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firstpersonnarrator · 1 year

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All gifs by @salvador-daley

I finally have enough content to warrant a masterlist. I feel real now.

Ded & Gonne: @ded-and-gonne A tua fanfic starring Klaus Hargreeves, the Bens, and a building. Looking for gen fic? Dead & Gonne is the one for you. Latest Post: Chapter 5: A mazement

Simon x Billy: @simon-x-billy We’re going to Italy, which is a sexy country. Stars 2 boys you don’t need to recognize to love. lgbtqia+ m|m Looking for NSFW? Simon x Billy is for you. Currently participating in @yearoftheotpevent . Latest Post: Chapter 7: This is the beginning (New!) Year of the OTP: July

Ded & Gonne

All Ded & Gonne works are genfic without exception.

TWs: Klaus only dies if he really needs to. I have no plans to kill Bens.

Chapter 1: Mean Ben

Chapter 2: Got Ghosts?

Chapter 3: Klaus and Benny sittin in a tree, but strictly fraternaturally

Chapter 4: You, Klaus. You saved the world.

Chapter 5: The Eventuality of Evil loop

Chapter 6: The Evil Lair

Ded & Gonne was originally born for tua Masked Author 2022.

Devil’s Night

Don’t feel like catching up on D&G from the beginning? This is a great place to dive in.

Halloween miniseries with major plot developments for D&G

Chapter 7: Devil’s Night Part 1: Afraid of the Dark

Chapter 8: Devil’s Night Part 2: The descent

Chapter 9: Devil’s Night Part 3: The sub-sub-basement

Chapter 10: Devil’s Night Part 4: Somebody’s in the garden

Chapter 11: Devil’s Night Part 5: A mazement

Chapter 12: Devil’s Night Part 6: WIP!

The Devil’s Night miniseries was originally born for Sheehalloween 2022

header by @circumstellars

Simon x Billy

Simon x Billy is NSFW beginning at Chapter 8.

Brokenhearted boy from Brooklyn on depressing vacation to Italian Riviera meets Irish lad with secret past. TW: m|m first-time.

Purple Demon smut ranking, because they’re horny little devils.

Chapter 1: Where’s Giuseppe WTF?

Chapter 2: The European Plug Situation

Chapter 3: My red stripe of pain

Chapter 4: You’re too pretty, go’way

Chapter 5: Are you alive?

Chapter 6: You look good. What happened?

Chapter 7: Where’s the helipad

Chapter 7.5: She’s formidable

Chapter 8: This is the beginning 😈 very, very tame

Chapter 9: So that happened 😈 very, very tame

Chapter 10: Let the slings and arrows commence

Chapter 11: Whatever you say, Ma

Chapter 12: Attack of the tiny flying human 😈 half a demon

Chapter 13: wip!

Begun for Sheehanksgiving 2021 || Chapter 12 begins submissions for the Year of OTP 2023 event

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seanfalco · 2 years

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LUBA + SEX TOYS.

† word count: 556 † tags/warnings: luba x f!reader, sex toys, overstimulation, bondage, multiple orgasms, squirting, slight degradation, little slut used as a pet name † a/n: just a short one today, but it’s extra smutty to make up for it ;p

[ kinktober masterlist ]

“Squirming will do you no good, liebchen,” Luba taunted, a haughty note to his voice as he tilted his head to watch you, not letting the vibrating wand in his hand leave your cunt.

“Luba, please,” you whined, entreating him with your eyes. Your muscles were beginning to tire and you’d lost count of how many times he’d made you cum already.

“Please what, liebling?” he asked, grinning wickedly, watching you strain against the restraints that left you helpless, unable to escape or close your legs. There was a hunger in his lidded gaze, a sadistic glint to his eyes that made you shiver—in fear or excitement—you didn’t know which.

“I d-don’t know how much more I can take,” you whimpered, the sheets beneath you sticking to the sheen of sweat that covered your body.

“You know what you have to do to make me stop, y/n,” Luba reminded you, his low voice turning husky. “But obviously you want more or you would’ve used your safe word, little slut,” he purred delightedly, clearly enjoying the power he held over you and you shuddered at his words, another orgasm threatening to overtake you.

“You like it when I call you that?” Luba asked, noticing your reaction. “Are you my little slut, liebchen? Are you a good little girl, hmm?”

“I-I am, you know I am!” you cried, tensing as another orgasm ripped through you, stronger than the last, leaving your lashes damp with unshed tears and your muscles cramping, but before you could relax, Luba switched the vibrator’s setting, turning it up higher as he pressed the head harder against you, forcing another orgasm on the heels of your last.

This time your mind went blank as you arched off the bed in a desperate attempt to escape the almost painful amount of pleasure that coursed through you, a high pitched cry ripping from your throat. Before you knew what was happening, you felt your muscles completely let go, and unable to stop it, a stream of liquid shot from you, saturating the sheet beneath you and surrounding you with warmth.

Finally, Luba shut off the toy and let you come down, your eyelids fluttering open. “Did I…?” you began, feeling your cheeks heat with embarrassment at the mess you’d made.

“I knew I could get you to squirt,” Luba exclaimed, his voice pleased as he deftly unbuckled the worn leather cuffs at your wrists and ankles, carefully massaging them with his skilled hand and placing a chaste kiss to each before lifting your limp body in his arms.

“But what about the mess?” you asked wearily, eyeing the ruined bedding as he carried you toward the bathroom.

“Don’t you worry about that, my dirty little thing. I’ll clean up and put fresh sheets down once you’re in the bath,” he drawled lightly.

You merely hummed in reply, too exhausted to respond much lest barely able to hold your head up. “You better not leave me all alone in here for long,” you pouted as he set you down to turn on the water and get it up to temperature.

“I won’t schnucki, I promise,” Luba assured you, stroking your cheek fondly. “You were so good for me, my liebchen,” he praised, and despite your exhaustion, you felt rather pleased with yourself at his sweet words.

“Next time let’s see if you can last even longer.”

taglist: @super-unpredictable98 @salvador-daley @firstpersonnarrator @vonkimmeren @love-is-dirty-baby

#luba (mute)#luba x reader #robert sheehan character fic #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #joz.fic

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super-unpredictable98 · 2 years

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High On a Feeling

Pairing: Nathan x Lydia (OC - Hard Candy’ verse)

Word Count: 650

Warning: Strong language, sexual content

(Masterlist)

"Oh, I thought you left for work," Nathan looked my way as I opened the rooftop door.

"The only student I had today has the flu, so I decided to stick around."

I sat across from him on the bench, our legs intertwined in the middle. He smiled at me, not one of his smug ones or a smirk, a genuine smile.

"Lucky me," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a joint. "Do you mind?"

"No, go ahead," I twisted the purple ends of my hair between my fingers.

Nathan delicately took the joint between his lips and lit it up with his Irish flag lighter. I watched him closely, not even blinking as he took a huge drag.

"What? Why d'you have your horny face on?" He blew the smoke with a laugh.

"I don't have a bloody horny face!" I looked away.

"Go on thinkin' that... I know all your tells, Lollipop."

"What are they then?"

"I'm not gonna tell you, if I do, you'll be mindful of them and stop."

"I hate you!"

"You might, but I just made you horny, I see that as a win."

Nathan took a swig of his beer and handed it to me. I did the same, without taking my eyes from his adam's apple, bobbing softly as he swallowed, bringing the cigarette back to his lips for another drag.

"See? You're doin' it again," he giggled.

"What? What could I possibly have done?"

"Oh, you want me so bad..."

"You know what you are?"

"A cocky bastard?" He imitated my accent.

"Good thing you know it," I folded my arms.

"So, you wouldn't want me to shotgun you, right? Why would y'want a cocky bastard to-"

"I do," I nearly whispered.

"What was that?" He smirked.

"I do!"

"Such a little tart..." Nate pulled me closer.

