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wordy-little-witch · 1 month

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I'm caught perpetually teetering on the line between competent Buggy and absolutely fucked up into success Buggy, but I think I found a work around, and the reveal comes via Cross Guild - Mihawk specifically. Ergo, I thus drop little random numbers here for reading pleasure before I actually EXPLAIN it.

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Crocodile

It was not abnormal for the clown to butt heads with the former warlord. They both had very strict and evident opinions, thought one (cough Buggy cough) was much more verbose about it. Running an expansive business with a bumbling fool of a face man was enough to instigate migraines in the most patient of men.

Crocodile was not a patient man.

One could only imagine the sheer agony of his day to day.

This came to a head, as such things tend to do, on a mundane Tuesday afternoon, barely past midday. Buggy had scuttled in, a veritable mess of a person, hair in disarray and sweaty. Crocodile had taken one look and sneered at the other in disgust. This, in turn, has set Buggy off.

The clown had apparently been out with the lower ranks, building rapport and assisting with the laborious tasks assigned to them. It was something he had done before titles had even been a passing thought to be disposed on his name, and he had made it abundantly clear that it would not stop now nor in the foreseeable future. Admittedly, Crocodile had tuned out much of it in preference for more entertaining thoughts, such as brutally mummifying a certain clown.

Thwack

Crocodile nearly dropped his cigar. He blinked, automatically turning a glowering glare at the other as he shifted his shoulders. Buggy simply huffed, pale though he was, meeting the dark scowl with one of his own.

"By the Seas, why do I even bother with you, I swear-!"

As fast as he had stumbled in, Buggy was gone. Crocodile stared after him well after the door clicked shut. He rubbed his shoulder with his remaining hand, grimacing thoughtfully. Buggy had hit him. Not hard enough to cause damage, not even enough to leave a bruise, but it stung. It had connected.

He was a Logia user, and the Clown had solidly hit him.

Thoughts racing, he tried to convince himself it must have been due to some leftover sweat from the physical activity the blue haired menace had been rambling about. Turning back to his paperwork, he firmly told himself that that was all there was to it.

He pointedly ignored the fact that Buggy's hands had been dry and dusted with dirt.

<><><><><><><>

Mihawk

Life on the island was much removed from the monotony of Kuraigana. It bustled with life here in a way both alien and vaguely familiar to the swordsman. Despite the brightness of the colors and the loudness of the cacophony, it was almost... charming.

He'd never admit that outloud, however.

One thing he did not find very enjoyable was the lack of challenge here. Most who used the blade and called this archipelago home withered under his attention, paled and bowed out from an offer to spar with stuttered excuses and fear in their hearts. It was disheartening, especially given how many of the showed halfway decent promise.

It was a slowly crawling Sunday evening when he happened across a small squadron of the newer recruits in one of the sandy clearings. Many were younger than expected yet carried a look of maturity far beyond the planes of their faces. Mihawk had found himself admittedly rather intrigued when Buggy had personally offered to welcome these young adults at best, teenagers at the lower end, to the Guild.

Even now, a few weeks into their stay on the isle, Mihawk noticed a marked change - a slight build of muscle mass, a more healthy coloring, cleaner clothes and faces. They were doing well, he noted.

They were also all working studiously with blades in hand.

He watched them work for a time, hidden into the shadowed spaces of the trees near the clearing, allowing himself but a moment of observation. His gaze inevitably shifted to their katas, their grips, their footwork. He frowned, brow furrowing slightly as he considered them, the oddly familiar movements ringing an unnamed bell within his mind.

A bright laugh distracted him, and he turned a glance to Audrey, one of the younger recruits, spinning fluidly between a parry, redirection, and then a slash. Her bright red plait swirled after her, and suddenly Mihawk was standing straighter, walking into the clearing.

The jovial air was quickly hushed, eyes growing wide as many bowed their heads in deference. Audrey met his gaze head on with a reckless defiance undercut only by the sheer terror she tucked behind bravado in her summer green gaze. "Sir," she nodded once, voice impressively level despite the white knuckles grip on her blade, now held at ease yet defensive.

He nodded once in response. "My apologies to have interrupted," he announced cooly. "I found you all practicing by chance and am quite pleased by your skills. It is evident you have an acceptable level of respect for the craft."

Many faces lit up at the compliment. Audrey herself smiled brightly, showing a little gap in her smile. Somehow, it made him almost fond of such a look.

