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occasionally-good-authoring · 1 year

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surviving and living, a thin line

@indigothemuse, because i finally remembered i have a taglist (you). is max lightwood technically dead? yes. will i listen to canon? fucking never

summary: Surviving is all Jace needs. All anyone ever said he needs. But life creeps in, who is he to stop it?

Surviving. It’s what Shadowhunters do, what they learn to do as children and are expected to do until they don’t. Survive, survive, survive.

But nobody ever says anything about living. Or Jace just didn’t hear anything if they did. So he learns his runes, his weapons, the languages, the democracy, the strategy. Survive, survive, survive. That’s all he ever hears.

Life was an afterthought, something he didn’t really need. What needed was to survive, and one doesn’t need to live to survive. So he didn’t. He survived in broken bones, bleeding knuckles, chipped teeth, healing runes. Survive, survive, survive. That’s all he ever does.

Nightmares wake him up stifling screams, dry heaving, heart pounding, fingernails digging in. He dealt with it, living off caffeine and desperation at the age of ten. Maryse and Robert never wonder who’s drinking the cups missing from the pot. Getting better is living, and that’s not what Jace has to do, and Jace only has to survive. Survive, survive, survive.

He becomes parabatai with Alec, the rune heavy on the inside of his wrist. It’s about survival. A parabatai is a promise of safety in the field, it’s a vow of your back being watched and an extension of yourself in another. It’s survival. It’s a battle. It’s war. Survive, survive, survive.

Max is there, following Jace. He wants to learn, but not to survive. Because he wants to live. Jace doesn’t understand, yet finds himself teaching Max anyway, giving Max the toy soldier, the only thing left from his father. It’s about survival, he tells himself, when Max is old he will be another watching my back. Survive, survive, survive. That’s what he tells himself.

Izzy teaches him how to dress, how to do makeup, how to dye hair. He tells himself it’s survival, if he needs to hide he can, change his appearance in a moment. But Izzy laughs and maybe he smiles, and maybe it’s for real. No, it’s gaining her trust. It’s survival, another pair of eyes who are trained on his back. Survive, survive, survive.

Clary and Simon come along. Clary’s angry, Simon’s a wonder. They’re both laughing and neither of them are of any use to him. But then Clary can make runes and she brings Simon along. It’s about survival, not the growth in his heart when Clary smiles or Simon laughs. Survive, survive, survive.

His father’s alive, really alive and really not Michael Wayland. Valentine. Valentine Morgenstern, Jace Morgenstern, Clary Morgenstern. One survives, two live. Jace tries to escape, tries to kill Valentine. It’s about survival, he tells himself. With Valentine alive, he’ll never survive. But the bile rising in his throat when the man smiles isn’t about survival. He swallows it down. Survive, survive, survive. That’s all this is about.

There’s something odd about Simon. In the way he smiles, laughs, talks, moves, dances, sings, yells, screams, cries. In the way he wakes up screaming, crying, checking for a pulse he can’t feel. There’s a fire behind all of it, a fire that’s not just survival. It’s living. Survive, survive, survive. That’s what Jace wants to do, right?

Magnus drags him out of the gym, a quick healing spell on the knuckles he has never wrapped. There’s not mention of Alec, who always tries to get Jace out. He gets Jace a new wardrobe, makeup of his own, a dye job so good it looks real. The pink looks odd, leaving a flutter in Jace’s heart, tears stuck in his throat, a hug on his arms, dancing in his fingers. He doesn’t. That’s not survival, so Jace pushes it down but he knows Magnus saw that smile. Survive, survive, survive. Is that all he’s doing?

Maia and Simon drag him to Simon’s apartment, putting on a movie they call a slasher, telling him he hasn’t seen a movie until he’s watched a two star horror movie. They laugh and talk the whole time. Jace lets a small laugh out, and maybe his fingers dance a bit. Maia and Simon don’t just survive, not like him. Survive, survive, survive. Maybe he wants more.

Alec and Izzy are there at his next nightmare, where he let himself scream when he woke. They hold him, rub where his fingernails dug in, putting on Batman band-aids Clary bought for Max. He cries into Alec’s shoulder, holds Izzy’s hand, doesn’t talk about the things he saw, and they don’t need him to. Max joins, silent as he joins in, tapping out I-T-S O-K-A-Y in the morse code Jace taught him. This isn’t survival, but Jace does it anyway. And maybe he does it over and over again. Survive, survive, live.

He sits down with Simon, teaching him piano with all the gentle touch and words he didn’t get. Simon messes up, Jace puts his fingers on the right keys, the ache of a snap fading in his own. Simon sees the tears gathering on his brass eyelashes, he waits, cries along with Jace when he talks about what happened in that Manor for the first time. Survive, survive, live.

Game night at Magnus’. The first one Jace goes to. They welcome him with cheers and smiles, act like he’s always come. No touches are given, and maybe for the first time in a long time he would accept them without a flinch first. When Raphael wins Monopoly, he gives Jace a smile and there’s that flutter in his heart that means not-just-survival. Survive, live, live.

Alec, Izzy, and Max listen as Jace talks. Voice cracking, tears falling, fingernails kept from digger by Lightwood hands, body aching with bruises long gone. They apologize for things done by a man so hardly a man. They promise safety. They say wipe away tears and hold him once they make sure it’s allowed. Survive, live, live.

Tessa and Jem tell him stories about Will, hearts aching with bittersweet love lost. Jace feels family grow. Aunt Tess, Uncle Jem. Not blood, but water is better anyway. To hell with the thick red running in his veins, Aunt Tess, Uncle Jem, little Mina, cousin Kit, whose more brother than cousin. Only Kit is blood, but no better than any of the rest. Survive, live, live.