Nathan gently placed his fingers under my chin lifting my head slightly, his piercing gaze burning my soul, mischief dancing in his eyes as he inhaled the smoke, accentuating his beautiful cheekbones.

I parted my lips as he leaned in, our skin brushing with a feather-like touch as he exhaled a dense stream of smoke into my mouth.

"You're leading me astray, you know that? I had never done drugs until you took me on the wrong path."

"By the looks of it, y'like bein' led astray," his fingers quickly found my hard nipples under the shirt.

"You're so lucky my parents are in the future, they would never let you get near their little girl," I lied, my dad wouldn't mind a bit, and my mum is like a dog who barks a lot but doesn't bite anyone.

"I'd find a way," Nathan smirked. "Throw pebbles at your window and climb t'your room in the middle of the night..."

"And then what?" I twisted one of his curls with my fingers.

"And then I'd shag you while your parents are asleep."

"Cover my mouth so I don't wake them up?"

"Exactly," he didn't bother turning his face to blow the smoke this time.

"My brother stays up pretty late and he's a very light sleeper, that might be a problem," I narrowed my eyes playfully.

"Is he bigger than me?" Nate cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, you can say so," I chuckled. "He's an athlete."

"Well, I can always find a way! I'd shag you no matter what."

As he took another drink of his beer I once again carefully watched, when he passed me the bottle it took me a second to grab it, since I was hypnotized by his every move.

"Drink it," I handed him the bottle back once I had the chance to sip some more.

"Why?" He asked, way too amused by the situation.

"Just do it..." I propped myself on my elbows. "I like to watch you."

"Alright, alright," he laughed. "You really are a pervert."

"Fine then, I guess I'm going home since you don't wanna-"

"No! C'mon, let's get inside, Lollipop," Nathan took one last drag. "I happen t'love perverts."

Tag List: @seanfalco @firstpersonnarrator @salvador-daley

#misfits fanfic #misfits #misfits imagine #misfits nathan #nathan young x oc #nathan young #fanfic #one shot

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simon-x-billy · 2 years

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Photo by me

Simon x Billy

Chapter 11: Whatever you say, Ma

AN: Just a teeny little drabble to enjoy while we wait for chapter 12. Photo: @firstpersonnarrator

While Billy is sleeping off his drowned sorrows in his time zone, Simon has time traveled back 6 hours, to Brooklyn. He gets to live the same 6 hours twice. That’s just how it works. So sci-fi.

He has been summoned (peer pressured) back to Brooklyn by his agent for a terribly important meeting requiring a suit. That’s all he knows about it: Wear a suit. Done. He’s wearing a suit. He’s never even seen Johnny in a suit, let alone wearing one with him.

It’s this morning all over again, and Simon is rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It’s official, Italians do coffee better.

——-/-/——-

Masterlist | Start: Ch 1 | Prev: Ch 10 | Next: Ch 12 | Read it on ao3

——-/-/——-

Chapter 11: Whatever you say, Ma

——-/Simon/——-

“Simon, I don’t like that Johnny.”

“I know, Ma.”

“He looks like a sheister, that boy. He does not have a trustworthy face. No. He does not.”

“I know, Ma.”

“Well if you know, Simon, why don’t you go find a more trustworthy-looking agent?”

“Ok, Ma. Where are the Eggos?”

“Why am I stocking Eggos when you’re not living here anymore? Pish. Go stock ‘em for yourself over at that schmancy apartment of yours.”

“Ok, Ma. You’re right.”

She’s turned her ‘you don’t have a trustworthy face’ face on me.

“What, Ma. What? Please stop giving me the stink eye. It’s scary looking and definitely unfriendly.”

“You want I should be your friend now.”

I search madly for the right answer to that question.

“You want I should go to Katz’s? Yonah Schimmel? No! Wait! Ma, I will buy you an island if you make your matzoh ball soup.”

I am a genius.

That should keep her busy for well over 24 hours. It takes time to boil a chicken down to nothing but golden goodness. As Grandma used to say, ‘It took a day to build Rome, it takes more than that to make chicken soup.’

That should keep her happy and friendly for at least as many days as the soup lasts, and then some. And it’ll give me some fat to run off. Sometimes I don’t eat enough to sate the running addiction. It is what it is.

From the kitchen I hear Ma shout, “But I do like his red hair!”

#matzoh ball soup #ambrosia from heaven #you want i should go to katz’s?#chapter 11 #whatever you say ma #simon x billy #simon’s mom #Ma #simon lewis #the mortal instruments #tmi #tmi fandom #location brooklyn #location katz’s #simon is simon

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salvador-daley · 2 years

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Chained ✨UPDATED✨

A Klaus Hargreeves murder mystery

A/N: Sorry for the late update, murder fans. I suffered a very painful back injury a few weeks ago and have been too drugged up to write anything. The good news is A LOT happens in this chapter so hopefully it will have been worth the wait. Stay tuned, my lovelies. And don't forget to leave your thoughts and theories in the comments! 😘😘

CW: Naughty words, sex and drug references, adult themes and murdery stuff. Read the tags, pals.

Snippet from Chapter 21:

He’s wet. Surrounded by shards of pottery and cut flowers. The bitch must have hit him over the head with a vase.

“Don’t move! Don’t move a fucking muscle or I swear to God I’ll smash your head in.”

The irony of this sentence is not lost on him. Figuring he’s mincemeat either way, Klaus tries to find his feet, but is forced back down to the floor by the need to duck as the bat swings in his direction again, the displaced air whooshing just centimetres over his head.

The screeching continues, becoming louder and less coherent. “I’ll do it! I’ll fucking bash your brains against the wall! I’ll fucking do it!”

“Could you please stop screaming? My head is killing me,” he groans.

She swings again. This time she gets him on the kneecap. “Take that, you fucking creep!”

Klaus yelps and grabs his knee as the pain explodes inside it. Now it’s a case of self-preservation. If he stays on the floor, this girl is going to pulverise him like a steak. He waits for her to swing again and dives out the way, causing her to overbalance and take out a bedside lamp instead. Fragments of porcelain and lightbulb spin in every direction.

He hobbles to his feet and holds his hands out as if trying to tame a wild bear. “Just calm down for a second, okay?”

But she won’t calm down, she can’t. Some reptilian fight or flight reaction has taken over her brain and chosen the former. With an animal roar she raises the bat overhead and brings it down in the direction of Klaus’ skull. He leaps out of the way and the bat slams through a full-length mirror, sending reflective shrapnel across the room.

Klaus’ frustration is getting the better of him. It’s impossible to reason with someone when they are this hysterical. “Would you please stop? I can explain!”

Mona swings again but this time he reaches out and catches the bat, tugging it loose from her grip. As he suspected, she isn’t a baseball player. He turns it, pointing it at her like a rapier, forcing her to shuffle back against the dresser.

“Hey, crazy lady! I told you to stop hitting me!”

Read the rest on AO3

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Tagging: @badsext @softforklave @anglophile-rin @neist @santacarlahorrorshow @maerenee930 @firstpersonnarrator @theanxioushobbit @allisoooon @cemeteryklaus @super-unpredictable98 @elliethesuperfruitlover @pickledbeefwastaken @love-is-dirty-baby @rina-cydonia @inspiremeandsetmefree @jender123 @vonkimmeren @narnianaos @sylvertyger @hucklebunny @shaneen828 @spideyxalmighty @faceache111 @rob-private @pietro-t1me @seanfalco

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robertsheehanownsmyass · 3 years

Note

Would you consider an imagine in which we learn where Luba went after he realized he needed to disappear? Preferably someplace terribly sexy, meeting someone terribly sexy, who eventually loves him for real.

I decided to poke my head up out of semi-retirement to write this wee drabble of pure sappy fluff. It is a lovely idea, isn't it, to see Luba settled somewhere, safe and happy? @firstpersonnarrator thanks so much for your interest in my writing, and you can find my main masterlist here.

