#ghost simon

And I also love mutated fish Simon (because of the radiation poisoning among the many other afflictions my man has—).

But now that I know that the tree is like a THING, I’d very much appreciate seeing—(damn do I need to do this myself)

Tree person Simon! I’d love to see Tree-Person Mutated Simon! He was of Eden—where their bodies became the soil??? Has no one popularized Tree Simon yet! Dryad adjacent Simon? (I know that he’s not Greek… is there a Korean equivalent? Lemme see here… I dunno if there’s a specific naming convention in Korean Shamanism, but Tree Simon!)

You see glimpses of it, glimpses of the shadow haunting you. It's never a direct glance, only existing in your peripheral. Movement in the corner of your eyes, a shadow lingering at the edge of the doorframe, a smudge on your reality.

You called a priest, a medium, and a psychologist. The first two agreed something was here, but it remained unresponsive to any attempt at banishment or contact. If it wasn't malevolent, nothing to do except move if it was really bothering you. (could be a guardian angel or a positive spirit they had said, nodding their heads and taking their incense and sage out the door).

The psychologist thinks you would benefit from medication (which could be true in a lot of cases, but you know something's here. You know it. You're not crazy.)

While these glimpses were pulling at your nerves, there's no way in hell you're moving over them. So you live with it. You make your peace and live with it.

And then it gets worse.

His heart ached desperately, although he wasn't sure how that worked. The nausea was most unwelcome too, gripping at his stomach much like it had shortly before his death. The whole thing played over and over; finding the pilot's body, being sick, immediately going to find the others to tell them, and then his untimely death. Simon had screamed and tried to make them listen. It had fallen on deaf, frantic ears.

Or so Simon had thought.

Much easier to believe they hadn't heard him over their own shouts, and cries. Simon never was very good at raising his voice to be heard. His own fault that should do him in in the end.

But Bill had heard him, and if Bill had heard him then who else had heard him? Had they killed him anyway? Surely- surely not. Not Ralph. Not Jack. Jack knew him better than anyone- surely he knew his voice even if he hadn't recognised him in the dark. Gosh, had any of them even noticed he'd disappeared in the first place?

A dry sob escaped Simon's throat, fists balling beneath him as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. The faces of his killers, the angry shouts, it all came back to swallow him whole and Simon temporarily forgot how to deal with that. Simon forgave, he always forgave, who was he to judge? He wasn't God. It wasn't his place.

But they had heard him.

Another dry sob wracked his body as Simon tried desperately to find a reason, find sense in what he now knew. What a waste of a life. What a mess. The injustice of it had finally caught up with him. He couldn't decide what was worse - Ralph and Piggy's betrayal, or that of the boys he'd known for so long, had attended classes with, had sung with, had praised God with. Simon might have been quiet, he might have been intimidated at times, but he still had considered them friends even when they considered him weak. Even on this island, hadn't Jack cared enough to feed him? Hadn't he let him build shelters with Ralph rather than drag him hunting with the others? Hadn't Jack cared?

The red hot stab of betrayal hurt far more than any jagged spear could.

Tears finally spilled over, the ghost's incorporeal body shaking violently with broken sobs. He tried desperately to dig his hands into the sand, to ground himself, but his hands felt nothing but rock solid ground, only adding to his distress. He cried loudly into his arms, not considering anyone could ever hear him.

How could they? So wrapped up in an imaginary beast- and so quickly having forgotten Simon, the child they'd killed in this very spot. Bitterness swelled in his chest, threatening to devour him from the inside out. His wails had been ignored that night, why shouldn't they be ignored now?

His breathing came in short and fast, a powerful volley of emotions stabbing into him taking his mind instead of body this time. After almost an hour, he fell onto his side, exhausted, eventually forcing himself to roll onto his back. There he stayed until sunrise, trying not to blink for fear of seeing his own death over and over again.

It wasn't an accident.

Your paranoia gets worse. Pipes creaking and reflections in windows make you jump. 

You’re ashamed to admit the amount of times you think you see Simon, only to be met with dark corners. Your new house, once a blessing for the amount of rooms and space, has become a place you do not recognize. Your home is not safe anymore. 

Despite not seeing Simon since the attic, the prickling sensation of being watched never leaves you. You feel eyes on you at all times now. Never alone. 

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Simon Snow & Related Fandoms Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow Characters: Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Penelope Bunce, Agatha Wellbelove, Shepard (Simon Snow), Lamb (Simon Snow) Additional Tags: Tragedy, slight awtwb spoilers, serious angst fest, Angst, suicide is mentioned but no one does it, Revenge fic Summary:

What if the fight in the desert had gone a different way?

What if not everyone had survived?

What if people had to throw out everything they believed, everything they thought they were, and everything they dreamed of to survive?

What if there was a way to undo the damage?

Baz has to deal with the fact that he survived the attack in the desert, but Simon did not. What's worse, he's now Lamb's captive. He doesn't care what happens to him as long as he can get his revenge...until the unexpected happens.

After all, just because mages are banned in Vegas doesn't mean that magic ISN'T.

He reaches for my hands, but his pass right through mine. He’s shaking his head. I think he is crying. Can ghosts cry? He is motioning to the door, then trying to grab my hands again. I open my palms for him. He nods and lays his hands flat on mine. I can feel them. Just a tickle. A prick of energy between nerves. I try to curl my fingers around his hands. But I clasp at nothing.