand.
“What, might I ask, are you doing.”

Jace takes a step back, and Simon reaches up to rub the back of his head, giving Jace a reproachful look before eyes begin searching the floor.
“Hey, Magnus. Sorry I’m late.”
Simon peers past Magnus into the living room, scanning the floor, and then his eyes go wide. He looks up at Magnus.
“Oh, well, might as well sit down, didn’t miss the good parts, did I?”

Simon starts walking forward, but stops when Magnus raises his hand and turns, eyes lowering to the floor, and Jace and Simon both watch him, Simon with horror, Jace with great amusement; and then Magnus turns back to them.
“I may have helped you before, but don’t mistake this as some kind of home for wayward children.”
“He’s not going to stay here. But I found him on the way, and I couldn’t just leave him.”
Alec walks around the corner into Simon’s line of vision, eyebrows raised at the scene in front of him, and he turns to Magnus.
“What’s going on?”

Magnus gives them a very bitter smile. “Oh, our dearest Simon has taken in a small rabbit, and has decided that there is no better place for him than in my home.”
Alec turns to Simon, who starts to protest, but Jace cuts him off.
“You adopted a bunny rabbit?”
“Someone left him in a cardboard box outside a pet shop. What was I supposed to do, leave him there?”
Jace snorts, and Magnus rolls his eyes. Alec looks between the three of them, seeming to be waiting for some kind of definitive action, but they all just stand there for a moment until Magnus sighs.
“Fine, but it goes when you do.”

Magnus turns on his heel and walks off back into the living room, and Alec smiles, soft and bright, and follows him. Jace watches Simon with great amusement as he walks down the hall and gets onto his knees, reaching out toward the rabbit, which had hidden itself under an end table. The rabbit stays in the back corner, and Simon shuffles a little closer, stretching out his arm a little farther, trying to get the bunny to sniff his fingers, and when he doesn’t move any farther away, Simon reaches out and scoops him up into his arms. He stands, and turns to find Jace watching him, eyes soft and laughing, and Simon glares.
Jace just keeps smiling, and folds his arms across his chest and shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Simon gives him one last reproachful look, then turns, following Alec into the living room.
Simon settles in the corner of the couch not occupied by Isabelle and Clary, who are sitting on the other side, very close, both glancing only every now and then at the movie. Alec and Magnus are sitting on the only other sofa, sides pressed against each other, their hands clasped together and resting on Magnus’ thigh, Magnus running his thumb over the back of Alec’s hand and smiling. But the moment he notices Simon, he glares at him for a minute before turning his attention back to the screen.

No one but Magnus seems either to notice or care as Simon cuddles the rabbit to his chest, running his hands over its fur, feeling it breath in and out.
As quietly as he had before, Jace walks into the room, blade away, nonchalant, and settles into the armchair next to him. When Simon glances at him, his eyes are fixed on the screen.
The bunny snuggles up against him and settles down in his arms, and Simon smiles, his gaze returning to catch the last few minutes of the movie. Next to him, Jace glances over, watching Simon pet the rabbit, the way the light plays across his face, the way it catches in his dark hair, the way his eyes light up and he leans forward when a gunshot rings out. And then Jace catches Magnus’s eye, and turns to watch the final scenes of the movie play out.

They found her in the woods. Part 3.

Thanks for all the love for this fic it seriously makes a huge difference. I really appreciate it. 

Previous parts

Tagging: @negans-network @i-am-negan-trash  @grab-my-boner @leahhpine @lovepizza-cake11 @negans-lil-bitch @you-just-got-jacknifed @thefelinemedia78 @maniclittlethings @illysamorgan @groovinontheinside @negansoutpost @trashcansideblog @justcallmemrsbarnes Just lemme know if you want to be added or removed.

By the time the busted up old pickup rolled down the road towards the sanctuary gates Simon was ready.

He had swapped out the guards on duty for Negan’s best shooters - most loyal ones too in case any of the other guards were in on whatever might be at play, the prisoners were back in their cells in case they took the chance to riot, Carson was prepped and ready behind closed doors for whatever might be thrown at him, he had doubled the guards on the wives and had a scout team keeping tabs on the truck so they could attack from behind if it all turned to shit. He hoped that he didn’t need any of it.