Schneeperle

Luba x Fem!Reader (third person) Words: 377 Warnings: none

Luba swiped a hand across frosted glass and sighed as he watched the heavy falling snow. Not long ago, there may have been a time when the concept of being snowed in would have alarmed him and made him feel trapped, but tonight, he only gazed contentedly through the window.

Arms snaked around his torso, buffered by his soft jumper, and YN planted a soft kiss on the side of his neck. Luba smiled, and turned his head toward his companion. “Liebling,” he said softly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

She chuckled softly before moving to stand beside Luba.

“A giraffe could have come in and you wouldn’t have noticed. You’re lost in your thoughts.”

Luba couldn’t help but grin. “You do know me well.”

“What is it?” his lover asked. “Are you thinking of... before?”

Luba thought for a moment. “Yes and no,” he replied carefully. “Right after I fled Germany, I had horrible nightmares. I was haunted by the images of what I lost; I feared for my life and thought that people would come kill me. But…” he broke off, thinking.

“What is it?” she prompted gently.

“I’m not afraid anymore, nor sad really. I simply…remember.”

He turned his head to face his companion and placed his palms gently on either side of her face. “You’ve ignited a spark in me that I thought could never awaken. You’ve brought the light back to my life. It has helped push away the shadows; helped me remember joy. Thank you, liebling.”

YN smiled as her heart swelled with happiness. “Thank you for finding me and letting me in to your heart. We’re on this journey together now.”

Luba’s warm answering smile melted into an expression of adoration as he looked upon the face of his love. He bent his head and kissed her simply before breaking away and folding her into a warm embrace.

He had gotten away. He had been through hell and back and had managed to escape with his life and sanity barely intact, but nevertheless, he survived. As he stood with his love safe and warm from the falling snow, he knew that possibly for the first time in his tragic life he could finally be happy.

#robert sheehan character fic #mute fic #luba x reader #robert sheehan drabble #fluffy luba

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salvador-daley · 2 years

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Chained

A Klaus Hargreeves story

✨NEW CHAPTERS✨

A/N: I’m so excited to share Chapter 20: Vase because this one contains a huge reveal and a big surprise. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this one so far, especially @allisoooon who has put up with my constant late night screengrabbing. Enjoy, peeps! 😘😘

CW: Rated M for Murder, plus drug refs, implied sexy times and naughty words

SNIPPET: Despite her complaints, Sam had eventually pulled on Klaus’ tattered jeans and old band T-shirt, which both fit her like a glove. With her gangly limbs, short, dark hair and kohl-lined eyes, the overall effect had been quite uncanny. In return, she’d passed him a sweater that possessed so many holes it was practically obscene.

“I bought it like that. It’s distressed,” she’d said, noting his reaction.

“You’re telling me,” he’d replied, shrugging it on. The thing was more holes than garment - essentially some thin strings of yarn knotted together and held in place with good intentions. On Sam, it was daring and sexy. On Klaus, less so.

“You look like a haunted scarecrow,” Ben had quipped. Klaus had hissed into the air in response and Sam had given him a questioning look.

Once the exchange was made, all he needed then was to create a distraction.

She’d grumbled at first, but Sam had agreed to take the trash out to the dumpster using the front door, making sure Officer Chinless could see her from across the street, while Klaus snuck out via the service entrance in the cellar. It was chilly, so he had taken his coat, tucking it under his arm until he knew he was safe to slip it on.

A quick bowel-loosening bus journey later and he was outside Gary’s townhouse, adjusting his balls.

“This is a bad idea.” says Ben, shaking his head on the approach.

“Look, you heard Diego,” Klaus says, slipping past the wrought-iron gate. “We need evidence and this is the only way we’re going to get it.”

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salvador-daley · 2 years

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Chained NEW CHAPTERS

A Klaus Hargreeves story

A/N: Sorry for the delayed update. I desperately wanted to finish Medium before carrying on with this one so I could get properly stuck into it. Hopefully I should be able to update more frequently now that bad boy is out of the way. Thanks for sticking with it, there’s still loads more story to tell and I can’t wait to share it. 😘😘

CW: Murder, violence, gore, drug/alcohol abuse and oooooooh mystery. Read the tags, peeps.

Snippet: “When we were cleaning up, I just assumed one of the glasses was for you. Coz, you know…” He gestures at Ben.

Because Klaus always pours one for Ben. Number Six nods and motions for Klaus to carry on.

“But I didn’t pour the shots, Gary did.”

“You remembered something?”

Klaus is still rooting around inside the bag of evidence, searching for something just out of reach. He seems determined, almost manic.

“Bits just kept coming back to me. Little fragments.”

Finally, he finds what he was looking for and looks up at Ben with a “Ha!” He pulls a single heavy shot glass out of the bag and places it on top of his locker.

“He poured one for me.” He pulls out another shot glass. He puts it next to the first one. “One for himself.” He pulls out a third glass, which he holds up to the light. “And one for someone else.”

Klaus rotates the glass in his hand and that’s when Ben sees what he’s seeing. A mark, distinctive in shape and colour. The imprint of purple-painted lips, in a deep plum shade.

“And I think I know who,” Klaus finishes.

READ THE REST ON AO3

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If you’re enjoying this story, a little reblog would mean so much to me. 😘😘

Taglist: @pickledbeefwastaken @m0onlitmadness @blog-kyku-us @super-unpredictable98 @love-is-dirty-baby @clumsyramen @maerenee930 @simplymesam99 @rina-cydonia @elliethesuperfruitlover @nostalgiawings @p0tat0nug @21stcenturywitchcraft @ssanjuniperoo @motherofanimals @archivemysins @faceache111 @lezzy-4 @firstpersonnarrator @inspiremeandsetmefree @sands7 @sagee-cas @granddeaneaglesports @hanatashii @one-dizzydreamer @itscarolsainz @septicrebel @zombiedixon89 @danyellscarlet @amanda-hotchner @spaceclone-mom @readersinflammation @spiderxalmighty @jender123 @juicyj28 @shaneen828 @vonkimmeren @notabotiswear @demons-dogs-and-puns @sab-falco @rainysuitcaseprunegiant @jackie-me-and-this-lady @narnianaos @bicuriouscocoa @badsext

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salvador-daley · 2 years

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Medium (Part 6)

A Klaus Hargreeves story

A/N: Five and a half months after starting this bad boy I can finally say it’s here: THE FINAL CHAPTER. I had wanted to complete it much sooner, but life (and Covid) got in the way. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with it for so long and thank you to @badsext and @allisoooon for your help and support with this last instalment.

CW: Drug use/abuse, violence and naughty words. Not one for the emetophobics.

SNIPPET: “If the mob wants to break my legs, they can be my guest. There will always be other marks, Jake. You didn’t need her money. Gary was right, nothing is ever enough for you.”

If Jake was angry before, the mention of his father seems to strike a raw nerve. One of the veins around his temples begins to bulge with purple blood, his eyes glow with an electric arc of pure lunatic rage.

Now Klaus can feel those invisible fingers wrapping around his throat again, only this time they are joined by two invisible hands lifting him off the floor by the shoulders, pinning him to the wall behind him. His feet dangle uselessly beneath him. Two invisible cuffs grip his wrists by his sides. There is no question about it this time; this is no asthma attack.

Jake’s face comes in close and hot. Klaus can feel his double’s breath on his jaw as the words leave him with a low growl. “You have no idea who you’re fucking with, Hargreeves. You think you can mess with me? That I’ll just lie back and let you ruin everything I’ve worked for?”

Once again, the air is being squeezed from Klaus’ lungs, his blood pounding inside his eye sockets. It won’t be long now, he can already feel the panic rising, his brain blaring with emergency sirens. The black tunnel begins to close in around his vision, getting smaller, shrinking the world until only a pinprick of light remains. Soon unconsciousness will descend and it will all be over. Soon he will forget and sink and be swallowed up by the dark.