Simon and Maia laugh over a Player’s Handbook he doesn’t really understand. Green dice, numbered in gold are rolled. A sheet of paper is filled, and they help him all the way through creating a character. They teach him the rules, show him what to do. He feels warmth grow up from his stomach when they listen to him talk about the weapons in their game, explain how they work, where they’re from. When his fingers dance, Simon and Maia smiles and Jace realizes his finger dance is Simon’s rock, Maia’s hand flap. Survive, live, live.

Alec, Izzy, and Max laugh with Jace over too much food ordered at Taki’s. Jace smiles, laughs, talks, fingers dancing when they listen to him talk about Shakespeare. He explains the tragedy of Hamlet, and the jokes they speak are never about him. Max sees his fingers dance and tells Jace how he likes to bounce. Alec and Izzy smiles and know, never mock or try to stop. This isn’t survival, and it’s better than just that. Live, live, live.

Maia and Simon ask him to a movie at Simon’s apartment. Food is tossed into mouths, Jace’s fingers dance, Simon rocks on the balls of his feet, Maia’s hands flap. Maia lays her head on Simon’s lap, asks to put her feet in Jace’s. A yes is said, and he means it. Hesitation when kisses are asked next, they don’t. Simon and Maia don’t ask again. The next week another movie, Simon curled against Maia, hand entwined with Jace. Kisses are asked for, and this time Jace knows he wants it. They make sure, he is. Live, live, live.

Magnus takes him shopping again, Aunt Tess and Uncle Jem come to. Jem tells him about violin, offers Jace lessons when interest is shown. Magnus knows a place, just like he always does. Aunt Tess shows him her favorite books, Jace shows her his. Magnus buys them, shaking off offers to pay him back with laughs and it’s no problem. Live, live, live.

Shadowhunters are taught to survive, nobody talks about living. But Jace won’t just survive anymore. He’ll live. He’ll heal, even if the nightmares don’t go away, even if unwelcome touch still causes a flinch. Live, live, live. A lesson he had to learn, but a welcome one.

Live, live, live. What is survival without the life behind it? Live, live, live. That is what Jace will do.

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frost-queen · 2 years

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Never close (Princess!Reader x Jonathan Morgenstern)

Requested by: @nickibunny23, Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @theletterhart, @alex–awesome–22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @denkisclown, @automaticbakeryfreakshoe, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @october-leaves

The first moment Jonathan laid eyes on you, felt he enchanted. He had felt similar feelings towards his sister, but those were different. He could distinguish them now. The feelings he had for his sister were deep and pure, but not exciting. At least not as exciting as he felt seeing you. He would’ve talked to you, introducing himself if it wasn’t for the Shadowhunter’s circling around you. Like vultures staid they close to their pray. In this case a lovely supernatural princess. You!

Jonathan could only watch you from afar, knowing they would never let him get close. Clary did trust him a bit, but not enough to let him waltz into the institute. He had done too much wrong for that. Pinning on you from afar, yearned he for a conversation. To know your name and carry it on his lips. Only say it when the sweetest words would follow after it. Nothing wrong would he ever link to your name. You were too perfect for that in his eyes. He silently followed you on a distance till you disappeared into the institute. With that died Jonathan’s hope of ever getting close.

You stood in front of the screen, watching Alec explain. You frowned, half understanding what he meant. He talked of strategy and specific Shadowhunter ways. – “Jace!” – pointed he out. – “You take Izzy with you.” – Jace nodded. – “Clary you come with me.” – Clary smiled briefly. – “What about me?” – suggested you, slowly raising your hand a bit. Alec quirked his eyebrow up, looking over to you. – “With whom do I come?” – asked you, stepping closer to them. – “You stay right here, Princess.” – answered he as if it was the most obvious thing ever. – “But…” – started you, looking saddened at him. Alec took a deep sigh when Jace stepped up to you.

He laid his hand on your shoulder, lifting it up afterwards, not knowing if he could simply touch a princess. – “Look, we need you here to stay safe, Princess.” – exclaimed he. – “When you said you would protect me, I didn’t expected to be a prisoner!” – called you out, taking a step back. – “Y/n you are not a prisoner!” – spoke Alec, losing his cool for a moment. – “Princess.” – added he quickly, not knowing if you would be-head him for forgetting the title. Sighing deep, rested you, your hands on your elbows.

“I know… but it feels like that sometimes.” – answered you softly, looking down. – “I’m sorry you feel that way.” – said Alec, receiving a glare from Izzy. Izzy walked over to you, touching your elbow briefly. – “What my brother means to say is…” – she glared at Alec, thinking he had used the wrong choice of words. – “We do not mean to take away your freedom… it is just not safe out there for you… you surely must know that.” – you nodded slowly, lifting your chin up. – “I do… I know how important I am…” – Izzy smiled reassuring at you. – “Can I at least have some company?” – offered you, not wanting to be in the institute with strangers.

You didn’t know that many Shadowhunters so a bit of company would do you some good. – “I can call Simon if you like?” – suggested Clary, already reaching into her pocket for her phone. – “Or Magnus?” – spoke Alec. – “Your choice.” – you felt a bit better now. – “Either is fine…if it isn’t much trouble.” – Izzy winked at you. – “Of course it’s not.” – Clary called Simon as Alec called Magnus. Both were available and happy to keep you company. It was settled then Simon and Magnus would keep you company.

Alec and Clary were roaming the streets of New York. Just casual surveilling the neighborhood. There was a reason they had you in protection and they needed to take down the threat before it took you down. Clary stretched her arms out above her head with a soft squeal. – “Getting tired?” – joked Alec out. – “No!” – responded she, dropping her arms. – “It’s just a bit dull doing absolutely nothing.” – Alec pointed in a direction, letting Clary know they were heading that way next. – “I get that, but it can’t always be action.” – responded Alec. They came into a darker lighted street. – “Hang on.” – Alec grabbed his phone, texting Magnus if you were still alright.