"That being said," he continued before any further reaction could be given, "the swordplay you lot have been utilizing, wherever did you learn it?"

"C-Captain Buggy, s-sir!" A blond lad responded brightly with a smile, enthusiasm not defeated by his stutter. Thómas, if Hawkeye recalled correctly. "H-He has b-bee-been teaching us-s," the other hiccupped happily.

"The..."

"Chairmen Buggy said he knew a few styles. For now, we're learning this one - he said it would be easiest on us for the time being. Once we're stronger, he'll help us find individual styles to expand on!"

"Is that so," he replied absently, mind racing. He knew this style - he'd been on the receiving end of it more than once, after all. Never once had he considered that Shanks' impeccable footwork may have been a set style. It had seemed too randomized, too shaken from the norm to have a specific sequencing. And yet...

And yet.

"The Chairmen knows this style well enough to teach it then."

"Yes sir!"

"Mm. Thank you, then. You have given me much to think on. Keep up the good work."

Leaving just as suddenly as he'd arrived, the swordsman set on a straight path to the animal tents. The clown would doubtlessly be there at this time of day. Mihawk had gotten a general idea of the man's excessive schedule in his time on the island after finding the other's Presence too soft and wisp-like to pinpoint.

Yet a other odd thing about the clown, he supposed, making his way along.

Finding the clown had been easy. Guiding him from the masses had been equally so. Convincing him to spar had been... not. If anything, it had been loud, expressive and interspersed with crying. It had taken Mihawk quite explicitly swearing formally to not kill the other outright for Buggy to even stop his pathetic yet endearing tears.

Mihawk shook the latter thought off as quickly as it came.

Buggy asked if his daggers would suffice as a weapon, citing that Mihawk had been the one to ask for a spar, after all, and thus had a decent amount of choice. Pleasantly surprised by the clown's knowledge of the code, he'd cited it would be fine, as he would not be utilizing Yoru for this regardless.

They took their positions on opposite ends of their designated battle ground, eying one another carefully. With the clown right before him, Mihawk focused his Haki, intending not to quite crush the other but to study him as thoroughly as possible, to push his limits as it were.

Buggy surprisingly opted to play it safe, not lunging forward in a reckless attack as he so often seemed to do. Taking the signal, Mihawk moved instead, intending to push the other back, to catalogue his steps. Instead, Buggy twirled, one knife sliding sinfully along his own before looping back off again, redirecting his momentum easily without incurring nor causing any damage.

The dark haired man blinked.

He'd... barely felt the other move.

Typically Haki would ebb and flow around a person or object with the movements of the host. Split seconds before one moved towards the left, their Haki would lean into the motion. Identifying, studying and reacting to the Haki as opposed to the physical form took years of practice and mastery, something Hawkeye excelled in. His Observation was rumored to be on the same scale as Charlotte Katakuri, after all.

And yet a clown had blind sided him.

In response, he turned, rerouting his energy into a graceful arc. This time, he saw Buggy move, body fluid as he shifted around the threat despite his Devil Fruit. Mihawk wondered absently if the Haki would cause damage before he lunged backwards as a dagger came dangerously close to his mustache. He allowed his surprise to show for a moment, gaze darting to Buggy. He'd expected a stunned look, perhaps a smug, prideful expression.

The face which met him was closed off, locked down tightly, offset even further by the garish painted smile on the other's sun kissed face. Buggy's eyes, usually a soft blue that summoned the skies to his very irises had frozen over into something iced and glacier like. Mihawk was fascinated.

Their dance continued on, far longer than the taller had anticipated. Their deadly dance was near silent, save the sharp swish of silk-sheering sharp blades through air.

Mihawk made one more movement in, managing to chip away at defenses to leave an opening for his knife to slip in silently. The blade cut through cloth and - not skin, not flesh, but something. Mihawk was suddenly frozen in place, staring at where the blade sat innocently up to the hilt in the new gap between Buggy's lower and upper ribs.

"Well, guess that call it, then," the blue haired man sighed, pulling back his hands to resheath his weapons. "That was a hell of a work out, man, you are fast as fuck. Nngh~" He stretched, a few vertebrae popping as he stepped back to spin on the ball of his foot, hair swishing. "Want to head back? Dinner ought to be ready soon. ... Mihawk?"

The dark haired man had since straightened, staring between his blade and Buggy's body, whole and hale. "... is this the reason for your oddities?"

"What?"

"You... why would you..."