In the final seconds before he passes out, he manages to squeak out a single last word, a different word this time: “ …Wit…ness…es.”

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simon-x-billy · 2 years

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Simon x Billy

Chapter One: Where’s Giuseppe WTF?

Fandoms: The Mortal Instruments universe and all books by Cassandra Clare | the BBC’s Me & Mrs. Jones | Robert Sheehan

T/W: Bad language, and a really bad sense of humor. And just in case you really don’t like it, Italy. Voldemort is not Clary. Clary would never move to the Upper West Side.

AN: The year is 2015. Most importantly, the only thing original about this story is Italy and the photos I took there. I’ve stolen liberally from Cassandra Clare, TJKlune, and all m|m authors I’ve ever read. I’m using every m|m trope I can. Please tell me if: A. Something sounds a little too familiar. B. You’d like to be on a tag list for future chapters. I respond from @firstpersonnarrator

Chapter 1: Where’s Giuseppe WTF?

-----/Simon/-----

The train ran on time. And the Red Sea parted. Two impossibilities amounting to miracles.

So yeah, sure, I’d done some prepping for the trip. I refuse to reveal my sources as they are completely mortifying. OK fine, it wasn’t even an app. It was a book. With pictures in it. More specifically, the one my parents used when they planned their trip to the Amalfi Coast.

I used it to plan Our Trip. The one that became My Trip. Flying solo. In so, so many ways.

Believe me, and you need to trust me on this one: Never propose to a girl you met in costume. And if you did and it turned out great, shut up. And mazel tov. May all your children have bar and bat mitzvahs with a good dj. And puppies.

Just remember, your first impression of her is while she’s cosplaying someone else. You might find you’re falling for a personality that isn’t really her on the inside. The whole thing is exhausting. Because my beautiful but cruel shiki found somebody else to cosplay with.

She revealed this shortly after breaking up with me.

No, Simon. I do not choose you. No, Simon. I never choose you. Said every girl ever.

She gave me lots of reasons why. Constructive observations for my next relationship, she said. So at least I had something to think about on the plane to Naples that made me feel really good about myself. For 22 hours including two layovers and a bonus train ride from the airport to downtown Naples. (Trust me, just fly into Rome. Why didn’t it occur to me to fly into Rome?)

I once read a book where the most flamboyant, exciting character said something of extreme poetry and wisdom. (Because poetry and wisdom can both be extreme. Whatever.) It went a little something like this: “Unsolicited advice is just criticism.” Ok fine, I’ve read it more like 25-30 times. Alright look, I can’t be coy, I wrote it. And 25-30 is how many revisions my editor tried to convince me to take it out. (I won.)

What can I say, I love stories that stretch out over like 20 books in a series. You get to stay with the characters you love until you finally stop re-starting the series the minute you close the last page of the last book. Again.

I think I’d be a vampire irl. And I have thought a lot about it. I mean a lot of thinking on this topic. And you can’t convince me that fairies and werewolves are even in the running for best paranormal destiny.

I love stories where choosing to be a vampire is one of the safer bets. Because you’re already dead.

Don’t start. I’ve fought table top duels over this and I refuse to go over that ground again. Take my word for it. You want to be a vamp.

She was a vamp. I was a vamp. (D, because who else?) We thought we were made for each other. Until she didn’t. Think that anymore. I guess she’d been not-thinking that anymore for months and months. And here I am, presenting her with a trip to Italy where I was going to propose. I had it all planned out. I mean I had it all planned out. Because that’s how I roll. (A 20-sided die, obviously.) Ugh. So when she says she doesn’t want to leave the city, I’m like, “But it’s Italy! And me!”

Turns out the trip wasn’t the only thing she didn’t want.

Turns out she was also being quite literal about not leaving the city. And so, like the heartless traitor she is, she abandoned Brooklyn for the Upper West Side and a yoga instructor with a man bun and half a million followers on Twitter.

Half a million? What even is that? I mean, I get 100 followers -- wow, friend, you are on fire! I get a million followers -- wow, somewhat famous person, you are on fire! But, like, what’s halfway between the two?

So the “hot yoga instructor” -- her words, not mine -- is a person that exists. I told her that she didn’t have to be mean about another, hotter guy. And you know what’s coming next. You totally do.

The hot yoga instructor is an instructor of hot yoga.

But since I mentioned it, she laughed and said he is also a hot instructor, of yoga.

Thanks. I don’t feel angry tears at all when I think about that.

Anyways, I was talking about trains in Italy running on time, which is like absolute and unrepentant dad humor. And somehow I eventually land on vamps. Welcome to the brain of Simon Lewis, enjoy your stay.

Oh my god. There’s a McDonalds here. It’s like a crime against Italian humanity. “That should be illegal,” I announce to no one in particular. Followed by “Shut up, Lewis, that guy over there is staring.” And yes, I do use my last name when I scold myself out loud in public. Because people find that attractive and charismatic.

So the train in Italy running on time is actually my problem. “My driver” isn’t due for another 30 minutes. Which means I get to spend an additional 30 minutes enjoying my own company some more. And also avoiding talking to any strangers. Which is particularly difficult in the Naples train station. And even more unlikely when you’re standing in the same spot forever and ever.

I’m full of my mother’s dire predictions of criminal young people offering their services to help you find your way around the train station. And when that fails, they’re supposed to start begging for money. And when that fails, Oliver and the Artful Dodger pick your pocket. So put your money and your passport down the back of your underwear or something equally unworkable when you’re dealing with Customs.

That little gem was actually written in the margins of the travel book. By my mother. So I wouldn’t forget to keep it in my pants. “Simon, don’t forget about the criminal young people. Keep it all in your underpants.”

So standing here looking like I’m waiting (and waiting and waiting), I’m an easy target. But as my t-shirt says, I’m from Brooklyn. We do not pay people to tell us where we are and which line to stand in. It’s a matter of pride. Unbelievable.

Being from Brooklyn, I understand trains. I can find my way around any train station in the world. Hubris! But it’s true. Even in foreign alphabets. It’s in my blood, it’s in the East River, it’s in the soot-flecked air we New Yorkers are born breathing.

So here I am in the Naples train station with my underwear full of credit cards, IDs, and my emergency contacts laminated in both English and Italian. And now I also have that hot tingling in my eyes and the slight burn in my sinuses that threaten angry tears again.

I’m supposed to see a little old man with a big old mercedes, holding up a sign saying “Simon Lewis.” His name is Giuseppe and he came very highly rated on travelbookie.com. Very highly rated. I can say I knew him way back after he was cool.

So… Ok… This guy is definitely not Giuseppe. He doesn’t look that much older than me. He’s an awfully chatty Irishman named Billy. So I’m like, “What’s Billy in Italian?”

“Fuck if I know,” he laughs. “They just say Beelee. Which puts me off every time, if I’m honest. God bless ‘em, they’re beautiful people, right, but Beelee is so wrong.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Delaney.”

“So in Italian, you’re Beelee Day-la-nay.”

“Y’speak Italian then, do yeh?” he laughs.

“Fluently. This app taught me how to say ‘dog’ and ‘blouse’ and I leveled up really fast -- one of my great talents, btw.’

“Levelin up is it? Or Italian?”

“Italian. Certo. That means certainly, but you use it kind of like you would use ‘obvi.’”

“Obvi,” he snorts. “Are you mansplainin the language of the place I live to me?”

“Certo.”

Billy rewards me with a low chuckle. It may have been low and just a chuckle, but it was real. Being a connoisseur and collector of bad puns and dad jokes, I have a finely tuned ear for real laughter, as opposed to the usual laughing-just-to-be-nice.