Clary paused as well, looking around. Steam emerged from a vent. Clary squinted her eyes, seeing a faint silhouette through the steam. – “Jonathan?” – called she out confused, seeing her brother appear from between the smoke. Alec’s attention got drawn forwards to him. – “What are you doing here?” – questioned Clary, stepping up to him. Alec came in pursuit, not leaving her out his sight. – “The Princess what is her name.” – said he bluntly. Clary gaped a bit at him as Alec’s eyebrow went up. – “How do you know about that?�� – spoke Alec out, not hiding the hatred towards him in his voice. Jonathan looked briefly at Alec, unimpressed. – “Her name.” – asked he Clary again.

“Why… why do you want to know that?” – asked Clary back. Jonathan gritted his teeth a bit, looking away. He just wanted to know your name. It had been burning a hole inside of him. He wanted to know your name. He had too. – “Just tell me!” – called he out, glaring at her. – “Fine… it’s…” – began she as Alec covered up her mouth just in time. – “What do you want with her?” – Jonathan and Alec glared at each other for a moment. – “Just her name.” – reminded Jonathan him.

Clary pushed Alec’s hand off her mouth. – “How do I know you aren’t informing some of your demon friends about her.” – Jonathan lashed forwards forcing Clary to step in between. – “Stop!” – called she out, pushing her entire weight against his chest to hold him back. Alec bumped his chest against Clary, not afraid to take him on. Clary pressed her right hand against his chest, keeping him at bay too. – “Guys, please.” – puffed Clary out. She blew some hair out of her face with a frustrated expression. – “Just tell me her name.” – shouted Jonathan. – “Make me!” – bit Alec at him, ready to throw hands at him.

Clary kept trying to keep them separate before all hell would break free. They kept pushing against her, trying to make her move. – “It’s Y/n!” – shouted Clary out, not being able to take it anymore. She let go of them, exhaling deep. Jonathan smiled at her. – “Thank you, sister.” – said he. Alec felt like killing Clary for ever telling him. – “If you go after her, you are death!” – threatened Alec, his finger pointed firmly at him. Jonathan smirked, holding his hands up in defense. – “I only needed to know her name.” – He chuckled wickedly, stepping back. Alec grabbed Clary by her wrist, dragging her back to the institute.

Jonathan knew enough. He knew your name. Y/n. Princess Y/n. What a delighted name. Now that he knew your name, felt he more in love with you. He made it his task to watch over you… from afar. He could never be close to you. The more he watched you, the more he loved you, but never could be yours. You were too pure for that. He would never dare to link his smudged heart with yours. The darkness smeared over his heart was enough for him to keep his distance.

He loved you, but he could never be yours. He would sicken you with his presence. The only thing he could do was be your savior from afar. Your knight in the shadows, making sure you were always save without knowing who always saved you. He found himself unworthy of your love. Jonathan was pleased with this. At least he could still look out for you. Close but never close enough.

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simon-x-billy · 1 year

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Simon x Billy

Year of the OTP: April

April Ch. 4: Are you alive?

April prompt: Seemingly unrequited love

Guest starring, Alfie Jones

AN: Fast-forward two months, and Billy’s still worrying about that American bloke he bundled off back to Brooklyn. Btw, he is also a man whore. No tea no shade, he just loves women (a lot and frequently). This chapter is part of a massive rewrite of Simon x Billy in honor of the Year of the OTP event on ao3. TW: This chapter includes trans themes, which I have hopefully treated with genuine feeling and respect. If you do feel triggered and there is something I can do to be better, please let me know. Gratitude and love.

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-----/Billy/-----

I’ve barely made it two months.

Billy: Are you alive?

Simon: Who is this?

Billy: You know who this is - are you alive?

Simon: Yes

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

Here I am just leavin to fetch Anna Lucia and my text notification sounds out. Last time I saw this name on my screen, reckon it’d be about a month past.

First dates. That’s a great feelin, isn’t it? You know you’re gonna kiss, but you don’t know when. Your heart’s poundin. And then the cell buzzes. Hope she’s not begging off. Took her ages to even sustain eye contact with me. To be honest, you know you’re bein flirted with when I come at yeh. Not that I’ve been pesterin her. Her eyes just couldn’t bear lookin straight into the sun. Ah, I’m only jokin.

Right, give m’self one last lookover. “Teeth, check. Hair, check. Cock in, check. Smell good, check. Phone, check. Text check…

Simon: Are you alive?

Billy: What’s up, man? All right? You well?

Time, check. Tick tock tick tock. Come on, man, I can’t be sat here waitin on yeh to decide whether yer textin back. Anna Lucia’s-

Simon: There was an earthquake in Northern Italy

Billy: Yes, that is correct - there was an earthquake in Northern Italy

Simon: You ok?

Billy: Yeah man, did you worry? That’s so sweet

Simon: Shut up

Billy: Then you wouldn’t know whether I survived the earthquake in Northern Italy

Billy: Don’t be losin sleep on my account, man - I’m well to the south

Billy: Big landmass, we’re not fallin into the sea

Billy: That sorta thing only happens in America

I pause, thinkin that he might take the bait, but it’s been a minute without a response and I’ve got a stunner waitin on me.

Condoms? Definitely. Check.

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

Billy: Simon

Simon: What

Billy: …

The little typing-in-progress dots start and stop, and start and stop again.

Billy: Nevermind.

Nevermind. Nevermind? Nevermind?! What the fuck?! You can’t just - grrrrrr. Sometimes I hate that guy.

Shit. What if something’s wrong.

