Simon is casually hunched over on the floor when I walk into the living room, and he seems to be scribbling on something rather messily. He gasps when he sees me and immediately puts his hands over it.
“Baz! Don’t look,” he says, and then suddenly he glances around and slides the entire thing (a piece of paper on top of a clipboard) under the couch.
I cock my eyebrow at him and smirk.
“I was working on something and you’re not allowed to look.” He gets up off the floor and settles down on the sofa, just as Bunce walks in with a plate of scones and a bowl of biscuits.
“Ah, Baz, I didn’t realize you were here,” she says, handing the plate of scones to Snow. I sit down on the end of the couch and she sits at the other end, then awkwardly reaches behind Snow and pushes through his ridiculous, folded wings to offer me a biscuit from the bowl. I really don’t want one, but now I can’t refuse after she (literally) went through all of that trouble.
“What were you working on, Snow?” I ask, taking the biscuit and sitting it down on a coaster on the side table.
“I can’ tell ‘ou, Baz,” Snow says, his mouth full of scone. “Is a surprise.”
I roll my eyes, and Bunce giggles.
“As long as it’s not one of those cheesy Valentine’s cards you get from Clintons,” I say.
Snow glares at me, but I can’t take him seriously when there are crumbs falling from his mouth.
“Wha’s wong with cheeshy Valen’ine’sh cardsh fwom Clin’ons?”
“Quite simply,” I say, smiling gently at him, and I reach up to swipe a crumb off of his lip. “They’re lame.”
Snow sarcastically gasps, crumbs falling all around him, and Bunce giggles again.
“Probably because you never got any in school,” Bunce says.
I glare at her through a gap in Snow’s wings. “You probably didn’t get any either,” I say back.
“Fair point,” she says, and stuffs a biscuit into her mouth.
Snow is staring at me when I look away from her.
“You really never got any, Baz?” He asks. “Although, I guess I never saw any in our room.”
I laugh at this. “I would never have kept them even if I did.”
Snow glances over at Bunce, then back at me.
“So neither of you got any valentines cards?”
Bunce seems to be shaking her head. “We weren’t as popular as you, Simon. And I know you got a lot because I remember helping you carry the box of them up to your room in sixth year. You insisted we not use magic.”
“Look, Penny–,” Snow begins, but stops, and I notice through the gap that Bunce is looking at him fiercely.
“Simon!” she says, rather excitedly. “That was the year you got that secret admirer letter, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.”
So did I.
“We never figured out who wrote it.”
Aleister Crowley, this is bad.
Snow is laughing. “We read it so many times.”
Fuck, Snow. Please stop talking.
“At least a dozen!”
You too, Bunce.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, carefully and calmly, although I’ve never felt this much embarrassment. This is one of the few times I thank my vampirism.
Yes, I wrote it. Yes, it was embarrassing. No, no one can ever find out.
“So in sixth year,” Bunce begins, and I know this situation couldn’t get any worse.
“Crowley! I still have it!” Snow shouts, and immediately jumps off the couch and runs to his room.
Bunce is laughing. I was wrong.
“So anyway,” she says. “In sixth year, after Simon made me lug up his ridiculous box of valentines cards, we found a letter attached to the outside of the bedroom door. It was from some mysterious secret admirer, who wrote in perfect cursive, and I had to basically read it to Simon since his cursive skills were atrocious.”
I smirk at this. “Typical Snow.”
Bunce nods and her phone buzzes. She pulls it out of her pocket and casually scrolls through it as she continues. “It was quite cheesy, and we read it so many times. They even quoted Shakespeare and Kierkegaard, which I thought was lovely, but Simon didn’t really seem to get it. He was obsessed with it for some time though, and we assumed at first it was from Agatha–,” I mentally frown at this, “–but she denied it multiple times. So then we made a list of people who could have sent it. Simon even went so far as to ask random people to write in cursive for him. He was obsessed.”
I snort at this. As embarrassed as I am, it’s a rather funny thought to imagine the looks Snow received from people when he asked them to do something so ridiculous.
“So what happened?” I ask. It was really the only question I could come up with that didn’t remotely give me away.
“Simon finally gave up. I mean, I think there was even a line at the end written in French.”
It was Greek.
“I mean, who writes in perfect cursive and just casually quotes Søren Kierkegaard?”
“Are you sure Agatha was just too embarrassed to admit it was her?” I ask.
“Agatha doesn’t give a damn about 19th century philosophers. Or cursive. Or foreign languages. And really, I can’t believe Simon kept that letter all these years. He’s never going to figure it…” Bunce trails off, and I know that I’m doomed. She sets her phone down and slowly turns her head towards me, her eyes gleaming.
