Trolling the fanfiction sites today, I noticed that not only was there a startling lack of good Simon-centric fanfiction out there, but there was not, for such an angst ridden fandom, a single story I could find that fell under the kinda-like-Twilight-but-less-creepy-Eternal-Simon-loving-a-Fray-descendant heading. I know, right? So I was messing around and came up with this random scene. If anyone thinks it is worthwhile, i might make a whole big fancy fic out of it. Thoughts?
“Simon!” she called after him. “Simon, wait, please! I can’t run as fast as you!”
He snorted. “I’m not even running, I’m trotting. Its called making an angry exit, and you’re ruining it.”
But he must have slowed his pace a little because she caught up, nearly out of breath from chasing him for half a dozen blocks. “Well you can trot,” she said between gasps for air, “pretty damn quick.”
“Vampire.” he shrugged. “Which I guess makes me public enemy number one to Shadowhunters.”
“Not you.” She put her hand on his arm. “You’re not like the rest of them, you know that.”
“The rest of them?” he shouted in her face. “Are you even listening to yourself, Luce? The rest of them! Like you can lump every single vampire in New York City in to one big, murderous pile…..oh shit, wait, that is exactly what you’re doing!”
“The Clave is doing that, not me, and they have a their reasons.” she countered, breathing more slowly.
“Are you going to stand there and tell me you think that every single last one of the vampires in the city was a part of the massacre, or is it easier just to wipe them all out?”
“is hard, but it is The Law. Blah, blah, blah. Do you think its right? Or can you not think for yourself anymore?”
She took her hand off his arm, her face hardening up. Green eyes flashed at him and for a moment, it was like jumping back a century to see Clary royally pissed that his mother banned her from his bar mitzvah. That made him feel worse, if possible, because it brought back all the doubt and self loathing he had already spent the summer wallowing over. Lucy wasn’t Clary, Clary wasn’t Lucy. If it was fucked up to him that she was Clary’s grandniece, it should be even more fucked up to him that she was related to Luke too. He had to do a thirty-second mental samba reminding himself how different they were. Their voices, their hair, their lips…..
Luce was talking, and he realized he hadn’t been listening. The gist of it seemed to be that if she thought they were right, why had she ran after him, and calling him a lot of choice things he didn’t think she even knew the words to. It was sort of…not even sort of…it was incredibly hot. Instead of being angry, he was suddenly sad. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and take her away to somewhere that they could just be alone together. Without The Clave, without the head vampire, vampire lieutenant, or any other vampire hierarchy. They could watch movies in their underwear and have sex on the furniture. Normal people in love stuff.
Unfortunately, she was a Shadowhunter, of age and newly minted, and he was a vampire, in the general vicinity of the most vicious clan of bloodsuckers since those Romanian guys. So normal people in love stuff was not going to be happening any time soon.