He knew Travis. They had gone on runs together in the past and while he wasn’t the most resourceful man Simon had ever met, he generally knew the score. Simon knew better than to underestimate people enough to take the risk, but he would be surprised if it really was foul play. 

Just that morning in fact, he had spoken to the younger man about picking up the slack. He seemed pretty determined that he and his boys would work harder. Happening to find Negan’s daughter the same day was a mighty coincidence to the point of suspicion, but picking up strays wasn’t exactly rare. If anyone was going to stumble across the boss’s daughter,  he was glad it was him. 

“Showtime people. Look alive.” Simon called to the saviours around him as the truck started passing by the wall of rotters. On his signal, the internal gates were pulled open and the truck came to a halt a few feet in front of him.

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You’re Safe With Me, Snow [A Simon x Baz One Shot].

A/N: Hello my lovelies, I’m so in love with Simon and Baz at the moment, so here is another one shot for you. This is based off a headcanon by @justsayalways, in this post. Thank you so much for letting me write this and for creating such a lovely prompt. I hope you enjoy reading <3. 

Pairing: Simon x Baz.

Warnings: None really, some swearing. 

Disclaimer: No one belongs to me. 

P.S: If there are any mistakes, please forgive me. I have, of course, edited this for all you lovely readers. 

Simon was tired.

It had been an incredibly long day at university and all he wanted to do was get home. Slumped in his seat on the train, he wished it would zoom by faster, so that he could go home, shower, eat and go to bed. Next to him sat Baz, his boyfriend, who also happened to be a magical vampire, who he’d fallen in love with and helped him restore Watford to all its glory.

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carry on countdown day 4: punk/pastel au

ahh ok yall were so nice about my fic yesterday that im doing it again. so here’s a pastel!simon / punk(ish)!baz for you :)) i promise it’s mostly not as angsty as it seems in the beginning……….

thanks again @carryon-countdown !

Baz loved to watch Simon Snow. Ok, not in like, some weird-creepy-stalker way. Just in the way that people like to watch the ocean, or the sunset, or the night sky. Looking at Simon was like looking into the heart of a far away galaxy, the kind that’s all swirling colors and sparkling motion and infinity.

Simon lived in his own world. You could tell by the way he stared out windows during class, his chin resting in his hand like he knew Baz was watching and posed just for him. You could tell by the way he would bob along to the music playing in his headphones as he walked down the hectic school hallway with a pleasant smile. You could tell by the way he reacted when people called him names (names that need not be repeated here, as you can surely imagine) for his pastel clothes, his baby pink hair, his painted nails. They would spit their cruel words at him, and Simon would simply cock his head, a mildly pitying, mildly confused expression on his face, and give them a look that asked—without making a sound—why they were so insecure that they felt the need to strike out at him. And then, without a word, he would carry on.

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‘This Really Isn’t How I Wanted You To Find Out’

Saphael drabble.

For fearalltheumbrellas based on this post.

It was the second time, Jace thought furiously, that the idiot had gotten himself into trouble with vampires and had to be rescued. This time, at least, there was no Raphael waiting outside to try and trick them in an attempt to lead them to their deaths. Raphael would pay for what he had done though. Jace was relieved that he had not finished his vow not to harm Raphael.

Clary close behind him, they crept silently through the Hotel.

Dagger clutched in one hand, Jace kicked down a door. He caught a brief glimpse of Raphael at the other end of the room, pinning Simon roughly against the wall.

‘Step away from the nerd, bloodsucker!’ Jace commanded. He raised the dagger and charged.

Clary suddenly screamed, seized Jace’s arm, and pulled him back.

‘Clary, what—’ Jace began. Then he realised Raphael had jumped away from Simon, turning his back on him to face Jace and Clary. But he had placed himself protectively in front of Simon, arms outstretched. His fangs had slid free and a low hiss emanated from deep in his throat. His curly hair was slightly mussed.

Jace replayed the last few seconds in his mind; kicking the door down, Raphael jumping away from Simon, Simon’s hand sliding free of Raphael’s hair and going immediately to his own waist to pull his T-shirt down to cover his exposed stomach, cheeks burning crimson.

‘Wait…’ Jace said slowly, staring from Raphael to Simon, Clary still clutching his arm. ‘Were you two… kissing?’