What if he’s lost fingers and can’t thumb in a text. Besides “Simon” and “nevermind.” Yeah, no, that’s ludicrous, Lewis. Obviously. Certo.

Two hours later, and I’m still distracted. ‘Nevermind?’ Rude.

Annoying.

Fucking obnoxious, is what it is.

I do not need this kind of thing in my life. And I don’t even know the guy. So I delete him from my contacts.

I already kinda regret it.

Fuck.

——-/-/——-

So yeah. Fuck. I still regret it.

For a whole week. Shit.

Did I put it under Terrazze……. Or di Limoni? Ah, ok. The phone ringing in Italian sounds weird and wrong. Sorta like me in Italian.

“Ciao, Terrazze di Limoni, parlando Rosalina. Come posso aitutarti?”

“Um, si, I’m good, thank you…um, I don’t parlo Italiano.”

“Si, signore. How can I help you?”

“Thanks. I’m looking for Billy Delaney. Or, actually, I just need his phone number. I lost it.”

Nothing.

“Billy from the restaurant?” I clarify.

Again, nothing. “Yes?” I ask.

“Yes? Is this a question? I do not understand you, Signore Laywees.”

Ok, redirect. “Do you know his cell phone number? Please?”

“I can not, no.”

“Is there someone who does know his number? Maybe the computer?”

“No. Non signore. I am not permiso. Emmm, how you say, permit to give to you the informazione that is personal to him.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I can understand that. Makes sense. But since I know him?” Please please please.

She is silent, again. Until, “Is this a question? I still do not understand you, Signore Laywees.”

“I’d really like to talk to him. Via text, I mean. Send a text - to him.”

“Sí, signore.”

“Yes? You’ll give it to me?”

“No.” She makes it sound so final and permanent.

“Do you remember that he and I are friends? I stayed in the suite up on the top floor?”

“Si. You are the American on the roof.”

“I what? No, nevermind. He is still at the hotel, though, right?” Maybe I can just ask to speak to the mana-

“No.”

“Wait, what?”

“No. He is no longer at the hotel,” she informs me.

“But he’s still in Sorrento, right?”

“No.” It sounds so final and permanent.

Panic. “But-“

“He is in London,” she adds.

“Wait, what?”

“He is in London.”

“I didn’t know that,” I say quietly to myself.

“Certo.” Obviously? She thinks I’m obvious.

So now it’s even more important that she give me his number. Cuz if I ever need to get in touch with him, they wouldn’t give it to me. Not a chance.

“No.”

Goddammit, Lewis. “Did I say that out loud?”

“It was quiet, Signore.”

“Pardon?”

“Si. I perdonna you.”

Help? Confused. “Please, I need to talk- to text him. Even more now that he isn’t in Italy anymore. If you don’t share his number,” I say, kinda more to myself than to her, “then that’s it.”

“What is it?”

“I mean-” Shit, I suppose that really is it, then. I won’t get to tell him I’m over Voldemort and her nighty. I was kinda looking forward to that. “I guess it’s just that that will be it. In terms of knowing him. Friends. So, yeah. I guess I just won’t know him anymore.” This is the single most embarrassing experience I have ever had. Since my trip to Italy.

“Ah, si. Ssssssi.” She stretches out the last word, so it sounds like she’s mulling something over.

“Signore Laywees,” she says in a muffled whisper. “His numero is-“

——-/-/——-

Simon: Billy

That Irishman:

——-/-/——-

Rude!

——-/-/——-

Three days later it’s even ruder. More rude. (I’m allowed to think with bad grammar.)

I shouldn’t have bothered getting the number. That’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back. I mean, how many more days is he… You know what? Fuck it. I don’t even care.

This is me not caring.

At all.

—--/Billy/—--

Fucksake, Simon. I was with a girl. Lucrezia with the long legs, and what, you want me to pull out to answer your text?

Y’ know what - I’m done with this. He’s alive. That’s fine. All I needed to know.

Deleted.

—--/Simon/—--

Simon: Where are you?

That Irishman: New phone, who dis?

I - wow. That kind of - stung.

Stings.

—--/-/—--

It’s been a week and it’s still stinging.

Simon: Are you alive?

I couldn’t go a week without texting. What the fuck is wrong with me.

That Irishman: New phone, who dis?

Ow.

He ghosted me. Actually, like, in reality, intentionally ghosted me.

Simon: You know who this is.

You know what? I’m done.

I do not need this in my life right now. My book placing Simon out front as main character is due in two months, but Me Simon, the author? I’m still stuck. I still suck. I’ve scrapped everything I’ve written about him.

So of course I start writing an entirely different story. Which then turns into an idea for a Warlock spinoff series for my most flamboyant and interesting character.

It’s a love story between boys. It’s been building over the course of all three books, and I just can’t shove it out of my head. And the fans want that just as much as they want a Simon book. Easiest way to avoid doing something you need to do? Do something else you need to do.

Shit. I need to do some research.

That Irishman: Why?

Huh. Interesting point. I-

Simon: I don’t know

—--/Billy/—--

I think we’ve gotten past our - whatever it was a few weeks ago. That was weird. Yeah, weird. We were up each other’s arses about - what? Nothing at all. Immature and grating, and yet, we’re still texting. A little more often now. But usually it’s of the “are you alive?” variety, with single word, single syllable answers from Simon. “Are you over her?” “Yes,” that sort of thing. I can’t tell whether he’s pissed, or just wants to know I’m alive. I thought I was supposed to be knowing that he was alive.

Billy: Are you alive?

Grumpy: I guess

Billy: Two words! We’re making progress

Grumpy: Shut up

I laugh.

Billy: I’m not talking, I’m texting. If you want me to stfu, just put the phone down

Billy: Try it - now

Billy: See? Silence. Wasn’t that nice?