I cock an eyebrow at her.
“I found it!” Snow says, waving an envelope around as he plops back down on the sofa. His wings are folded neatly behind him this time, and Bunce is staring straight at me. She mouths the words ‘It was you’, and really, her stare is so intense that I have no way of denying it.
‘Don’t. Say. Anything.’ I mouth back at her.
Bunce smiles maliciously and laughs. Snow looks over at her and shakes his head.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Nothing, Simon. Why don’t I read that letter? Aloud.” Bunce smiles at me.
Fuck you, Bunce.
Snow takes the letter out of the envelope, and it’s so crinkled, like he’s held it countless times.
“Okay, okay,” he says, unfolding it and handing it to her.
Bunce takes the letter, smiles at me again, glances back to the letter, and dramatically clears her throat. But then, she looks back at me.
“Actually,” she says, and I know this can’t be good. “Baz writes in perfect cursive. Why don’t we let him read it?”
I cast a glare at Bunce so fierce, it could set a forest ablaze in seconds. But she deflects it like it’s a useless first-year spell.
Fuck you, Bunce.
Before I can respond, she passes the letter to Snow, who smiles at me. I curse that smile inwardly and take the dreaded paper. I glance it up and down a few times, also cursing my 15-year old self for writing such a horrid piece.
“Our life,” I begin, “always expresses the result of our dominant thoughts. And you, Simon Snow, are at the center of my mind.”
Bunce glances over and cocks an eyebrow, as if mocking me. I ignore her.
“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is wing’d cupid painted blind. And you, Simon Snow, are the center of my world, my universe, and my heart.”
I’m cringing. And Bunce is giggling. But Snow is smiling at me, and Crowley, he looks beautiful.
“Don’t forget the last line,” she says.
“It’s in Greek, by the way,” I say. “Not French.”
Snow smiles even more and turns to me. “Baz! I forgot that you know Greek!”
Thank Crowley for Snow’s obliviousness. Because I was sure anyone else would have realized it at that point.
“Go on, then, Baz,” Bunce says.
I sigh, and stare at the last line for a long time. Not because I’m translating it (because I know it by heart), but because it’s so cringey to read the writing of your 15-year old self.
είσαι το κέντρο των πάντων μου,” I say. My Greek is still flawless. “You are the center of my everything.”
Bunce wrinkles her nose and sticks out her tongue. “Wow,” she says. “It’s even cheesier in English.”
“Shut it, Bunce,” I say, sighing. I begin to hand Simon the letter, and he’s just smiling at me. Crowley.
He takes the letter and stares at it. “Wow,” he says. “It sounds so nice when you read it, Baz.”
“I wonder why,” Bunce says, snickering, and I glare at her again.
“Well, we’ll probably never figure it out,” Snow sighs, folding the letter and carefully placing it back in the envelope.
Bunce pats Snow on the shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure you will soon.” And then, she winks at me. Winks.
Snow gets up and heads back to his room. When he’s out of earshot, Bunce turns to me.
“You will have to tell him sometime,” she whispers.
She was passionate even about her disdain for passions, she sought for a sign even in her refusal of all signs. This being, who wanted to be flexible to all the movements of divine will, would not allow the course of events or the benevolence of her friends to move by one inch the limits of her self-imposed immolation. Detached to the core from her tastes and needs, she was not detached from her own detachment. And the way she would guard her own emptiness revealed a tremendous self-concern. In the great book of the universe she put before her eyes, her self was a word that she perhaps succeeded in erasing, but it remained underlined.
@laymetorest77 requested: Hey there! Would it be too much trouble to request a smutty (as fuck) one-shot of Simon & Negan walking in on the reader masturbating, then it leads to a (possible) 3-some?
Character(s): Negan, Reader, Simon Summary: You have been living in the Sanctuary for two months now and neither men showed any interest towards you. Though, it is a good thing that you’ve got a vivid imagination and after a long day at work, you decide to let out some steam. Word Count: 3,979 Warning: SMUT! LIKE TONS OF SMUT! DIRTY TALK, TOO! Author’s Note: Okay, I’ll take any reason to write more of Negan x Reader x Simon stories. So, thank you @laymetorest77 for requesting this! I hope it was okay, and very very smutty ;-)
Summary: Short on supplies Negan takes a woman instead, while terrified her will finds a way, but that will may need some correction.
Warnings: This is going to be a two parter (at least). This is all set up. Second part will be up tomorrow, but normal warnings (this is a non-con/NSFW/dark blog after all). Part two is going to be…dark/dirty
Numb, or, maybe numbness. Was it even living anymore if you stood by and did nothing? Why was life precious anymore?