‘This really isn’t how I wanted you to find out,’ Simon said, peering over Raphael’s shoulder, cheeks still flushed. ‘But could you please lower that dagger? You’re making my boyfriend feel threatened.’

Never better

soulmate au

His tattoo is on his ankle and it says “the fuck kind of name is that” in big, scribbled, barely legible handwriting- which, reasonable. He has his parents and weird family tradition to blame. His father disapproves- his own is neat cursive, tiny on the inside of his wrist. “My pleasure”, because of course. Baz’s takes up most of his right calf, which means shorts are out for much of the conceivable future.

He hates soulmarks, with everything in him. (Maybe he’s biased. Dev’s is perfectly lovely- “charmed”, neatly printed across his hipbone. [Niall’s is “Oi, watch where you’re going, fucker”, so he’s extra careful to knock into every person he meets. Just in case.]) They’re outdated, unfair- Agatha Wellbelove doesn’t even have one, which he knows for a fact she still sometimes cries about. And there’s a little line through his father’s that makes his chest pang every time he sees it.

There’s too many people with just “hi” and “hey” and “can you move, I’m trying to watch the show” and they’re vague and some people never find their soulmates and one time, Baz watched a soulmark disappear in the middle of the class. The girl had to be carried out, kicking and screaming, and she didn’t come back for a whole term. They’re painful and they hurt and they cause so much worry and conflict and-

“What the fuck kind of name is that?”

He looks up sharply at the cute barista, staring at him with the same stunned expression.

“Pardon me?”

The barista sets down his cup, yanks up his sleeve.

“Your coffee order is fucking weird and so is your name but oh my god, we’re soulmates right? Please tell me I’m right. I’ve never met anyone with such a weird order and I’ve made it before and it’s like drinking a candy bar and- I’m Simon Snow and please tell me we’re soulmates?”

Baz’s mouth is gaping open. “Holy shit, you’re-” That’s too much of a coincidence and he talks too much but. Holy shit. “Yes,” he manages, and Simon beams.

“That’s great. That’s fantastic. You might want to move, by the way, the queue’s glaring.”

Baz floats in a semi daze over to the window and waits; soon enough, Simon comes bounding over with coffee and a scone.

“Compliments of the chef,” he says, obvious meaning himself, and shoves both into Baz’s hands. “So. Soulmates.”

“Soulmates,” Baz agrees faintly, then has to sit down.

“Where is your mark?” asks Simon excitedly. “Unless- is it anywhere naughty?” His eyes twinkle with entirely too much mischievous mirth for Baz’s liking, and he shoots him a glare before pushing up his pants leg.

Simon sucks in a breath. “Yeah, sorry, my hand writing is shit. So your name really is Basilton?”

“It really is,” says Baz. “And my coffee is fine, thank you.”

Simon peers at him. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Baz wants to say, “Actually I was just thinking about how ridiculous this entire thing is-”

He doesn’t say that.

Because Simon makes him feel warm, and shaky, and, okay, maybe he gets the hype. Maybe. (Even though he’s being a hypocrite. Even though he’s going to have to deal with his father’s disappointed looks and the sideways glances from his friends.)

“Never better,” he says, and smiles.

Baz gently cradles the yawning infant in his arms, rocking her back and forth softly. Simon peers at the little bundle, brushing a piece of hair out of her eyes. Simon is amazed at just how tiny she is. He can’t imagine that everyone was this size when they were first born. He looks at Baz’s face and his heart melts seeing that softness in Baz’s eyes that melts Simon’s heart a little more with each day they spend together. He gently brushes a long, black, lock of Baz’s hair out of his face, unable to keep the cheesiest grin off of his face as he does so. His stomach flutters as he sees the smallest of smiles appear on Baz’s lips. The girl coos and reaches for her own lock of Baz’s hair, tugging on it and making Baz’s smile grow. Simon can’t help but lean down and place a tiny kiss on her tiny forehead. And then one on Baz’s, because he can’t help that either.

“Baz, she’s so fucking perfect. How did I get so lucky?” he whispers

“Don’t swear in front of her, Simon.”

he adds

“I don’t know, love.”

Bite Me [A Simon x Baz One Shot].