Buggy, now wary, seemed to debate his next move. That was all Mihawk needed to meet the otherr man's gaze head on.

"It is nearly impossible to completely suppress one's Haki, and yet yours fits you like a second skin. It is hardened, expansive, and dense." He frowned. "It is... frankly speaking, more than merely intimidating."

Buggy rubbed his elbow. "Don't... over think it, okay? It's nothing special-"

"It is."

"It isn't, okay-?"

"It is and you do so without so much as uttering an indicator. Your Haki is so tightly bound that I could feel the moment my blade passed that barrier. You have and continue to actively do what many consider impossible." He stepped closer. Buggy stepped back. Mihawk followed. "You use an impossible technique with your Haki." Step. "You are teaching a recruit squadron swordplay in the steangest yet most effective manner I have seen in a long while." Step. "You certainly used Armament during this exchange on instinct alone." Step. Thump. Buggy stared uo, huddled back to a tree trunk. Mihawk leaned into his space. "And, perhaps strangest of all, you use a variation of Shanks' Violeta Vendetta for your bladed battles. Tell me just who or what you are, clown - because a fool or failure is not among them."

Silence reigned in the clearing.

Mihawk stared.

Buggy gulped. "He still... calls it that?"

What. "What?"

"Red hair... bastard stills calls her Violeta...?"

Mihawk nodded. Buggy laughs.

And then? Well, then Buggy explains

#buggy the clown #competent buggy #cross guild #my ficlets #im sleepy #dracule mihawk #sir crocodile #ocs mentioned

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messrsbyler · 1 year

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okay changed my mind i don’t want byler’s kiss to be dramatic i want it to be soft as hell with them staring at each other, closer than they’ve ever been, mike hesitates a little before bringing a hand to will’s jaw and almost pulls away when he feels will tremble under his palm. their breaths are ragged and warm between them, skin hot and flushed. and mike stares at will as if he was the only person in the whole world he wanted to be in this moment with, as if a stare could stop time and the end of the world from coming, because this moment is theirs and not even the upside down can rip it from their hands.

but they are both still timid and shy, doubting if to cross the line that has shaped their friendship all these years. and then, in the dead silence of the night, mike asks “is… is this okay, will?”

and will’s heart shoots to his throat. it pounds in his ears and thrums in the fingertips that cling to mike’s shirt. he heaves a breath and nods. “yeah, it- it’s okay.”

mike offers a wobbly smile and his eyes fall to will’s lips. his own mouth parts and will swears the ground is spinning under their feet. “will,” mike whispers.

“yeah?”

“can i-“ mike bits his lip and looks up, cheeks bright red. “can i… kiss you?”

and will doesn’t have enough breath in his lungs to mutter a single word. all of it is knock right out of his system in a dizzying wave tingles and butterflies. all he can do is give a small nod and try to suck in a breath before mike is closing the gap between them, glancing one last time at will’s eyes, maybe looking for any sign of doubt. but will knows mike won’t find any.

a second later, mike’s lips are on his.

#byler #byler ficlet #byler scenario #byler ao3 #byler tumblr #mike x will #will x mike #mike wheeler #will byers #stranger things #byler endgame #cleradin #byler fic #byler kiss #messrs writes #my ficlets

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shieldofiron · 9 months

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Billy had a dirty little secret.

No, not the gay thing. It was 2023 and even if his dad was a major asshole about it, Billy knew in the grand scheme of things he was just another semi-closeted white gay with an OCD diagnosis and a countdown in his head until he could move out of Indiana and back to someplace more accepting.

No, Billy had an even worse secret. He liked romance novels. And not the cutesy ones with cartoon covers. The kindle app on his phone was full of bonkers vampires, mafia bosses, blue aliens, and secret princes. His library card back in California had a 40 dollar fee on it because he had desperately checked out his favorites, the ones with the busty, Fabio, neon covers, before he got sent to Hawk-a-loogie Indiana.

That’s how he found himself flop sweating in the back stacks of the local library, desperate to find the right shelf without having to ask the kindly older lady behind the counter with the cats knit into her sweater. She looked like she had dropped right out of 1983, and she was eyeing him with a too curious look.

“Can I help you, dear?”

He closed his eyes, hot shame pouring over him, “Romance? My uh… stepsister wants some books. Any old thing will do.”

She just hummed, and indicated a door to the right of the children’s section. “In the basement. Shelves F-K.”