Grumpy: You really can’t can you

Billy: Can’t what

Grumpy: Shut up

Billy: Jaysus, Simon. Put the phone back down. I don’t need to be hearing you being mean

Grumpy: Funny

Billy: You know man, you’re like the Hemingway of texting

Grumpy: So literary

Well, he’s not biting. Much. Why do I bother? Have a better conversation with the cat.

Of course my friend Rachel’s a cat person. I like that about her. And her cat.

So I feed the cat. And Rachel, before she’s back to her pub downstairs. I potter about the kitchen, tidying up while I wait to hear back from my best mate, Alfie.

I feel my cell buzz in my back pocket, just as I’m puttin the several thank-you meals I’ve made Rachel into the fridge.

Alfie: We still on mate?

Billy: Do you really have to ask?

Alfie: Yes!

Alfie: I mean no

Alfie: I mean I know - just looking forward to seeing you mate

Alfie: Worried you wouldn’t want to see everyone - you know what I’m trying to say

Billy: I think what you’re trying to say is you’re leaving the house now

—--/-/—--

Is this… I think this is shot #3. She gave us two, and then… so that’s 4? I think.

Oooh, my arse is vibrating. But not for the fun reason.

“Whoa-what Alfie?!” has just grabbed me - bodily - and pulled me up against him.

“Alfie, I love you, mate. You’re a mostly good friend and I guess you’re kinda cute, but-”

He flips us around, drops his arse onto a bar stool, and makes himself very small.

“Tired, mate?” I’m frowning down at him when Rachel sets up another pair of shots.

“For the birthday boy. Where’d he get off to?” she asks, pretendin to survey the room.

I snort. “Here’s yer man. This tiny human here in front of me who appears to find my Vegas belt buckle fascinating. Alfie, mate, what’re yeh-”

“I’m hiding,” he hisses.

“But why?”

And of course it’s just as I’m throwin back shot #5 (4?) when the great eejit grabs me about the waist, yanks me to him, and buries his face in my navel.

So now I’m chokin on vodka and he’s hissing at me to shut up and stand still. “The fuck? What’re you doin?! Stop it,” I wheeze.

“Shhh!”

Still tryin to see past the blindin fire in my sinuses. “Fucksake, Alfie! You know I just blew a shot of clear alcohol out my nose. And I know you do cos you’ve vodka snot in your hair, and runnin down the side of yer face, mate. What the fuck?”

“I don’t care, shhhh!”

So I stand very still and speak very quietly. “Alfie, mate. Why don’t you care that you’ve vodka snot – my snot – runnin down yer face?”

That’s when he grabs both my arms and slaps them on the bartop, caging himself in.

This once again catches Rachel’s eye at the other end of the bar. As it should do. And she shoots me a quick look. I answer with a shrug.

“Do I even want to know?” she asks, headin back our way.

“Would both of you shut up? Hide me!”

Rachel rolls her eyes and leaves me with the child in my arms.

“I’d say I’m flattered, mate,” I whisper. “But you’re freakin me out now. I’m assumin it’s a girl, yeah? Which one is she?”

I’m looking into the bar mirror and spot a face from a lifetime ago.

“Alfie, is that-”

“It’s that fit Thai bird from Bangkok.”

“Alfie, is that Ken?”

Guest starring, Ken

Alfie buries his face in my navel again.

“Yes?” he says in a guilty squeak.

“Why is she here?” I ask very slowly, as if I’m speakin to someone not so bright. Because I am speakin to someone not so bright.

“Erm, well… Because I live here? Probably?”

I need another pint. And vodka’s put me off, as that’s a pain that’s gonna linger in my nasal passages. I signal the lovely Rachel, who nods as she begins to pull me a pint.

“Alfie. Why are yeh hidin? From Ken. Who is now where yeh live. And not in Bangkok.”

“I sort of…”

I give him the ol’ eyebrow encouragement.

“I’ve kind of been sending her sexy pokes…erm, sexy poking with her.”

“For a year?! Wait, no. How long has it been since Thailand? Have you been sexy poking her all this time?”

“Shhhh!” And back to my navel he goes. “I didn’t invite her! She’s just here! Over there,” he says with a muffled rumble into my belly.

“I have a feelin that’s just the beginning of a very long, very embarrassing story. Don’t let me stop yeh. But yer steamin up my stomach and my vodka snot has now migrated back to me. On my shirt. And you know how I feel about laundry.”

Sighing and shaking my head. “Mate, stop it. Yer actin like a baby. Face yer fears or face responsibility or buy her a drink. Those are yer options.”

“How about we buy me a drink instead?” He looks up hopefully, his hands loosening the vice grip he’s got on me.

“And by we, you mean me,” I state the obvious.

“It is my birthday.”

“And we have a history of phenomenally fucked up birthdays here. Are you plannin to make a regular habit of it?”

Rachel places the perfect pint in front of me. I sigh. “Sure’n I suppose you’ll be wantin my pint then.”

He grins sweetly up at me. “Birthday?”

“Thank yeh, Rachel, love. That’ll be one more. But I’ll be takin this one.”

Alfie whines unintelligibly.

“Alfie!” rings out the voice of a high tenor.

I move aside like the terrible friend that I am.

“Judas!” Alfie cries.

“Ken!” I cry.

“Billy. I like seeing you again. I don’t like seeing this one with his face in another man’s chest!”

“Another man’s-”

“Pickles!” Alfie cries.

Guest starring, Pickles

“Lord Jaysus, Pickles!” I cry. I’m over the moon to see our old mate Cheese & Pickles. Another one Alfie made a hash of a start with, leadin him on. But at least in that case, it had been an honest mistake with a cheese and pickle baguette, and quickly sorted. And we made a solid mate out of the mess. I’d hoped I’d get to see him again this year.