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! So, I uh, am absolutely in love with SnowBaz at the moment, so here’s another one shot for you! I was inspired by the lovely @syncdical, based off this! I was so happy I was able to write this, thank you so much for letting me! <3 Really hope you like it ;)

Pairing: SnowBaz (of course!). 

Warnings: Swearing, biting, kissing, sexual content - basically NSFW. Please only read if you’re an adult! 

Disclaimer: I own no one, nothing, not even the song (that goes to the lovely 5SOS boys). 

P.S: This has been edited, but sorry if there are any stupid mistakes! 

“I don’t wanna say goodbye to another night, and watch you walk away, I don’t wanna let it burn in the city lights and make the same mistakes.”

Simon couldn’t believe they were arguing about this again.

It was the same every time, Simon would end up fuming, frustrated and wouldn’t talk to Baz for a good few hours. Baz would win every time and Simon didn’t like losing. He never lost and as much as he loved that smirk Baz so often wore, he also didn’t like it when it was shot at him.

Why can’t I come?” Simon huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “I don’t understand why you won’t let me do this.”

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I’ll Always Want You [A Simon x Baz One Shot - Request].

Hello, my lovelies! I’m sorry I haven’t been writing as much, I’ve had a lot on my plate lately. Thank you to everyone who has messaged me and taken the time to talk to me. It means so much to me :) 

Here’s a SnowBaz one shot for you, based off this:

Anonymous asked:

Hi for the prompt requests can you write Simon getting sick and Baz having to take care of him? Thank you! 💕💕💕

I hope you enjoy this anon and anyone else who reads this! But, sadly, as I said, I’m only taking requests for SnowBaz at the moment! 

Pairing: Simon x Baz (of course!). 

Warning: Nothing explicit, some sexual content - allusions to sex, but nothing happens. Kissing. Simon and Baz fluff and angst. 

Disclaimer: I don’t own anyone, sadly. 

P.S: As per usual, forgive me for any mistakes, though this has been edited! 

Simon was alone.

Shaking, sobbing and terrified, sitting upright on his bed, whimpering into the pitch black night – where was Baz? He’d stayed over last night, hadn’t he? He was lying next to Simon when he fell asleep. Or was that all a dream? Was everything a dream and Baz wasn’t here?

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lesbicious  asked:

everyone keeps sending you angsty stuff. fuck that. simon and baz get peer pressured by penny and micah into doing a karaoke duet while dancing terribly. someone is filming them. it goes viral. discuss.

i’m crying literally those fucKing nerds i cannot

a/n i literally can’t write drunk people jesus lord 

all i want for christmasssss,” sings simon in a worryingly shrill voice, “is youuuuuu!” 

he cuts of with a massive gulp of air, but besides him baz is still going. his voice is surprisingly tuneful, considering how stupendously drunk he is. simon grins, slings an arm around his shoulders, and joins back in.

the glasses on the table shudder ominously. 

they discover, upon the relative silence brought by their breath running out, that they had completely misplaced their spot in the song. 

“what the shit,” simon frowns blurrily. “baz, look’t- no, baz, c’mon, we gotta finish.” 

baz nods solemnly, adjusting the santa hat slipping down over his eyes. “i just want you for my own-”

“mOre than you could eveR know,” wails simon, sudden tears welling up. 

“make my wish come true,” they both sing, attempting a little hip wiggle. “all i want for christmassssss-”

“is you!” every guest joins in, and baz frowns.

“no-” he begins to protest, but is cut off by a sloppy kiss. he immediately forgets everything and kisses enthusiastically back.

penny’s recording in the corner, because of course she would be.

they’re a fucking meme.

“penelope bunce,” says simon with quite a bit of anger coloring his tone, “i never-”

baz groans loudly. “i work at starbucks.”

they all pat his shoulders in sympathy. 

simon glares.

baz complains.

penny makes a poor attempt at hiding her grin behind her hand. 

13 to 31

Day 13
Simon walked past the pumpkin for the second time that day. It only caught his attention because it seemed abandoned. It wasn’t carved, didn’t sit anywhere in particular, no other decorations surrounded it in the middle of the courtyard. Was someone giving it away? Possibly a lazy attempt at being festive?