Billy didn’t have high hopes, considering that they’d been shoved to the basement. He’d been so wrong.

It was a paradise. Not only older, historic titles he’d never seen in person, let alone had the opportunity to read, but new stuff too. He goggled at an original cover copy of Indigo by Beverly Jenkins and Prince of Scoundrels by Loretta Chase as well as a brand new copy of Cat Sebastian’s latest gay romance, the cover glossy with a fresh library covering, the corners still sharp.

45 minutes later and more than a little late to pick up Max, he crawled back to the counter, the coveted gay romance sandwiched between two straight ones and a random mystery book thrown on top for cover.

The librarian eyed him carefully.

“You know, we have a romance book club,” she pulled out a small pink flier, “If your sister is interested. I host it, once a month.”

He glanced over it swiftly, clocking her name, Claudia Henderson and filing it away.

“I’ll let her know,” more like he would drag the Shitbird kicking and screaming.

She smiled, “I hope you will.”

#billy Hargrove #I just think he would like them #romance novel reader billy #harringrove #Claudia Henderson #ficlet #my ficlets

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onboardsorasora · 30 days

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So my very first fic/maxiel idea was this paranoid alpha Daniel thing where he was suffering at McLaren and thought people were saying he was an unfit alpha to take care of his pack. I never wrote it because, well idk. Sounds dumb but everyone was moving on from alpha!Dan narratives to omega!Dan and I also couldn’t think of how to even write it and I knew it was going to be all depressing n stuff. I guess that interview in Aus where Max says it gets smelly and Daniel said he sweats a lot kinda brought me back to alpha Dan in a way. But I focused on the after. The way after. Anyway. Idk if I’ll ever continue this. I’m just happy to get this down- with the block I’ve been experiencing lately. But at least. Here it is

“Gosh, at least open a window or something.” Lando complained when Max opened the door.

“You’re lucky I even let you in.” Max groused. The apartment smelt fine to him. Like them. Daniel’s sweat and musk was fine perfume to his senses, even as it quite literally blanketed the air in his pre rut state.

“You literally invited me.” Lando raised the tote bags at his side, pulling them out of Max’s reach playfully.

“Mate! Don’t be a dick.” Max pouted while Lando laughed at him.

“You’re so jumpy, nervous?” Lando walked into the kitchen, making sure to not brush against any furniture.

“Yeah, well. It’s his first rut since— y’know.” And Lando did know. This was Daniel’s first rut with Max since they got back together, since Daniel was allowed back on the grid, since Red Bull took him on so they could keep courting, since Daniel got healthy again. Since the incident.

Since Daniel had a public mental breakdown and they disbanded his pack, saying he wasn’t a fit alpha to take care of anyone.

Max had been taken into Charles’ pack and Lando to Carlos’.

“Are you guys going to mate?” Lando asked, picking at his cuticles— a Daniel habit he picked up.

“No, not yet. He wants it to be special he said.” Max smiled softly.

“Where is he?” Lando had expected to see the alpha in the couch with the way how his scent was so strong— as if he’d been walking around and rubbing his armpits everywhere.

“He’s taking a shower.—“

“Maxy do we have any of those- oh hey Lando.” Daniel walked into the living room scratching his ear. His shirt clung to the wet spots on his shoulders and back.

“Hey mate, how’re you feeling?” Lando chirped, giving in to a quick hug.

“Steady. I’m feeling steady.” Daniel slung an arm around Max’s shoulder and the omega leaned into him easily and with a smile. Lando couldn’t hold back his grin.

“I’m glad.”

#alpha!dan #omega!max #literally might just be it #maxiel #max/daniel #my ficlets

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clawbehavior · 2 months

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tdj modern au idea where gaon works as a cook in a poorly managed restaurant with a shitty owner that nevertheless has glowing reviews because people crave his food. except for one prick.

he comes in every day, orders a range of dishes, then provides unasked for constructive criticism on the meal to a fuming gaon and leaves a 1 star review. every. single. day. but he pays 400% so the restaurant owner falls over his feet to get him back.

still, the 1-star reviews catch up with the restaurant. the owner calls it a flush and shuts it down abruptly, leaving his staff unemployed.

which is when said prick pops out of the blue to open a new and better restaurant in the exact same spot staffed by everyone who just got fired, including gaon as the chef. gaon's in a bind, being jobless, but he still plays hard to get, demanding competitive wages and benefits for the staff and complete creative control over the food. surprise! yohan agrees and over time wins gaon's trust and heart. and then you find out this was yohan's plan all along to capture this spitfire of a cook and make him his.