Ken, on the other hand, I never had much interaction with her. Nice girl if memory serves, but she is a bit of a wild card. Certo.

I round on Alfie. “Alfie, why is Ken here? How long has this been going on?”

“Two years!” Ken shouts.

Oh Alfie, you feckin brainless eejit, look at the state of yeh.

“He said he wanted me. Me. He never said anything about you.”

I watch as Pickles’ jaw drops open at the implication, and his eyes slide from side to side like it’s Wimbledon.

“I say it again, Billy. He told me he wants me. So I came.” Ken is trying to keep a lid on her emotions, but they’re right there at the surface ridin her.

“Erm,” Alfie begins, looking like things are starting to fall into place in that thick skull of his.

“What was that? Squeak up,” I press. “Today’d be grand.”

“Erm, well,” Alfie begins again. “I-” And his face turns cherry red starting from his collar, ending at the very tips of his little mouse ears. “I may have said-”

“I want you so much. You told me over and over. I want you. I want you so much. Come with me. So I came.”

Pickles zips his mouth shut.

Simon would have relished this moment.

“I am beautiful. You told me! How could you be with him? He is not beautiful.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Pickles mutters again.

“Thanks, mate,” I say. No harm in hearin it, if I’m honest.

“And just where were you when you were telling Ken how much you wanted her? How beautiful she is?” Spit it out, man.

“Erm…” says Alfie, eloquent as ever.

“He was on the computer. Where else would he be? He was not in bed with you!” Ken turns on Alfie. “Were you?”

“Erm…” repeats Alfie.

“Have you no sense, you great eejit? You’re makin it worse.” All skull, no brain. Don’t know why I bother.

We need to get her calm, get her some privacy in a nice, cozy snug in the corner, sit down and sort this out. This is too personal for the floor of a pub. Not fair to Ken.

Guest starring, a snug

Looking disgusted with Alfie, Pickles steps in and picks up Ken’s hand. “You deserve better,” he says softly but with honest conviction. Good man.

Ken’s eyes are welling. “Yes. I do.”

“Oi!” Alfie exclaims in indignation.

I cut him off with an elbow to the ribs and a glare. “Not helping!” I grit out.

“Oh. Oh!” Alfie takes in a deep breath and gives her a sincere apology. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he says, and once again buries his face in my navel.

“Alfie!” Ken looks like she’s about to cry quite a lot of tears. “You said-”

And right before my eyes, Pickles’ face goes all soft. I watch it happen right in front of me. That moment you see in films when the boy looks at a duckling like he’s never seen one before, and suddenly she’s the loveliest water fowl he’s ever met. “Ken, is it?” he says softly. “Come sit down. I’ll get you something to drink, and we can figure it out.”

I incline my head toward the snug at the back part of the room. I can see it’s empty.

Ken raises her head high, and pins Alfie with a deadly glare. “You are not worth my tears. Or my frequent flying kilometers.”

Alfie looks ashamed, as he should do, and wisely keeps his fat trap shut. Wise - for Alfie, that is. Pickles leads Ken across the floor as far from Alfie and me as he can be. “Do you have luggage?” I hear him ask as they walk away. Good man. Damn good man.

“You owe Pickles, mate.”

“All my birthday beer is his.”

“That’s right,” I agree.

“That’s right,” Alfie whispers as he downs his two forgotten shots. “That’s right.”

“Alfie. What’s really goin on here, mate?” I ask him. “You realize you’ll be needin to have an honest talk with Ken, don’t yeh? Pickles may have put the situation on pause for the moment. But she does deserve better, man.”

He looks a bit lost.

“What were yeh thinkin?”

He starts to fidget. “Look, man.” I reassure him. “I’m here for yeh, thick, thin, wide, narrow, tall, short. Female. Male?”

“Or maybe somewhere undefined in-between?” he asks.

“Alfie. I love yeh, mate.” I’m bendin down gettin in his face, bein that the man is avoidin eye contact with his head down. “Nothin else matters, yeh see that, don’t yeh?”

Alfie peeks up and looks at me, barely. He’s unsure and deeply unsettled. Ken, in person, has him rattled — profoundly rattled. And can I blame him? Somethin private – and very likely somethin he thought was just for fun with no consequences – just became public and hit home in a very, very she’s at my home kind of way. So much for no consequences.

“Life is real, Alfie. Life happens. Life has consequences. Life is full of good people, in with the bad. Ken’s one of the good ones, mate. If yeh don’t want anything to do with her-”

“I didn’t say that!” busts out of his mouth, before he can think on it. Which, if I’m honest, describes everything that comes out of Alfie’s mouth. He squeezes his lips together, willing them not to speak.

I let it float for a minute, not wanting to give him any outs, but also not wanting to make him afraid to speak. But I break. “No judgement, mate. Do you want Ken?”

He finally lifts his head, and gives me frightened eyes I’ve never seen him wear. “I don’t know?”

“No reason to panic like this. No need to have it all worked out of a sudden, all at once. But you do need to be honest with her. And you need to walk over to that snug with me, sit yerself down across from Ken, and talk to her. Tonight. Let her know how yer feelin, that you might be conflicted, questioning. She’s got to know what that feels like, mate. Hasn’t she?”

He gives me a one-shoulder shrug, lettin me know he’s heard me.

“Go take a piss, do a shot, smoke somethin, whatever. But you’ve got 5 minutes before you have to act like a grown man. I’ll make your excuses til then. And I’m lettin her know you’ll be joinin us in that snug. No runnin from this, mate. She knows where yeh live. Because I’ll give her the street number and drive her there m’self if ye run.”