“It was light last week. This week you think rope is good enough? When the hell are we ever going to need rope?” Simon pulled his fist back and it collided with Max’s face. Again. “Why are we even bothering protecting you people if you don’t deliver? We should wipe your whole shitty colony out.”
Mylo tried to focus on the ground. She was there the first time the Saviors came and established their dominance. It left her poor friend Robert dead. She didn’t want to see another person die. There were already too many dead in this world.
Summary: Simon treats his lady well, that’s for sure!
Author’s notes: This is for the wonderful @simons-thirst-squad‘s challenge! I had a lot of fun writting this, this is my first time really writing a Simon centered fic so be gentle. It’s fluffy and happy. Enjoy!
Annaleigh had been brought to the Sanctuary when Simon found her walking on the side of the road. She was badly injured, dehydrated and malnourished. She was nothing but skin and bones when she arrived. Simon had taken it upon himself to look after her. He made sure she had a room next to his, made sure she got all the food she needed. He even paid for her meds when she needed them.
Simon wasn’t sure why he decided to go out that night. God knew he had other things he should be doing—the essay he’d been putting off for weeks, a flat that was in desperate need of a good cleaning. But Penny had insisted, and in the end he had given in.
Embers was a nightclub in the heart of London. It was small but always packed with people. Simon wasn’t sure why. It was just like any other nightclub, he supposed. The lighting was dim, broken only by periodic bursts of colored light. Smoke hung thick in the air, permeated by the strobe lights. There was a blood-red marble dance floor and a small stage where the dj seemed to be lost in her own world.
Penny pulled him through the crowd, her hand dug deep in the fabric of his jumper.
“Come on!” she yelled over the music.
“Why do we have to go to the center?” complained Simon. People pulsed around him in waves, and he imagined that that was how it felt—waves crashing against him.
“It’s just what you do, Simon,” said Penny, turning to look back at him just long enough to roll her eyes. Simon decided to take her word for it.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like nightclubs—it wasn’t that at all. He liked certain aspects of them. He liked the unity of strangers all coming together to dance. He liked the music so loud he could feel it in his bones. He even liked the scent of cigarette smoke cocooning him. (He never told Penny this. He knew she wouldn’t understand).
But he didn’t like people tugging at him, trying to dance with him. He didn’t like strangers circling him like he somehow belonged to him. That the music and the dim lighting somehow warranted attention.
He didn’t like that at all.
“Dance with me, Simon!” said Penny as they reached the center of the dance floor. She turned to face him, bobbing energetically to the music. Her purple hair rose and fell as she jumped, and her smile was almost bright enough to cut through the dim lighting.
Simon found himself smiling (really, Penny’s smiles were contagious), and before he knew it, he was dancing as well.
Baz wasn’t sure why he went to this particular nightclub. He had been there before of course—everyone in his year had gone. It was basically a rite of passage. But that didn’t mean he liked it.
True, there were certain things he fancied about Embers. He liked the music, and the smoky lights and feeling like he was part of something. What exactly that that something was, he wasn’t sure. But he liked it nonetheless.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking for when he went to the club that night. He wasn’t sure what he would find.
But then again, he never did.
“You dance like an old man,” said Penny, a laugh bubbling from her throat. She spun like a top.
“I thought you liked the way I danced,” said Simon.
“I do,” said Penny breathlessly. “You dance like an old man in the best possible way.”
“How is that supposed to make me feel?” asked Simon, feigning irritation. “You know it makes me self-conscious—”
His voice caught in his throat when he felt the slightest pressure on his waist. He turned to see a boy there, looking to be about the same age as him.
“Sorry,” he said, taking his hand away. Simon felt like the place he’d been touching had caught flame. “Would you like to dance?”
Simon blinked (rather stupidly, he thought) and glanced over at Penny. She gave him a sideways smile and a shrug before disappearing into the crowd.
Simon turned back to the stranger. He was taller than him, he noticed, by about three inches.
“Uh—yeah,” he stuttered.
Normally he would have declined. He didn’t know why this time was different. A voice, whispering from a far corner of his brain decided to pitch in. It’s because he’s hot, Simon. That’s why.
“Why do you look so confused?” asked the boy. “Has no one ever asked you to dance before?” Simon couldn’t read his expression.
“No. No. Just not—a boy,” said Simon. He felt himself blushing, but miraculously the lights flickered off. He felt rather than saw the stranger stepping closer, placing his hands on Simon’s waist.