just imagining gaon dressed in the gif below and absolutely reaming out yohan for being a dick while yohan stares back awe struck and wanting to kiss him sooo badly

#gahan #the devil judge #my fic ideas #my ficlets

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fallen-omens · 8 months

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the way aziraphale hesitates before giving into the temptation that is holding crowley during their kiss. it’s just a second that we allows himself to let go, a moment of weakness or maybe courage in which he allows himself to do as he pleases and not as God or Heaven has planned for him to do.

but then the moment is gone, the bruising and violent kiss is over, and aziraphale might’ve hoped that a moment of tasting it was enough to put out the fire licking his insides whenever crowley is close. but it wasn’t. the fire still there, stronger even, the taste of the apple too sweet to let go of, and isn’t this what crowley has always done to him? always tempting him, always pushing the limits designed by heaven so aziraphale might step out of them.

he can’t let it happen again. if aziraphale belonged only to himself then yes, maybe he and crowley could be them, could be together. but part of aziraphale, the bigger part, still belongs to Heaven and to the many things he can do to fix it. he just… has to stop being tempted by the same apple.

and so, through tears with with the flames alive inside of him, aziraphale says “i forgive you.” for tempting me. for making me want things i shouldn’t want. for making this harder.

the flames are still there and they hurt a bit more when crowley steps out of the bookshop and doesn’t look back.

aziraphale has never fallen, clearly. his wings have always remained an immaculate white, but he’s heard stories of those who did fall in the past. of how their wings were burned to a black, of the pain they were put through as punishment for their sins, and he weakly wonders if this fire he’s feeling in his gut and heart is anything near that; if the pain of falling from the skies is remotely close to the pain of falling for crowley.

#i’m not okay #ineffable husbands #good omens #my ficlets #azicrow #aziraphale #crowley

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blorbocedes · 2 months

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i wish u would write: more lesbians!sico 🙏🏻

"Would you still like me if I was a worm?"

Seb asks stupid questions like this, lying belly flop on Nico's dorm bed.

"No. Worms are disgusting." Nico rolls her eyes, carefully cutting out Britney Spears' image from the glossy magazine cover. She's going to mail order that halter top later.

Seb turns to look at her all sad with her freakish blue eyes and floppy hair, about to launch into an explanation about why worms are very important for the ecology, actually. Nico revises her answer. Blame Lewis for insults being her love language.

"I would put you in a terrarium. Plenty of enrichment. Good soil."

"We cannot date if I'm in a terrarium." Seb pouts. Her tee shirt rode up as she moved, exposing a stripe of pale skin. Seb's always pale while Nico gets a flush golden tan in Monaco. Sebastian has gotten this strange impression that simply because they have sex and spend time together afterwards that they're 'dating.' Nico hasn't corrected her on it yet.

"It's frowned upon to date worms." Nico finishes her scrapbooking, scooching over to the squeaky twin sized dorm bed.

"Well, I would date you if you were a worm. Maybe it would be better, I could finally get you to come watch the Return Of The King with me." Seb smiles, linking one of her legs with Nico's, jeans against bare skin.

"How would you get a terrarium in the theatre, genius?" Nico hates that she's playing along this stupid thought experiment, when there's a young, hot body in her bed and she doesn't have class until the afternoon. She runs her fingers against Seb's bare stomach, feels her get goosebumps at the touch.

"I'll-- uh," Seb is momentarily distracted, blinking at Nico, licking her lips, and they really are so red and biteable. "Sneak you in my pocket. Keep you warm."

It's 2004 and none of their jeans have real pockets.

"Yeah?" Nico crawls on top, eyes dark. "Keep me here?" Nico pulls on the fake pocket of her low rise jeans, exposing her hip bone, circling her thumb over it. Seb writhes at the touch. It's very validating, she goes pink wherever Nico touches her, as if Seb isn't the one whose fucked everyone on campus while Nico's relatively new to carpet munching, but a diligent learner.

"Or here?" Nico asks, sliding her hand under Seb's shirt -- squeezing her tit, impossibly warm like a molten core.

"Damn you. Everywhere." Seb begs, promises, pulling Nico down to put her tongue in her mouth.