“So I’m better off with Beelee Daylanay. I’ll have a talk with my boss and ask him to use my full name or nothin at all.” That at least gets a snort out of me. Until he says, “What about you? Are you lookin forward to bein Seemon? Sorry, mate. I think yours might be worse than mine.”

-----/-/-----

We’ve been talking all this time and I forgot to look out the window. As if I’m not on my dream vacation. Runner-up, actually. I’m holding my best dream vacation (Venice) for when Ms. I Do Lewis actually says, “I do.” And I will not book the rooms til after she does.

“Sorry, what was that?” I’ve been staring into space and ignoring Mr. Daylanay, who is now looking at me funny in the rear view mirror.

“Nothin important. Where’d you go, mate?”

“New York to Frankfurt to Milan to Naples. I flew out of JFK.”

“I’ll pretend to know where that is. No,” he says, “I meant just now. You disappeared behind your face.”

Um… “I did what?”

“I’ve been the only one enjoyin the sound of my voice, apparently, since you went quiet about five minutes ago. So where’d you go? Back behind your face,” he prompts.

“That’s an awfully private question, Mr. Daylanay. I’m not sure we’re good enough friends for letting you behind my face.” I kinda stumble on the word friends, cuz… we’re not.

“What. Is that like bein let in to visit the little man behind the curtain? That sounds a bit-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know how it sounds.” I make sure to roll my eyes loudly so he can hear. My mother always says she can hear my eyes rolling from the next room.

“Cagey one, aren’t ya?”

“Nosey, intrusive one, aren’t ya?” I counter.

He bobs his head and gives me a simple, “Ok.”

And now it’s gone quiet. I decide to disappear behind my face again for a while. I quite like it there. Maybe one day the whole world will join me. (Obscure movie reference, don’t bother.)

“Does she have a name?” he breaks into my sinking mood.

“What- Why?”

“Well, Seemon, because every story worth tellin about people generally has a name or two in it. Unless yer feelin all avant-garde while you're busy behind your face, contemplatin. Things.”

Ok, now I’m starting to get tired of his persistence. “I like to think of her as She Who Shall Not Be Named.”

“Like Voldemort. In a nighty.”

The bark of a laugh just erupts out of me before I can stop it from encouraging him. “That is the most disturbing image I’ve ever had.” My dull ache of a mood evaporates as quickly as it came, uninvited and unwelcome on this trip.

“You’re off the hook for now, but if I see you again, I’ll want to hear more about Ms. She Who Shall Not Be Named.”

And just like that, I’m annoyed again. “No.”

“Ok,” he says again.

-----/-/-----

While apparently spending more time behind my face, I realize I’ve ignored over 45 minutes of the view in a foreign country. Again I’m annoyed. Isn’t he supposed to be narrating the countryside, or something? Giuseppe would be narrating the countryside. I frickin paid for that narration.

“So what am I looking at?” I lob at him.

“Naples.”

“Funny.” I hope he can hear my eyes rolling.

“Hold up, I’m not finished yet! That great U-shape, right, that’s the Bay of Naples. The city herself is over there in the distance, all the way at the far end of the bay. All the wee towns strung out and all bunched up against the sea as tight as can be sketch out the shape of the bay and on along to the Sorrentine Peninsula -- where we’re goin. The big blue bit beyond the bay-”

“Is the Mediterranean. Yeah, I got that much.”

“Nah, mate. You don’t. See, it’s the Tyrrhenian Sea, which is just the part of the Mediterranean between the boot of Italy and Spain.”

“Thanks so much for the oceanography lesson.”

“Bit tetchy, aren’t yeh?” he says, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. “Look, mate. I’m sorry if I rubbed ye up the wrong way with makin conversation. I’m just not used to fillin in on the delivery service. That’s a specific kind of hospitality. Mine might be a bit more suited to conversatin across a bar. In that situation, all of this would have been charmin.”

I can see him smiling at me in the rearview, trying to reset the mood.

“So you’re a bartender, not a driver. But you do work at the hotel. Right? Or…”

“Yeah sure’n I fill in at the bar when I’m needed.” He clarifies, “Acourse it’s just that the season’s barely started, and some of the summer staff are still not yet back from wherever they’re livin the rest of the year.”

“So you’re not a ba-”

“Aaaaand, here we are,” he declares, pulling off the road going way too fast into what appears to be open air. But when I don’t feel us driving off a cliff, I open my eyes to see an ornate iron gate, a tile roof, a million flowering bushes, and more than one fountain.

“Allow me to be the first to welcome yeh to the Hotel Terrazze di Limoni. I’ll just fetch your bags, shall I?”

-----/-/-----

Masterlist | ao3 | Start here! | Next

Photos: 1. Billy Delaney, via @vousnavezrienvu 2. Simon Lewis, 3. Leaving Naples behind for Sorrento, 4. Looking back toward Naples, with Sorrento in the foreground, 5. Robbie as Simon. Anybody know the gif source?

Dear Cassandra Clare: I’m sorry for pretending that Simon Lewis wrote every one of your books.

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salvador-daley · 3 years

Text

Medium (Part 4)

Klaus prepares for his moment in the spotlight

A/N: Sorry this update took a little longer. Observant readers will note this chapter is the fourth of (now) five planned parts. That's because the last section has completely grown arms and legs and is taking me a lot longer to finish than I had hoped (whoops). Rest assured, it is very much in progress. In the meantime, please take this chunk to hopefully hold you over for another week or so...

CW: Drug abuse, references to death/injury

Snippet: Klaus reaches for the bottle and unscrews the lid. He pops two pills then settles back down against the soft white couch, allowing his body to sink into the leathery quicksand. Then he pops a third for luck because why the fuck not?

He closes his eyes, waiting for the warm synthetic caress to find his bloodstream, listening to the quiet thrum of the air conditioning.

Ever since the incident, Jake has been on his best behaviour. There have been no flashes of anger, no temper tantrums. He’s even toned down the partying. Perhaps all this stress has been for nothing.

“Klaus, are you ready?” asks Andrea, her voice coming from above.

“Ready? Ready for what?” he asks, peeling one groggy eye open, then the other, finding her looming over him

“Hello! Earth to Klaus!” she snaps, tapping at the watch on her wrist. “We have to be at the studio in half an hour.”

Shitsticks. Today is the first day of filming. He’s been so preoccupied that he allowed it to slip his mind completely.

“Please tell me you haven’t forgotten,” she says with a roll of her eyes. Andrea, despite catering to Jake's every whim without complaint, has never warmed to him. And she likes him even less after that time he threw up in her handbag in the back of a limo.

“No, er, no. I remembered,” he lies. “I was just meditating. Getting in the zone for my TV debut.”

“Okay, come on then,” she snaps. “Change your clothes and let’s go.”

Klaus looks down. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Andrea releases the world-weariest of sighs. “I haven’t got time for your little jokes, Klaus. We have to go.”

Read the rest on AO3

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simon-x-billy · 2 years

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Simon x Billy

Chapter 2: The European Plug Situation

Fandoms: The Mortal Instruments universe and all books by Cassandra Clare | the BBC’s Me & Mrs. Jones | Robert Sheehan

AN: This one’s in Simon’s pov, like Ch. 1. Billy pov coming soon. Triggers? Not really, except for language. Most importantly, the only thing original about this story is Italy and the photos I took there. I’ve stolen liberally from Cassandra Clare, TJKlune, and all m|m authors I’ve ever read. I’m using every m|m trope I can. Please tell me if: A. Something sounds a little too familiar. B. You’d like to be on a tag list for future chapters. I respond from @firstpersonnarrator

——-/-/——-

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——-/-/——-

Chapter 2: The European Plug Situation

-----/Simon/-----

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. This is not going the way I planned. I hate it when that happens. I was prepared.

Except for the European plug situation.