“What’s your name?” he asked, bending down to speak into Simon’s ear. Simon shivered.
“Simon,” he said. “You?”
“Baz,” he said.
“Strange name isn’t it?” asked Simon, struggling to keep his sentences coherent. It was difficult—much too difficult—with Baz pressed against him, close enough that Simon could feel the warmth of his skin, could smell the heavy scent of him. He smelled like smoke and musky cologne. It was overwhelming.
“I suppose,” said Baz. One of his hands left Simon’s waist, trailing up to his shoulder and then along his arm. Simon imagined that embers followed Baz’s fingertips. Hell, it felt like it.
Baz’s fingers found his. His hand was curiously cool to the touch, his fingers long and slender.
“Is this okay?” asked Baz.
Simon nodded, blinking quickly.
The music slowed to a dull throbbing pulse, and Baz moved against him, his dancing almost…silky.
What the hell is wrong with you? Simon thought to himself. Someone can’t dance silkily.
However, it was becoming ever-clearer that Baz wasn’t just anyone.
He had never danced with anyone that made him feel like this—like he was drowning in the sensation of them. Like his skin glittered with sparks.
He hadn’t meant for this to happen. Truly, he hadn’t. Usually he danced with strangers. It was…interesting. Almost like an experiment. It never meant anything. It didn’t need to.
He wasn’t even sure what had compelled him to ask Simon to dance. Simon was plain. Nondescript. Christ, he’d come to a nightclub wearing an oversized jumper. But there was something about him. Something that made Baz feel dizzy. Like he was being swept away.
He liked it.
He liked Simon, and he didn’t bother to question why. All that was important now was this—them, moving together as one, their fingers interlaced. Simon’s breath on his neck, raising goosebumps.
The song ended, but Simon didn’t want to step away. It seemed as if Baz didn’t want to either.
“Do you want to go outside?” asked Simon suddenly, without thinking.
Baz blinked. It the dull light his dark eyes seemed to burn.
“I’d love to,” he said.
Baz led the way, and Simon followed. The crowd parted easily around Baz. His presence was a sharp knife—beautiful in a dangerous sort of way, impossible to ignore.
Outside it had begun to sprinkle, the city shrouded in mist. They walked around the side of the building, where a few people milled about, talking or smoking. The pair of them went unnoticed.
“You’re a good dancer,” said Simon. He felt a flush of embarrassment but forced it down.
“Thanks,” said Baz, a smirk occupying his lips. “You’re not too bad yourself.”
“Yeah, well Penny says I dance like an old man,” said Simon. He pulled a hand through his tangled curls and leaned against the wall.
“Penny…your girlfriend?” questioned Baz, raising a single dark eyebrow.
“No. Best friend,” corrected Simon. He realized at that moment that he had completely forgotten about Penny. “I should probably get back to her soon—”
“Well, if you must go, take this,” said Baz. He fished around in his pocket for a moment before retrieving a pen. He took Simon’s hand (gently, so gently) and began to write.
“What’s this?” asked Simon.
“My phone number,” said Baz with a devilish grin. “Text me, yeah?”
“S-sure,” said Simon. Baz took a step backward, then, as if thinking better of it, stepped back and placed a kiss on Simon’s cheek.
Before Simon could even process what had just happened Baz was gone, like a plume of smoke scattered by a gust of wind.
All Simon was left with was a number scrawled on the back of his hand, and the lingering ember of Baz’s kiss lighting his cheek aflame.
BEHOLD: My nearly-finished Simon Jarrett from SOMA cosplay!
I still have some parts to attatch to the air tank, some painting, and sewing up the back of the helmet to do, but besides those things I’m basically done. This is the most complicated cosplay I’ve ever done, and I’m so happy with the overall result. That’s rather surprising, since I couldn’t find any blueprints or any other cosplays to reference from.
I will be Simon Jarrett for MegaCon this weekend on Saturday and Sunday, so if you’re going, come and say hi! :3 Also, happy early Red Nose Day! ^.^
It was quiet in Simon’s bedroom—quiet aside from the steady rhythm of the rain tapping against the window panes. It was dark, nearly pitch black, lit only by the flickering light coming from the candle on Simon’s nightstand.
He had fallen asleep hesitantly. The same nightmares had haunted him relentlessly ever since the Mage’s death, and sleep had become a sort of nightly horror for him. It was so much easier to stay awake until sleep forcibly caught him and dragged him back into its inky depths—the nightmares weren’t as vivid this way. Penny had argued with him about this method after finding him passed out on the kitchen counter, half dressed, scone filling in his hair (he really had no good explanation for that).