#seb's a lotr emo band geek so naturally a huge slut. nicos bicurious and breaking up with lewis turned her gay #girl sico #sico my beloved #my ficlets #blorbocedes ask #f1 rpf #hehe I hope you like it ! :3

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sysakiddo · 4 months

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Some diplomatic shenanigans before my exam on wednesday. The feedback I get from you guys is truly overwhelming and I cannot thank you enough 😭🥺 Next up, first maxiel meeting? Hmm?

1,2,3,4

When Daniel finally emerges from the bedroom, the villa seems completely abandoned but the door to the terrace is open. When he gets out, he sees Seb standing by the grill. He is humming a quiet tune, the sizzling from the grill almost like a beat to it.

“Oi, where are the twinks?” he asks loudly.

Seb chuckles as he turns around. “Out there, twinking somewhere.” He hands Daniel a bottle of chilled beer, waiting for him to stop laughing. “They went to Nice to pick the others up.”

Daniel nods and doesn't ask why Sebastian stayed behind. He plays it safe, attacking before Seb even has the chance to admit he is his designated babysitter.

“So,” Danny starts, the condensation on his hand making him squirm. “Did you, finally?”

Seb looks away immediately, clicking the grilling tweezers in his hand loudly. Mute, he shakes his head no.

Daniel moans, even though he expected the answer. “Oh my god, Sebastian. This is pitiful.”

Sebastian is glaring now, flipping the zucchini on the grill like his life depended on it. “You managed to kiss the kid a month after meeting him. Sorry that I’m not like you!”

Daniel hip-checks Seb, “Max wasn’t a kid, come on. He was an ambassador in the US-“

“I remember you called him a jailbait several times-”

This certainly isn't the first time Sebastian has tried this tactic. Like the other times, it isn't working. “Charles wasn’t a kid either, and he certainly isn’t a kid now. Come on, Seb. All these years?”

Daniel imagines Max had the same conversation with Charles in the morning somewhere on an old racetrack. He feels hollow pain at realising he probably won’t find out: he doubts Max will be sharing anything with him after the fight. Even after three years of marriage, he still uses the silent treatment as the punishment of his choice.

“Isn't he dating the Spanish model?”

Sebastian's hair looks almost golden in the afternoon sun. Daniel doesn't get it. He doesn't know if the thought of the ethics of his feelings for Charles or the doubt of the authenticity of Charles' feelings makes him like this.

“I don't know how to tell you this, Sebastian. You're not together, that's true. But it's not because of the lack of trying from his side.”

Sebastian turns around, a macabre grimace on his face. “I can't- Because of me- I won’t let him waste it-“

“He’s already wasting it, Sebastian! Max told me he is thinking of working for UNESCO!” he spits the word out like a curse.

Sebastian opens his mouth to retort something but is cut off by the noise of people entering the villa. Suddenly, the terrace fills with laughter and loud voices, and Daniel turns to the grill so he doesn't have to see the way Max's eyes skip him over.

Daniel yanks out the grilling tweezers from Seb's hands, and he gives him a weird look. He turns around a few of the zucchinis to distract himself. He has to admit - Seb is onto something.

He suddenly feels arms wrapping around his torso. He flinches so hard that the tweezers almost fall out of his hand. The hands grip him tighter, feeling the ribs sticking out underneath his pastel green shirt. Max said it complimented his skin tone when they were packing. He looks down, the simple wedding band glimmering in the light on the left hand, now gripping his hip. If it wasn't for the smell and the touch he knows better than anything else, the Audemars on his wrist would give him away. Daniel tenses, expecting a comment about his weight. All he gets is a sigh and the weight of Max's head on his shoulder.

Max kisses Daniel's neck right at the spot where it meets his shoulder, where it turned slightly red from being in the sun the whole day yesterday. “I missed you, schatje,” he murmurs and Daniel is so shocked he doesn't react in any way.

“I know- I know it's hard for you, sometimes. I will try to make it easier, okay? We will talk later. We're alright.” Max speaks quietly and confidently. Dizzily, Daniel wonders if Max connected his phone to Daniel’s McLaren to call the therapist on the way to Nice.

Daniel's mouth is open and he blinks a few times. Max thinks he looks a bit like a fish.

In the weeks following The Catastrophe, the fights would escalate on the next day, Daniel not being able to suffer through the silent treatment. He would always say something that would eventually make the whole situation even worse. Max had his line prepared, “it's the same shit with you every time, you fucking asshole” or a similar equivalent, looking sick of everything, looking sick of Daniel. He would usually wait for Daniel to start crying before storming out, though. That, he couldn't handle.