First off, my bad. My responsibility, my fault, my dead phone. On day 1, in another country that speaks a language io don’t parlo. Except when I’m having an internal scolding session. Apparently, io parlo Italiano just fine when I least need it. Like when I’m conducting a conversation behind my face. Behind my fucking face. (Whose lip I can feel curling to express distaste and low level angst.)

Ugh. They have to have cell phone chargers at the gift shop. I sigh. Looking around, it’s pretty obvious this was originally some kind of old, schmancy, vacation villa. Something tells me there’s no gift shop. It’s not that kind of hotel. Under my breath I whimper, “Fuck.”

“All right?” It’s Billy. I jump because why is he standing behind me?

I pivot and fix him with my very best suspicious glare. I went to theatre school. Ok, fine, summer camp. Point is, I give good face when needed. This is one of those times, one of those faces.

“Jesus! How long have you been standing there, creeper? Were you listening in on my conversation?”

“You mean, the word ‘fuck?’ That was a pretty quiet, short conversation.” He’s grinning at me now.

“Did you go to theatre school?” I clarify, “Like, ever?”

Billy snorts. “No, man. Where’d that come from?”

He’s all good humor and it’s so totally inappropriate, I try willing him to stop. His eyebrow -- oh my god it’s humongous wtf -- one arches while the other frowns. How does he do that? At least the top half of his face isn’t grinning anymore. That’s progress.

“What,” he demands. “Why’re yeh lookin at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’d like me to feck right off, leaving you alone to realize you don’t have your room key.” He jangles it at me.

More eye rolling, and I don’t care who hears, because “That would have been the topper to a very shitty day.” Having stopped rolling, my eyes pop out of my head. Because he has handed me the keys. “Whoa! These are sooo cool.”

I have to keep myself from fondling them. “Skeleton keys,” I whisper.

“Glad they cheered you up, man. You were havin a mope there for a while.”

My mope returns. Sort of an exasperation + anxiety x annoyance, to the power of a lingering ache in my stomach that I know from recent experience is a bone deep sadness.

“And now it’s back,” he says. “Whatever’s going through your head can be moped over later. Mate, you’re in Italy. Ye’haven’t seemed to notice that yet.”

“Is there a gift shop?”

“Sorry, what?”

Is he laughing at me? “A gift shop.”

“This isn’t that kind of hotel, mate, sorry. Is there something I can help yeh with?”

So many things. “I just remembered the plugs are different here. I have arrived in Italy with a dead cell phone and no compatible plugs. I feel so betrayed.”

He laughs and his eyes twinkle. They twinkle.

At least he can tell when I’m joking. That’s a thing.

“Don’t worry, Seemon. I’ll get it sorted.” He gives a small salute and disappears into the bowels of the hotel.

Oh shit. “Wait! Billy! Billy?”

A woman appears in his place from some dimly lit doorway. She reminds me of my mother. But with fewer anxiety and worry wrinkles criss-crossing her face.

Damn. Ma would be so wounded by that thought, so I put it out of my mind.

“Signore?”

“Oh, um, si, io non parlo Italiano. I like to start all my sentences that way,” I say with an attempt at charm. Billy doesn’t get to own charming.

She gives me a strange look, and responds with the old classic “Oooookay,” in heavily accented English. “Why do you stand in the doorway? With the baggage around you like goats.”

Apparently neither one of us is very funny in English. I feel so lost in translation.

“Come. Let me make you checked in, and we will settle you. Come in from the doorstep,” she says as she turns away with her neck craning. “Leo? Leo!”

A young man (boy?) -- A young man-boy hurries out of what appears to be an office. She’s peppering him with instructions that I can’t understand, and then my suitcases are being pulled from my hands.

While she futzes with her computer, I finally take a moment to notice the amazing carved wood segment of wall behind her. I wish I could see it in detail. Figure out what story it’s trying to tell. It has something to do with nudity. I try squinting, but that’s all I can tell from here.

A bright, clashing array of intricately painted tiles are framed throughout the room. Chaotic, yes. Neutral, no. We’ll go with chaotic good. It’s also delightful, which I’m so not in the mood for at the moment.

She tells me about the amenities, breakfast times, the famous restaurant, yada yada as she leads me up three flights of stairs, down a long, narrow hallway with many doors -- none of which are mine. I’m starting to lose my bearings, but it’s only one more flight of stairs, atop which she pauses to unlock a door. “It is good, Signore Laywees? You have the face of a dog who is whining.”

“Wow,” I say, taken aback. Taken-aback has now officially been added to my repertoire of faces. As has face of a dog who is whining.

“Did I say something in a way that is wrong?” she asks, with a worried look.

“I don’t know. You might have actually wanted to call me a whining dog.” I start to chuckle.

“Yes. Exactly. A whining dog. I remember for next time.”

I blink.

She nods, “Si, certo. Certo. And I tell you that the finest suite at Hotel di Limoni is here. You look around, you. See that there are no other doors here to this floor. You are here alone.”

“Yes. Yes, I am,” I nod and close the door behind me.

-----/-/-----

My mood disappears instantly.

Oh my god I’m in Italy.

The room before me has pale yellow walls the color of butter imported from Irish cows. That’s specific and descriptive, Lewis, nice one. (I try to encourage the writer within, whenever I can.)

Everything is in shades of sea and sky blues, bright lemon yellow, and pale Irish butter, with more of the chaotic good tiles here and there working their delightful magic. The sheets are also in pale Irish butter. I will sleep in pale Irish butter tonight. Oh yes, I will.

The overall effect is an airy room, full of light, that recedes into the background against one hell of a view.

Large french doors lining the exterior wall lead out to a private deck. One that only I and I alone can access. The doors have been thrown open, with sheer curtains rippling into the room. The breeze off the Mediterranean Sea is fresh and cool.

Oh my god. That’s the Mediterranean Sea!

Or Tyrrhenian. Whatever.

I watch as boats speed across my entire view, appearing and disappearing between the open doors. They leave their long white slashes behind them, literally left in their wake. From inside the room, they look like dashes, stuttering white lines in each window darting through the perfection of the blue Medi/Tyrrhenian Sea. Even inside the room, I feel like I’m outside.

Waking up to this is going to be amazing. She would have loved it.

“Fuck her. She can’t have it.” It’s mine, and mine alone.

——-/-/——-

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seanfalco · 3 years

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Win’s Bad Day | Misfits Timeline Anomaly’verse

an oc x oc collaboration between @seanfalco & @super-unpredictable98

Word Count: 1.1k Warnings: Mention of past self harm, Smoking a/n: No smut this time, just good old hurt/comfort

[ masterlist ]

Win pulled her legs to her chest as she placed another cigarette between her lips, pressing her back to the sliding glass door as she looked over the Estate, staring numbly. Her hair was a mess and she still wore one of Nathan’s shirts from the other day, not even bothering to put on pants or clean her makeup off, which had long since run down her face from her tears earlier.

Now she just felt empty, unsure when the others would be back.

"Darling, we're home!" Lydia cheerfully greeted as she walked in, followed by the boys who carried her guitar, amp, keyboard, and other assorted equipment.

"Winnie?" Lyddie's Nathan called, looking around, the TV was off; the flat was silent.

"Baby?" Lydia spotted her at the tiny balcony. "Sweetie, we're back, are you hungry? I could make some... have you been crying? What happened?" she exclaimed as she pulled open the door, finally getting a better look at her girlfriend.

Win quickly scrubbed at her face, horrified they’d caught her like this. “Nothing!” she said quickly, though the word came out choked. “I-I’m fine!” she insisted.

“You don’t look fine,” her Nathan pointed out gently, but that only made her shrug and fold in on herself even more, trying to avoid their worried glances.

"Hey, look at me," Lydia cooed, taking Win's face between her hands and kissing her forehead gently. "We love you. You can tell us anything. Did something happen to leave you like this?" she wondered, trying to hold back the brunt of her concern.

