This is what was keeping me from finishing my Leviathan FanFic, so...yeah. Sorry. I couldn't help it! :D
Seeing as I've got four shorts to write yet (about Simon being shoved out of the closet) I'd really appreciate any prompts-anything's good!
Thank you for trying to read this, please point out anything that doesn't make sense, doesn't fit, etc.
Hope you like it!
The Mortal Instruments F.F. (Simon)
Five ways for Simon To Be Thrust Out of the Closet
The Reason Why Simon Hates Parties
Simon had never really appreciated parties, and the only reason that he had ever gone to clubs was to appease his best friend, Clary. Simon, he, would always prefer a good game of dungeons and dragons or the like—and the fact that his life was beginning to resemble one of his video games just made them all the more amusing.
Tonight, however, he made an exception and promised himself that he would have fun. His mother had planned a surprise party—not for his birthday, not for his sister Rebecca's birthday, not for any discernable reason, which actually made it all the more surprising. He had a feeling that Magnus's memory wiping might have messed with her brain a little more than it was supposed to.
His mother had invited Eric and the rest of the band (this week it was called PanHead- he still didn't know what that meant) as well as Clary and Rebecca, who seemed to be in on the plan.
Simon had taken a bus home, and run the rest of the way. Sometimes, feeling the wind in his hair, the strength in his limbs, he didn't mind being a vampire. Loved it, even.
They were all sitting around the living room, on the sofas, trying to enjoy the refreshments.
"So, Rebecca," said Simon, taking a whack at the palpable awkwardness in the room. "When was your boyfriend supposed to get here?" Rebecca had had a long line of jerks for boyfriends, but this last, at least, seemed to make her really happy. Simon had been starting to think that she just had really bad taste in guys. Still….she was really happy with this guy.
"He should be here in about five minutes or so." She smiled.
"Tell us about him!" Mrs. Lewis enthused.
Rebecca blushed. "Fine. His name is Jonathan—"
Nobody noticed Simon freeze at the name except for Eric, who gave him a funny look. Simon consoled himself with the fact that Jonathan was a very common name. Hell, there were probably hundreds of Jonathans in just a three mile radius of his house.
"—and he's three years younger than her, to boot!" Maria, Rebecca's best friend, cried excitedly, as if it were a huge scandal, "Plus, he's absolutely gorgeous."
Rebecca glared at her. "How about you, Simon?" Every eye at the table turned to him in rapt attention. He grumbled in annoyance. Why had he bothered coming again?
"If you don't tell them, I will." Clary threatened, amused.
Knowing she would make the situation sound much, much worse than it actually was, he said hurriedly; "There are…two girls who asked me out."
Clary snorted. 'Practically right away after Simon and I broke up—"
"What?" Eric exclaimed, eyes bugging, "So you guys were going out after all? And you kept it from me?" He clutched at his chest in mock horror.
Everybody ignored him, but he was not the only one to look surprised.
"—he started going out with not one, but with both of them! He says it's because he can't choose."
"Simon!" Mrs. Lewis reprimanded him, while the other guests stared at him in a range of expressions varying from shocked to amazed to approving.
Eric laughed. "You must be sore, tapping so much—"
"Shut up, Eric!" Simon cut him off before any more could get out. "It's not like that!"
Mrs. Lewis was highly unimpressed, but rather that say anything, she left to answer the door, which had just rung. Rebecca followed close behind.
Simon could hear happy voices coming from the entryway, footsteps, and a moment later they were back, plus one extra person. Jonathan.
He was tall and well built with white blond hair and eyes as black as pitch that Simon saw when the boy turned to say: "Hello, Daylighter," he turned to Clary, "little sister."
Without thinking, Simon was standing, trying to hide his emerging fangs and hold back a snarl. Cary, she, wasn't being so subtle, with a liquid silver dagger in one hand and her stele in the other. Neither averted their eyes from the newcomer.
Rebecca was startled, "Simon? Clary? What are you doing? Where did you get that knife!" She swivelled to look at her grinning boyfriend for answers, beginning to appear frightened.
"Clary, run!" Simon shouted at her. But before she had moved, Jonathan had caught Rebecca's arm in a white-knuckled grip. She yelped and struggled, but Jonathan was stone.
Simon wasn't hiding his fangs anymore.
"Stay the fuck away from my sister, demon." he snarled.
Jonathan laughed, "As if you could hurt me." He tightened his grip on Rebecca, eliciting a scream.
"Jonathan, stop it," whispered Clary.
"If I can't hurt you, why are you taking hostages?" Simon sneered. "You want insurance that I don't kill you—or else you'd just take her and leave. You're scared of me!"
Mrs. Lewis, terrified and shaking, said in a brave voice; "Stop it. Stop it—I won't have this in my house." Luckily she was standing out of view of her son's elongated fangs. "Eric. Go call the police."
"Mrs. Lewis," Clary pleaded, "The police can't do anything." She turned to her brother. "I'll go. Just…don't hurt them."
Simon couldn't believe what he was hearing. Clary was stubborn, she was brave, she was determined, she was kind—she would never give up so easily. But she was also, at the moment, avoiding his eyes, and clutching at the hem of her shirt guiltily.
The boy with the visage of an angel and the soul of a demon smiled beatifically. "Excellent!" he shoved Rebecca into Simon's arms, and reached for Clary. Simon stood unmoving, shocked, but as soon as Jonathan's bloodied hands touched her skin, something in Simon snapped. He lunged at Jonathan, but Jonathan was expecting him. He shoved Simon into the wall, and there was a sudden cold, and then blazing heat in his abdomen that wouldn't go away. Jonathan leaned in close, his voice cutting against Simon ear, "I guess that disproves your theory. I'm not scared of you, you filthy Downworlder."
There was screaming from the guests at the party—his family, his friends. Jonathan left, hauling a struggling, crying Clary on his shoulder-Simon noticed all of this sluggishly, almost apathetically.
Finally he looked down. The hilt of a long sliver dagger protruded from his crying, punctured middle, pinning him to the boring beige wall. "Pull out the knife," he rasped, speckling his mother and his sister, who were hovering distressingly over him, not touching him, with blood. They didn't seem to notice—or care. "Call Luke. Then get the hell away from me," he finished.
His vision was getting a little ragged around the edges.
A/N: *Uhh...he fainted. Just in case that wasn't clear.