—--/-/—--

When I finally arrive back up at Rachel’s flat, I’m drunk enough to bump into every wall between the entry and the stairs, which I manage to fall up, and then “Ow!” as I knock my hip against the railing at the top.

I’m tripping as I try to walk out of my jeans and open the bedroom door at the same time. Seems like something that should be possible, walking out of a pair of jeans. It isn’t.

As I fall on my arse with a loud thud and grunt, my guest for the evenin begins laughin at me. I can’t really blame her. I’m drunk. She’s drunk. Neither one of us remembers each others’ names. Doesn’t matter. Except-

Guest starring, Guest

“Oh, Saints preserve us! Jaysus no!”

“What are you on about?” Somethin-somethin-somethin, “on me.”

I’ve no idea what she’s sayin, and couldna care, because I’ve fallen on my phone. “Mary and the sweet baby Jesus, oh thank you. Ohhhh thank you. Oh lord.”

I caress it lovingly – which is really what I should be doing with the bird crawling across the bed in a relatively alluring way. The screen lights up revealing a text notification, and I vaguely remember it buzzing in my pocket at the start of the night. I’d sort of forgotten it, what with Alfie’s nose in my navel. And my nose shortly due to be well below her navel.

Grumpy: Why

“What? Oh no, not you love. Don’t move a finger. I want yeh just like that.”

Billy: Why what?

He replies almost instantly.

Grumpy: Why are my texts like Hemingway

Billy: Brief.

I turn off my phone, and drop it on the crumpled and growing mass of clothing on the floor. After all, it’s important I focus all my attention on my guest’s needs. And I’ve a feelin she’ll have many.

—--/Simon/—--

Fuuuuuuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Again.

I have no idea how to write the Simon book and it’s seriously sucking my will to live. Which, you know, vampire Simon and all that.

OK, so here’s the thing. I can’t just suddenly claim I’m totally different from the character, when the fans know I’ve based him on me. And they know I’m a nerd. A huge nerd. I can’t turn him into some super, supernatural, sleek, and sexy vampire. Nope. He has to be confused half the time. And show periodic feats of great courage, followed by moping and pining and loyalty. The fans love it. They eat that shit up. On paper – not in my actual life. Me Simon, I mean. Other Simon gets to mope all he wants and they still think he’s worth reading about. Fuck if I know why.

I can’t turn him into an amalgam of like, hipster-bass-player-shoegazer-vampire. We’ve all already read the one about the rockstar vampire.

So what kind of person would Other Simon wish he could be?

Ugh, well, 15 year old Me Simon just wanted to be cool and get the girl. 15 year old Other Simon is… a vampire, and will get the girl. Maybe two. Eventually.

I think he needs confidence. Other Simon, I mean. That’s what being a vampire gives him. That and killer abs. (Vamp abs are killer. I crack myself up. This is me cracking up.)

I think that’s his real growth arc – the confidence, not the abs. Wayyy back at the beginning I started him from a place already lagging behind his peers, saving himself for his crush. So becoming a vampire boosts his confidence immeasurably. That’s why we can more easily believe it when he finally gets the girl. For like five minutes.

I dunno. Now maybe he’ll go be a rockstar at being a super-supernatural superhero, rather than an actual rockstar of music. Nobody cares that I play bass.

You, self in mirror. Nobody cares that you play the bass. Just let it go.

Ok fine, me. You win. As usual. Nobody wants to hear the stats on my vintage Marshall stacks. Or about my priceless Rickenbacker, played by Sir Paul himself. Oh my god, why? Whyyyyyy? This should be exciting to everyone, everywhere.

I wonder if Billy would say I’m whingeing. How do you even spell that. Winging? Winjing? Whinging?

Actually, wait. Billy’s a confident person. He’s gregarious. Everybody fuckin loves that guy. Sometimes I hate him, just to prove to the universe that it is possible. Sometimes he deserves it, too. Wanker. Twat. Neither of those sound good in American.

Maybe Ma’s right and I should get out more.

Nah.

What would I even do? I’m supposed to be writing. I’m supposed to be writing. Writing.

Writing.

I can’t believe I went to Italy and didn’t take one picture. Not one. I had a couple good conversations. All with an Irishman – no one Italian. That would be stupid, Simon. (Me Simon, not Other Simon.)

Fuuuuuck.

——-/-/——-

Simon: I was in the seat of the Roman Empire, on possibly the sexiest sea in the world, and I didn’t fucking notice

That Irishman: Yeah, I noticed

Simon: Where are you?

That Irishman: Sorrento, dinner rush, can’t talk

Simon: Pick me up tomorrow

That Irishman: Wait what?

That Irishman: ???

That Irishman: Simon

That Irishman: Simon!

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soulofapatrick · 1 month

Text

Giving in to Desires - Simon Lewis x Female Reader

Summary: Training with Simon gets a bit hot and heavy

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: none

Y/N’s POV

As I spar with Simon in the training room, his newly acquired vampire speed still leaves him somewhat clumsy. Despite his efforts, I manage to land a few taps with the metal training pole, each one eliciting the cutest laughter from him. His laughter is like music to my ears, filling the room with a sense of joy and lightness.

Simon makes a dash towards me, his vampire speed propelling him forwards and I try to sidestep his advance, having used my speed rune before we started. But, in a sudden movement, he sticks out his foot, catching me off guard and sending me sprawling to the ground. With a startled gasp, I feel myself falling, but instinctively, I reach out and grab onto Simon, pulling the flailing man down with me.

We land in a tangled heap, his weight pressing against me with a solid ‘oof’. For a moment, everything seems to stand still as I feel his body close to mine. His unneeded breath is coo; against my skin, and I can feel my heart rate increase slightly.