Day 12
He saw the pumpkin had been carved, finally, and now sat with two others in the same haphazard spot across from his apartment. Mystery somewhat solved. Still looked out of place, but the carver seemed skilled at their work. Simon had never felt uncomfortable about jack o’lanterns before, but the middle one’s carved face looked…strange. He couldn’t decide why, but he unpacked his groceries and shot looks furtively out the window. Nothing would change, of course, but he drowned his worries in making pancakes and sausage for dinner. His roommate might be pleased, if he didn’t come home full of fast food or take-out. Simon cooked and watched in the same breath. The pumpkins never moved, but who was he to expect it?

Day 11
There were more, of course there were. His roommate was out, a consistent office job demanded such a schedule even if his did less so. Simon saw more pumpkins which was…fine, really, getting into the spirit of things. The previously unmarred pumpkins had new faces, and yet they were all still pointed to his apartment. It’s probably the neighbors above, he thought, spreading the festive nature of the holiday. As he cooked pancakes, again, at noon, he watched out the window to see who had changed these gourds to face them. It just didn’t feel right. Simon went back to bed in the afternoon to right his mind. He woke in the night to see lights dancing on his walls from the candles outside. They were almost calming, like traffic lights.

Day 10
Tomorrow came too soon. Pancakes again, was that too much? Simon had to go to the office and check in some work, so he bustled about and got the task done. The pumpkins looked less threatening in the daylight, soggy things full of wax that wrinkled at the sides already. Didn’t anyone understand molecular decomposition? Against his better moral judgment, Simon twisted the jack o’lanterns to look elsewhere. To the left, to the right, off into the distance beyond the gate. Give them a bit more fun, after all. it must be frustrating staring at one thing all day and night, especially if that is his (undecorated) window. They were still twisted upon his arrival that night, through dinner and until bed.
But the lights in his window flickered again. Simon peered out to see all the pumpkins peering back at him. Every single one.
Their orange glow tickled the walls of his room.
The middle one, the original, cruel-faced pumpkin, flickered vaguely green.

Day 9
Someone is talented, and perhaps living above Simon’s apartment Who was this mysterious carver? He drafted a quick memo asking for an “Expert Pumpkin Designer” for his own creation, perhaps. On the bulletin board it went, and in the mail slots of a few specific doors around his place. There were more pumpkin faces pointing his way today, the courtyard was rippling with stems of new pumpkins like tiny gangs and loiterers.
The candlelight shining in the window that night was so distracting, Simon considered buying blackout curtains so he could sleep again.

Day 8
No takers on the flyer. The older jack o’lanterns were curling up into themselves, some hinted at rot and mold. Most were still fine, and there were many fresh ones joining the bunch. Their creator must be dedicated.
Simon looked up from his shopping list to see a decorative, plastic pumpkin leering down from the grocery aisle. It was the only pumpkin of the bunch that had a carved face, and it looked just like the one outside his door, the same simple but markedly upsetting shapes and asymmetry. He took a picture on his phone.
The internet had no leads about mysterious pumpkin carvers. In his mind, Simon romantically considered that there was a mad, anarchist artist carving pumpkins all around the town, like a Halloween Banksy. Nobody else had reported it anyway. He ended up searching medical sites for evidence of disturbed sleep leading to the sour feeling in his stomach, but results were inconclusive and usually pointed to cancer.
He cursed his lack of dark curtains. The candle shadows made his stomach lurch like he was on a boat.

Day 7
Simon fought to not be late for his last-minute doctor appointment, but it just seemed like that kind of day. Reaching to lock his door, he felt the key slide out of the way. The lock had been covered and crusted by milky white wax. It took a few minutes to dig out.
Stomach problems were not uncommon in times of stress, and his doctor prescribed some acid reflux pills and good tea.
Simon hated tea. The only effect it had was increasing his rate of using the bathroom and seeing the glowing faces in the courtyard.