"If it was Delilah or whatever, Lydia can kick her ass again..." Lyddie’s Nathan joked, hoping to get a smile out of her.

Win tried to smile, but it came out forced and she shook her head shortly, feeling tears begin to well in her eyes again.

Great, I guess I’m gunna cry in front of everyone again, she thought.

“No, it’s just... me. It’s just me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she sighed, sniffling.

“She gets like this sometimes...” Win’s Nathan whispered in Lydia’s ear. “She punched th’wall once… I thought she’d broken her hand...”

At Nathan’s words, Lydia’s expression darkened with worry for a moment before softening as she knelt before her. "Aw, Winnie, come here, it's alright." Lydia took her girlfriend into her arms, holding her tightly. "There's nothing wrong with you, you're just having a bad day,” she said, kissing the top of Win's head.

"Is there anythin' we can do t'help?" Lyddie's Nathan knelt by them as well, stroking Win's hair gently. "Anythin' in the world? Y'have two immortal reality benders and a human fortress at your service..."

“I don’t know!” Win sobbed, finally cracking, burying her face in Lyddie’s chest. “I just wanna stop feeling like this! I just wanna disappear!” No longer able to hold back her tears they ran freely down her cheeks.

“Let’s get her inside...” her Nathan suggested. “She’ll catch cold if she sits out here any longer.”

"Come on, let's get inside," Lydia murmured, holding Win as they got up. "If you feel sick just borrow my power, alright?"

"Sounds like y'just need some love, maybe some tea? Or chocolate?" Lyddie's Nathan joined the girls on the couch, covering them both with a blanket.

“J-just some water or juice?” Win asked in between sniffles, curling up with Lydia.

“Can I get yeh anything?” her Nathan asked, fidgeting as she stood there, unsure how to help.

“A hug?” Win answered pathetically and Nathan felt his heart constrict.

“O’course, sweetheart,” he exclaimed, crawling under the blanket on her other side to wrap his arms around her.

Lyddie's Nathan ran to the kitchen and came back with a glass of orange juice. "Here, would a hug from me also be helpful?"

Lydia smiled, pulling him closer so they could all be together. She tucked Win's hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek softly. "I love you," she murmured, running her fingers along the other woman's arm. "You're the best girlfriend anyone could ask for, I'm so sorry you're feeling this way."

“But I’m not the best. I’m rotten and good for nothing,” Win mumbled, her words muffled by Lyddie’s chest.

"What?!" Lyddie's Nathan was taken back by the vehemence in her words. "That's not true, Winnie! Meetin' you and Lyds was the best thing that ever happened to us!" he cried, looking to his clone for support.

"Don't say that, baby," Lydia frowned. "You’re amazing, and talented, and beautiful, and kind, and sweet. I have no idea how I got so lucky to have you fall in love with me..."

“They’re right,” Win’s Nathan murmured in her ear as she only hid her face deeper, still shaking with silent sobs. “I don’t know what I’d do without yeh.”

He hated seeing Win this way, and though it hadn’t happened recently, he could remember all too well the times in the past where he’d found her like this.

“No, I don’t deserve any of you!” Win cried, pitifully. “Maybe I’ve just-just tricked you into thinking that!”

"Nathan might not be the brightest, we can all agree on that--" Lydia began, rolling her eyes.

"Hey! We're right here!" her Nathan scolded playfully, cutting in.

"--But I'm pretty damn smart,” Lydia continued as if he hadn’t interjected. “I had to have something going for me when I was ugly..." she joked. "You wouldn't trick me into thinking that. You just can't see it right now, but you’re incredible. I hope I never have to be away from you, because I don't know if I could live without you anymore..." she said, feeling tears begin to run down her face as well.

“Oh Lyddie, don’t cry! See I made you cry, I-I’m sorry!” Win hugged her tighter, no doubt leaving a wet spot on her shirt from her tears. “I love you too! All of you!” she sobbed. “Please don’t leave me!”

“Is that what this is about?” her Nathan asked, stroking her hair, helplessly. “We’re not goin’ anywhere! Not over my dead body, and I can’t die! Remember?”

“But.. but what if you get tired of me?” Win asked irrationally.

"We're not leavin', not now, not ever," Lyddie's Nathan assured. "How could we get tired of you? That's like sayin' we'd get tired of pizza or-or ice cream, that just would never happen! Forget it, you're stuck with us," he shrugged.

"You didn't make me cry, Winnie," Lydia murmured, holding her tightly in return. "I'm crying because I thought of my life without you. I’d feel so incomplete... We're not leaving, there's no getting tired of you, you make our lives brighter."

Finally Win nodded, starting to believe them. “I love you Lyddie,” she murmured, “I love you Nathan, and you too Natty,” she sniffled, looking to each of the boys. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did to deserve you all.”

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Lydia whispered. "Everyone feels like that sometimes, it's normal. We love all of you, all the time, not just the good moments, we're here for the bad ones too. You're not perfect, but that's what I like about you, you can pick up the pieces and keep going."

"Lyds has the way with words y'know, but we love you too, so much," Lyddie’s Nathan said, kissing the back of her hands.

Win’s lip quivered as if she was going to start sobbing all over again. “Can we stay like this just a little longer? I still feel a little fragile,” she asked feebly.

"As long as you want, sweetheart," Lydia assured her, bringing Win's face closer to kiss her lovingly. "We’ll hold you all night long if that's what it takes, we're not goin’ anywhere.”

Tag list: @magic-multicolored-miracle @santacarlahorrorshow @messengeronthemoon @the-freckled-luba @firstpersonnarrator @spanishmossmagnolia @salvador-daley @forenschik @a-ghoulish-tale @love-is-dirty-baby @captainsheeballs

#misfits #nathan young #nathan young x oc #nathan x lyddie #nathan x win #otp: green apple lollipop #timeline anomaly’verse #collaboration

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super-unpredictable98 · 3 years

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Finest Brazilian Literature | The Umbrella Academy AU

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy Pairing: Klaus x Vicky (OC - The Eighth Child’ Verse) Word Count: a little over 500 Warning: Strong language

(Masterlist)

"Then when she looked in the mirror with the dress made by the spider, it shattered in a million pieces from how beautiful she was..." I explained with a sigh.

Klaus stared at me for a few seconds before taking a drag from his joint, I don't blame him for having a hard time understanding this story, it's really weird when you think about it, but it is one of the finest pieces of Brazilian literature...

When Klaus spotted the book in my room, he was intrigued by the cover: a crocodile with long blonde hair and red lips next to a very skinny, short man wearing red shorts with a matching hood, hopping on his only leg and smoking a pipe.

The story in question was Sítio do Picapau Amarelo, which roughly translates to "yellow woodpecker farm", a classic Brazilian series of books for children written by Monteiro Lobato and published from the early '30s until the late '40s. Mom used to read it to me all the time and it really helped me learn Portuguese when I first started.

"Hold on, let me see if I get it," Klaus sat up straight. "She's a kid, right? She's seven and she married a fish? Wearing a wedding dress made by a giant spider that lives underwater with her spider kids."

"Yeah, but he wasn't just any fish, he was a prince, the prince of Águas Claras."

"A fish prince..."

"Yeah," I nodded. "More like a prince fish actually."

"Alright, what does that have to do with the talking ragdoll?"

"Emilia, the rag doll, belongs to the girl, they were together when Narizinho was feeding the fish and met her future husband.

The prince had the idea to call the snail doctor and have him prescribe the doll a talking pill. The only problem was that the lazy frog guard ate them all and they had to open his stomach to get them out. Emilia took one and suddenly she was able to speak, the issue is that she wouldn't stop... Much like someone I know."

"Excuse me?" he clutched his chest, mock sadness all over his face. "What are you implying?"

"They describe her as a "little faucet of bullshit", it does sound a lot like you," I chuckled.