Sebastian says something in rapid German aimed at both of them. It snaps Daniel out of his thoughts and as Max answers, a small smile forms on Daniel's face. They are alright.

Seb obviously expects a contribution from Daniel's part as well, waiting a second after Max finishes speaking. “Really?” Seb looks at Max exasperatedly, shaking his head disapprovingly. “All this time and you still haven't taught him German? That's humiliating.”

Max yelps. “How is that my fault?!”

It's not only the three of them anymore, Alex wandering by and looking at the grill with loving expression. He smirks in Daniel's direction, messing up his curls with a hand currently not poking around the steaks Seb put aside. “I think the conjugation might be too much for his pretty little head anyway,”

“I told you, Max, Australians are basically glorified Americans,” Seb adds in, laughing gleefully at Daniel's expression.

Daniel finally finds his footing. “How is knowing four languages not enough?”

Max smirks, a glint in his eyes. “Doing Russian lessons on Duolingo doesn't count as knowing a fourth language, cowboy,”

“You are a freaky bunch, yet I'm the one ostracised here!” Daniel splutters, undignified.

“Oh, oh, oh! Ostracised, that's how he's trying to show us he's excellent in his mother tongue.” Daniel glares at Alex while everybody else laughs. “Come, come, Georgie! You two can have a rap battle or a spelling bee competition.”

George is just entering through the main doors, carrying three travelling bags in one hand. He looks taller than usual. Anne and Charles enter next, so deep in their conversation that they don't notice the weird exchange between Alex and George as he tries to beckon him over.

Charles is talking so fast that his words get all tangled up in each other. Daniel thinks he always looks the happiest when speaking French. Anne looks equally excited, only if a bit pale.

“Anne! Hey, nice to see you again!” he rudely interrupts Charles mid-sentence, and Anne smiles brightly at him, accepting the kiss on the cheek he gives her. “You look a bit pale, everything okay?”

“Well, the ride-” she shrugs, smiling bashfully, unwilling to finish her sentence.

Sebastian groans. “Weren't you racing in the morning? Guys, this is not nice to our guest-”

Charles points his finger at Max without losing even a second. “He started it!”

“How do you even race on that kind of road? The airport is literally thirty minutes away.” Seb is shaking his head, but the keen smile on his face gives him away.

Max is sitting on the lounger now, peeling an orange. “I won, Daniel,” he says, matter of factly, like he didn't hear anything Sebastian said. He is expecting praise and gets it, Daniel smiling at him with a thumbs up.

Half of the things he does are done to impress Daniel. Always will be, probably. He hands the other half of the peeled orange to Daniel.

Sebastian turns his attention to Anne and introduces himself even though she very clearly knows who he is.

“I'm Anne Mayhew,” Her eyes are bright. “It's such an honour, Mr. Vettel. I used your proposed analysis operationalisation of a conflict resolution in my dissertation and thought it spectacular.”

Sebastian looks taken aback by the words. “Oh,” he sounds giddy, like always when someone asks him about his research. “Well, now I'm intrigued. I didn't think someone would be willing to go through all that, especially because Weber's operationalisation is far easier to do right-” Seb cuts himself off. “Mayhew, you said? Like-”

Charles turns from where he is sorting through the food from the grill that needs to be served on the table. “Yeah, Seb, just like that. Give me a hand here, would you? You can talk about your analysis guide later.”

Daniel watches them without blinking, sure that he is missing something.

Seb huffs. “It's not really an analysis guide-”

Pierre turns up only when they all sit down, the food almost gone. He is leading a petite girl by hand. “Y'all look like you came out of the lifestyle magazine,” he says, his accent more pronounced than usual. He slaps the girl's ass lightly before she sits down, and she giggles. She doesn't acknowledge the rest of the people around the table.

Daniel kicks Max's foot under the table. Max's eye twitches. It's even worse than last year.

Charles coughs, trying to conceal the laugh that threatens to bubble over. “So,” he says, leaning his elbows on the table. “As a defending champion, I think it's only right if I choose the partner for the quiz first.”

Max shakes his head no immediately. “Defending champion,” he scoffs. “You cheated.”

Alex is ready to intervene, “I choose George. Max, you choose next.”

Max smirks at Charles. He is ready to win. “Anne.”

“I thought I was your good luck charm!” Daniel gasps and puts his hand over his heart theatrically.