“It’s just not healthy, Simon,” she had scolded him, arms crossed firmly over her chest. And Simon had shrugged and promptly changed the subject.
The only thing that really worked was Baz. When Baz slept next to him, Simon slept deeper and longer than he ever had before. It was easy falling asleep with Baz’s arms around him. Simple, even.
Unfortunately, Baz had been out of town for a week visiting with some old rich businessman (he hadn’t really specified the details) and Simon had been plagued by nightmares worse than ever before. He wasn’t due to return until tomorrow night, and frankly, Simon couldn’t wait. He was exhausted.
So now, with the storm picking up outside, and the window panes beginning to shiver dangerously against the wind, Simon tossed and turned fitfully, a thin haze of sleep keeping him under.
“No…” he mumbled, despair heavy in his voice, his eyes moving rapidly beneath his lids. He saw it all with blazing clarity, the Mage dead, sunken and small in his arms. And then the Mage’s eyes flew open, bright red and filled with fury.
You’re a monster and you always will be, he hissed. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.
A crack of lightning split the sky outside, illuminating the interior of the room for a brief second, painting everything in harsh shades of white. Simon woke with a start, tears forming in his eyes before he could process a single thought.
The flight had been a long and tiresome one, with some bratty kid kicking the back of his seat for the last hour. It had been a relief to step out of the claustrophobic space and into the fresh air—even if a storm had formed to greet him. He ducked into a cab quickly, shaking the water out of his dark hair.
As the car sped forward, he couldn’t help but feel a twist of worry. He knew that Simon had been having nightmares, and Baz seemed to be the only one that could cure them. His stomach clenched at the thought of Simon alone in the dark, tired and haunted by images his mind had cruelly procured.
Luckily, he had been able to cut his meeting short and head home early.
Baz arrived at Penny and Simon’s flat just as a crooked streak of lightning split the sky apart, so close that the thunder that followed seemed to shake his very bones.
Quickly, he let himself inside using the key Penny had given him, setting his suitcase down by the door and slipping his shoes off.
Up the stairs, up to Simon…
The sight that met him as he swung the door open was a heart wrenching one. Simon sat in the center of his bed, the comforter pooled around him in a messy tangle. He held his face in his hands, visibly shaking.
With a grace he didn’t know he possessed, Baz slipped off his traveling cloak and let it fall to the floor. He slid under the covers next to Simon, wrapping his arms around him.
Simon looked up with a start.
“Baz?” he whispered, his eyes darting over him, as if he couldn’t believe that Baz was indeed there, nestled beside him. “I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow.”
Baz brushed the hair from Simon’s forehead, kissing his cheek gently. “Trip ended early,” he murmured. “Nightmares?”
Simon nodded, tucking his head under Baz’s chin and breathing in deeply. His eyelids dipped closed.
“Stay,” he mumbled, the word muffled against Baz’s shirt.
“I wouldn’t want to do anything else,” said Baz, holding him tighter.
And for the first time in a week, Simon was able to sleep.
On this day in music history: August 6, 1980 - “Late In The Evening” by Paul Simon is released. Written by Paul Simon, it is the sixteenth solo single for the singer, songwriter and musician from Queens, NY. The latin flavored “Late In The Evening”, is issued as the first single from the soundtrack to his first starring role in the film “One Trick Pony”. The plot (based on both true life experiences and dramatic fictionalization) centers around Simon, portraying a once popular musician on the down side of his career, looking to make a comeback. The song and soundtrack album features instrumental backing by the Jazz/Funk band Stuff. The film and the accompanying soundtrack album actually feature different versions of the same material. “Late In The Evening” features musicians Steve Gadd (drums), Eric Gale, Hiram Bullock (guitars), Tony Levin (bass), Richard Tee (keyboards), Ralph MacDonald (percussion), Michael Brecker, David Sanborn (saxophones), Jon Faddis (flugelhorn), Randy Brecker, Marvin Stamm (trumpets), Patti Austin and Lani Groves (background vocals). “Late In The Evening” peaks at #6 on the Billboard Hot 100 on September 27, 1980, and also receiving a Grammy Nomination for Best Pop Vocal Performance, Male in 1981.
response to the events in Charlottesville last weekend and subsequent
commentary, I’m reposting my NOH8 photo by Adam Bouska, and today I made
donations to the Simon Wiesenthal Center and the Southern Poverty Law
Center. We must do what we can to combat hate and intolerance wherever
Have a great weekend all! I’m off to my brother’s house in S Illinois to view Monday’s eclipse in the path of totality! 😎🖖 Dr. Dave