"Wow, and I thought we were friends..."

"Don't be so dramatic, you know I think it's quite charming the way you never shut up and rarely think before you speak."

"This whole story is so insane."

"I'm not even halfway through, you're not even at the part when the doll decides to become a marchioness, so they pretend one of the pigs at the farm is a marquess who will marry her. They even create a tiny corn cob man who's supposed to be the father of the groom, but he accidentally ends up spending too much time in the library and becomes a literal genius."

"Wait, what?" Klaus cackled uncontrollably. "The guy who wrote this was on some serious drugs, I've never been high enough to imagine something like this."

Tag List: @elliethesuperfruitlover @firstpersonnarrator @spanishmossmagnolia @a-ghoulish-tale @seanfalco

#the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy fanfic #the umbrella academy klaus #the umbrella academy #tua klaus #tua fanfic #tua #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x oc #fanfic #the eighth child #drabble

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super-unpredictable98 · 3 years

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Fan Mail

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy Pairing: Klaus x Vicky (OC - The Eighth Child’ Verse - platonic) Word Count: about 600 Warning: Strong language, veeeery mild sexual content, mention of drug use.

(Masterlist)

"Hey, Schnucki!" Klaus came into my room, clearly high as a kite, with a small pile of letters. "I've got our fanmail from this week, wanna open it together and have some fun?"

"Come here," I opened the window so my room wouldn't smell like weed.

Klaus practically jumped on my bed, immediately laying down on my lap. He handed me a little less than half of the envelopes and I opened the first one.

I actually loved opening fan mail, it's nice to see all the abuse and torture we went through at least made us prestigious people... And it was our sacred ritual to open it together.

"Aw, this is cute!" I smiled. "This little girl made a drawing of me, look."

"One day I wanna be just like you, Die Hard," Klaus read it out loud. "This is adorable! Why do I never get the cute letters from children wanting to be like me?"

"You're still a child, Klausie."

"Halt die Schnauze..."

Klaus opened his first letter and glanced over it with a smirk.

"What is it?" I asked.

"These people are really horny... And she's only ever seen me with a mask on, can you imagine what my grass green eyes would do to this poor girl?"

I tilted my head to read what his letter said and my cheeks turned beet red, I didn't even have the nerve to repeat it. Mind you, at the time we were both underage, so that was beyond inappropriate.

"Meu Deus, Klaus!"

"Oh, look," he flipped the envelope upside down and a pair of red thongs fell onto his chest. "A little gift."

"Ew! Do you think those have been worn?"

"Judging by the smell... Definitely."

"That's gross!" I winced. "Put that away. That's a health hazard."

"Put what away? This?" he dangled the lacy fabric in front of my face.

I yelped and recoiled, making him laugh his ass off. I love Klaus to bits, always have, but he had the potential to be an asshole when he wanted to.

"Get that away from me!" I scolded.

"I think they would fit me well, don't you think? Maybe I should try them on... Unless you'd like to first?"

"I would rather spend the day locked in the elevator with dad while he plucks out my eyelashes one by one."

"You're just jealous cause you know I'd look so much better in them than you."

I rolled my eyes, opening the rest of my letters, it was really heartwarming to read the messages from fans. People who say they admire me, who are inspired by me. That kept me sane when our father would always try to make me feel like shit for every little mistake I made.

"You look so cute when you're reading them," Klaus mumbled.

"It just feels great, you know I don't have the highest self-esteem in the world."

"Which is bullshit, but okay," he scoffed.

"You can thank dad for that..." I opened the next letter and widened my eyes. "Oh, my sweet Jesus!"

"What?" he looked up at me.

"Look at this shit!" I handed him a polaroid of someone's dick.

"Oh my God," he went into a laughing fit. "Whose cock is this? Is there a letter?"

"I'm too scared to look," I covered my face, but pulled my hands away when I noticed I had touched the picture. "This is so gross! We're minors!"

"Yeah, even I have to agree," Klaus grimaced at the picture. "It's not even a nice cock. It's all wrinkly and weird."

"I think this is enough fan mail for today..."

"Can I keep this picture?"

"I guess... Why do you want that? I know you're a pervert, but that's a little nasty even for you."

"I'm gonna hide it under Diego's pillow, see how long it takes for him to find it."

Tag List: @elliethesuperfruitlover @firstpersonnarrator @spanishmossmagnolia @a-ghoulish-tale @seanfalco

#the umbrella academy fanfic #the umbrella academy klaus #the umbrella academy #tua fanfic #tua au #tua klaus #klaus hargreeves x oc #klaus hargreeves #fanfic #one shot #the eighth child #tua

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super-unpredictable98 · 3 years

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Locker Inspection | Misfits AU

Fandom: Misfits Pairing: Nathan x Lydia (OC - Hard Candy’ verse) Word Count: 475 Warning: Strong language, mild sexual content, mention of death. a/n: Here's another one of my little drabbles inspired by the Misfits online films, so it takes place right after Nathan came back to life for the first time.

(Masterlist)

Ever since Nathan came back from the dead, my mood has been the best. I wake up every morning with a huge smile on my face, if I didn't count my blessings before, I certainly do now...

I was ready to walk into the locker room to start our wonderful community service day when I heard a fuss, seemed like Nathan was at it again with his antics:

"Book, book, book, comic," he was throwing out the contents of Simon's locker.

"Hey what are you doing?" Si protested.

"Lynx Africa? Classy," Nathan mockingly sprayed it all over himself. "2001 A Space Odyssey... Sounds lame, what is it about?"

"It's about mankind's place in the universe."

"Is there any shaggin' in it?"

"No..."

"Only you could ask if there's shagging in 2001 A Space Odyssey," I laughed.

"Hey, Lollipop, for the love of God," Nathan pleaded. "Tell me you have some toothpaste."

"Not here..."

I opened my locker to check, Nathan right behind me, snooping through my stuff.

"Jesus, Lyds, why d'you keep so much junk in your locker?" he teased.

"Wow, I don't know... Maybe it's because my boyfriend lives here and I spend the night sometimes?"

"Look at this: perfume, pads, pajamas, magazines, tissues, hairbrush, condom... Oh, this is pretty useful actually."

"I have some mouthwash, if that helps," I handed him the bottle.

"Thank you!" Nathan shouted. "See? At least someone in here cares about personal hygiene."

"Why are you freaking out anyway? Buy some toothpaste if you need it."

"I did and then I died, and I stayed dead for what? Two days, absolute maximum... I come back, and some helpful bastard has already cleaned out my locker! Where's your respect for the dead?"

I watched him as he threw back the mouthwash like it was a shot. I was trying very hard not to laugh at the face he was pulling as he was swishing the liquid around his mouth and gurgling.

He grabbed Si's empty lunchbox to spit in and I covered my eyes, shaking my head while Simon stared at him, absolutely disgusted.

"Thanks, Barry," Nathan nodded pointedly.

"You're a pig, you know that?" I chuckled.

"Yeah, I try my best..."

He pulled me in for a sloppy kiss that made everyone around wince, even more uncomfortable than before.

"By the way, I'm the helpful bastard that cleaned out your locker," I pulled back with a grin. "Your things are with me."

"Awww, were you savin' them as a memento?" he cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, I missed you," I rolled my eyes.

"You're adorable," he held me close. "Thank you for keepin' my shit."

"You can come over to grab it after we're done."

"Alright," Nathan took the condom from my locker and stuffed it in his pocket. "Just in case I feel like grabbin' somethin' else as well."

Tag List: @elliethesuperfruitlover @firstpersonnarrator @spanishmossmagnolia @a-ghoulish-tale @seanfalco @salvador-daley

#misfits #misfits nathan #misfits fanfic #nathan young #nathan x lyddie #nathan young x oc #hard candy #fanfic #one shot #robert sheehan character fic

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