Day 6
It took a while to get out of bed, the nausea was worse. Taking out the trash, Simon tried to breathe through his mouth to avoid the smell of decay. Reaching the dumpster, he wondered what could cause such an odor, but the back alley of the building smelled perfectly normal. It was all in the courtyard, the strong stench of rot wafted from pumpkins that used to have faces and shapes. Now, many were deflated, devoured and blurred by mold. How could anyone let this happen? Not his problem, though. The bulletin board made no mention of it, nor did any neighbors. Standing tall and central, the sharp grin of the first pumpkin remained fresh.
Tiny communal flowerpots around the complex added a needed splash of color to the courtyard, their lackluster contents now overrun by bright green vines. At least someone put all those extra seeds to use.
His roommate didn’t have any problem with “a couple pumpkins” in the complex, but Simon wondered what the hell he considered “a couple” to be. There were at least twenty by now.
Abandoning the tea, Simon was nonetheless kept awake as his stomach gurgled through the night.

Day 5
Halloween never seemed to fall conveniently on a weekend, so Simon’s friends were celebrating a few days early at their house across town. Donning a cheap vampire costume from previous years, he skirted around the makeshift pumpkin graveyard and arrived at the party with some beer in hand The house was beautiful as usual, they took parties very seriously and his friend had spent hours decorating. After his third beer, Simon’s stomach protested. The night wore on more soberly than he had wanted, settling into quiet midnight conversations on the patio, lit orange by glowing fairy lights. They congratulated their hostess on a great party, she smiled and took a sip of her cocktail, “What I want to know is, who brought the pumpkins?”
Over Simon’s shoulder on the far side of the yard, he saw that familiar, daunting grin.
He slept on their couch, pulled the curtains closed tight. He was sober enough to drive, but if he was honest, he didn’t want to return to his apartment in the dark..

Day 4
Some of the party stragglers woke up with bloody marys, some with simple black coffee. The patio smelled like cigars and fresh morning air, SImon sat outside with a mug in his hand, locking eyes with the improbable pumpkins perched across the grass. They stared hollowly back.
It finally felt like autumn. He took a sip of his coffee and felt something brush his lips. Floating on the surface were three fresh pumpkin seeds.
He didn’t look at the courtyard when he got home. He didn’t look out the window. He got into bed and closed his eyes deliberately.
The light was bright enough to shine through his eyelids. Peeking slightly, a grim, flickering green face was on his windowsill.
Simon slept on the couch.

Day 3
Snow shovel in hand and garbage bag tucked into his belt, Simon was exhausted and ready to make some enemies.
Fuck you, player of tricks and carver of gourds. Fuck you for letting your pumpkins rot and interrupting someone’s sleep. It was over. Every pumpkin went into the bag, whether fresh and gleaming or a puddle of mold. He jammed his shovel into their faces, flattening and cutting them apart with impunity. Sometimes he got new bags. Nobody saw nor cared to stop him, and it was a public service. The courtyard was filthy from remnants of stringy, once-orange squash guts. That was good enough. Someone probably got lazy and didn’t clean their own mess. Whatever. Not his problem. The greenish grin, the leader, was last. The thick orange rind crunched satisfyingly under his shovel, and dumped unceremoniously into the bin without further thought.
Simon slept in his bed that night and didn’t see flickering lights. His stomach felt knotted and sour. His nostrils were lined with that putrid smell.

Day 2
Sleep was well-earned. His roommate was already gone, Simon toasted a bagel and opened the package of cream cheese.
Two moldy black pumpkin seeds lay under the foil.
His head snapped up and he stared out the window. The courtyard was full of jack o’lanterns, like they had never left. In the dead center, staring right back at him, was the same sagging eyes and sharp smile.
Simon hunched forward and vomited into the sink, reddish remnants of his dinner mixed with chunky bile and water. In the mess of sick, there were two bright green sproutlings.
He locked himself in the bathroom all day and night, trying to heave out anything he had inside him.

Day 1
The receipt read $62 plus tax.
Their carved faces stared at the lobby door as he got back, all waiting for him. Through the window back in his apartment, they had moved to stared there too.
He took his stomach pill, chewed an antacid, and poured the jug’s liquid into a tall glass.
The bucket in front of him caught most of his sickness the first time, but the second stayed down longer, the third seemed easier still. He had gallons.
Nothing else came up but the herbicide. So Simon tried again and again.

Day 0
The neighbors had called about the smell. His roommate got home and the stench was so thick it was almost visible.
He must have been there for days, or weeks. There was almost nothing left to find, like Simon’s body had melted into a puddle under that blanket of mold. He was an outline on a bed and little more.
Outside, the vines in the flowerbeds flourished.