As we lie there, entangled on the ground, I take a moment to study Simon’s features. His tousled brown hair falling slightly in his face, and his dark eyes sparking with amusement despite our awkward predicament/ His features hold a boyish charm that never fails to captivate me.

I can feel my heart jackhammering in my chest as I resist the overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss him. It's as if my heart aches with longing, yearning for a connection that transcends the boundaries of friendship.

But, instead of succumbing to the temptation, I focus on the task at hand. With determination, I hook a leg around one of his and use my momentum to flip us over. As we untangle ourselves and I climb to my feet again, I can't help but steal a glance at Simon. Despite the slight flush on his cheeks from our tumble, he wears a playful grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. In that moment, I'm reminded of why I'm drawn to him, why every moment spent in his presence feels like a gift.

With a determined spark in my eyes, I throw aside the training stick and raise my fists, ready to engage in hand-to-hand combat with Simon. His playful grin widens into a smile that momentarily catches me off guard, but I quickly shake off the distraction, focusing on the task at hand.

As we circle each other, a charged energy fills the air, crackling with anticipation. Every move Simon makes is fluid and deliberate, his vampire reflexes lending him an almost supernatural grace. But I refuse to back down, meeting his gaze head-on as we exchange playful banter amidst our combat.

With every punch thrown and dodge maneuverer, I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, heightening my senses to a razor-sharp edge. Simon’s laughter rings out as we trade blows, a melody that drives me forward with renewed determination.

Despite the intensity of our training, there's an undeniable undercurrent of flirtation between us. Our movements are filled with teasing touches and lingering gazes, each exchange fuelling the fire that burns between us. It's as if the boundaries between sparring partners and something more blur with each passing moment, leaving us both intoxicated by the electric connection we share.

Suddenly, Simon catches me off guard with a swift move he could only have ever learnt off Jace, he manages to twist one of my wrists behind my back and presses me against the wall. His solid figure flush against my back, sending a jolt of electricity through me as I feel the coolness radiating from him.

I gasp in surprise as his sudden manoeuvre leaves me pinned and at his mercy, my heart pounding erratically in my chest. With his nose dragging along my jugular he whispers, “You're quite the challenge, you know that?" His voice is laced with a playful undertone, sending a thrill coursing through me. "But I wouldn't have it any other way," he adds, his words dripping with flirtation, causing my heart to race even faster.

Caught between the wall and his firm hold, I struggle to regain my composure, my mind spinning with a heady mixture of desire and exhilaration. Every inch of my skin tingles with anticipation, craving the electrifying touch of his lips against mine.

“S-Si…” I choke out, my breath catching in my throat as his lips, cold and plump, press against my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. It's as if he's trying to hold himself back, the restraint palpable in his touch. I let my head fall back onto his shoulder, exposing my neck to him. His icy hands release my wrist, instead resting gently on my hips, sending a jolt of electricity through me. My chest heaves with exertion and anticipation, the air thick with unspoken desires.

This side of Simon is unlike anything I've ever seen before, but I find myself unable to resist the magnetic pull of his touch. His closeness fills me with a sense of longing and yearning, igniting a fire within me that threatens to consume us both.

As Simon spins me around, his strong arms framing my body with his, I feel a rush of emotions flood through me. His closeness, the heat of his body pressed against mine, sends my senses into overdrive. I’m consumed by a fierce longing and yearning, a desire that threatens to overwhelm me.

When I hear him ask if he's reading the situation wrong, those words are all it takes for my restraint to snap. Without a second thought, I find myself gripping his messy locks, pulling him closer with an urgency I can't contain.

Our lips meeting a messy kiss, teeth clacking and tongues clashing. The air crackles with electricity as the heat between us ignites a passionate inferno, consuming us both in its fiery embrace. It's a kiss born from the depths of longing and desire, a culmination of the unspoken tension that has simmered between us for far too long.

As our mouths meld together, I'm enveloped in the heady scent of Simon. It's a tantalising mixture of earthiness and something uniquely him, a scent that intoxicates my senses and leaves me craving more. Despite his vampire nature, there's a gentleness in his touch, a careful tenderness that belies his newfound strength.

His lips, cool and soft, move against mine with a delicate precision, as if he's afraid to break the fragile connection between us. Every brush of his lips sends shivers down my spine, igniting a passionate fervour within me that I can't contain.

As we lose ourselves in the intensity of our kiss, a low whistle suddenly pierces the air, making us jump apart, our faces flushing crimson with embarrassment. My heart races as I turn to see Jace, Clary, Alec, and Izzy standing there, varying expressions of amusement and surprise etched on their faces.

Izzy, always quick with a remark, can't help but quip, "Well, well, well, looks like the training room has turned into a bedroom for lovebirds." Her tone is light and teasing, but there's a hint of amusement in her eyes that tells me she's secretly enjoying the spectacle.

I feel a pang of embarrassment wash over me as I realise that our private moment has been interrupted by our friends. But despite the awkwardness of the situation, there's a sense of camaraderie among us, a bond that transcends even the most embarrassing of moments.

As we gather ourselves and attempt to regain our composure, I exchange a sheepish glance with Simon, our eyes silently communicating the shared understanding of the unexpected turn of events. And as we prepare to face our friends, I can't help but feel grateful for their presence, knowing that no matter what challenges may come our way, we'll always have each other's backs.

“Duly noted.” Simon nods, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly before he’s grinning and winking at me, “Why don’t you show me your room?”

“Simon!”

The Shadowhunters Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

#shadowhunters tv #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #simon lewis #simone lovelace #simon lewis x reader #simon lewis x you #simon lewis x y/n #simon lewis smut #simon lewis fluff #simon lewis angst #tmi #the mortal instruments one shots #shadowhunters x reader #shadowhunters preferences #Netflix shadowhunters #alberto rosende

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