“Shut up, do you think I forgot how you helped Charles last year? Fucking snake.” he scrunches his nose at the memory and Daniel laughs brightly, winking at Charles.

Charles looks smug, happy with the situation. “I'm choosing Daniel, then. Seb is the taskmaster. Pierre, do you want to join?”

Pierre is whispering something to the girl's ear and doesn't react in any way.

“Ehm,” Anne says hesitantly. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Pop quiz! Nothing to be worried about.” Max assures her but doesn't mention how he threw Daniel in the pool last year for helping the enemy. It was the first time they didn't win. With Max's geography and history knowledge and Daniel’s weird-facts obsession and solid pop culture perception, they always decimated their opponents.

“The winners get one favour from each player,” Charles adds, putting away the plates and filling their glasses with more wine.

Sebastian makes a show of scrolling through his phone, finding the questions from the last year that he didn't get to ask. They all settle down, wondering who would be the first to lose their nerves this year.

“First question for Galex.” George is sitting ramrod straight. Alex already looks done with the game. “Which two artists came up with the number one hit song called WAP?” Sebastian asks in the most serious voice he can master.

“WAP? What does that even stand for?” George's shoulders sag. Anne can't help it, she bursts out laughing at the situation’s absurdity.

“Oh, I know, I know! It was the rapper, right?” Alex snaps his fingers a few times. “Cardi B!” he yells out, and Seb makes a beeping noise with his mouth.

“I said two artists, Alex.” he sighs, turning to the next couple. Alex doesn't even have time to defend himself. “Daniel, question for you. What's the highest Polish mountain range?”

Charles tsks. “That's a trick! It's the Tatras, for sure. Not really theirs, though, right?”

Daniel shrugs.

“One point for you.” Seb winks at Charles. “Fine, Max- Kiribati consists of how many atolls?”

Max looks up to the sky as if counting in his head. Daniel rolls his eyes at the theatrics. He knows Max doesn't need to count anything.

“32 atolls, that's for sure,” he says, and Anne interrupts him, voice firm. “Don't forget about one coral island.” Max nods, smiling warmly at her. “Yeah, we're going with that. 32 plus one coral.”

Seb nods, showing them a thumbs up. He turns to George again, “The capital of Mongolia.”

“Ulaanbaatar,” Alex answers and Sebastian continues with the next question. “Who is Taylor Swift dating now?”

Daniel looks unsure when he looks at Charles, who doesn't hesitate to answer.

“Man of culture, I see,” Sebastian smirks and Charles just shrugs, refusing to be ashamed. A point is a point. “Who made the decision to carry out the first French nuclear test?”

“Why are you giving us the tricky ones?” Max grumbles.

Sebastian brushes a frustrated hand through his hair. “I am not! I don't skip questions, no cheating.”

“Must be Gaillard, right?” Anne quips and Sebastian nods. He doesn't have enough patience for Max's antics.

They get on with it for a while, but it's painfully obvious Max and Anne are an even stronger team than Max and Daniel. Charles' face falls with every question they answer correctly.

“Aand, the last question: What is the name of the latest Kendrick Lamar's album?” Sebastian asks Max, who looks at him blankly. Anne doesn't let him despair for long, answering correctly.

“Okay, that's 25 to 19, guys. 12 for Galex, you really need to work on this,” Seb is chuckling, reclining in his seat.

Everyone is waiting for Charles to start grumbling. “You suck, Daniel. How come you didn't know who got the Grammy for the album of the year? You like music!”

Daniel scoffs, finishing his wine in one big gulp. Max turns to Anne before the fight can break out. He doesn't feel like saving Daniel from the devil that is Charles when he loses.

“Okay, this is your first time, so you must be very mindful about the favours you will ask for. Everyone owes you now. Don't waste it.” he advises in a grave manner, then turns to the other end of the table. “George, I want you to call Toto Wolff and ask him for his upper-body workout routine. Tell him you've always admired his chest and biceps and dream of having a body like his one day. Now, please. Thank you.”

Anne looks at them in shock and gasps when everyone starts snickering as George pulls out his phone.

Daniel corners Charles in kitchen under the pretence of helping him with the cleanup.

“You know her? Anne?”

Charles has his hands in the bubbly water in the sink, up his elbows. “No,” he shakes his head. Daniel doesn't say anything, choosing to wait him out. “I know her mother. And you know her too. Geertruida Mayhew, UNHCR?”

Daniel feels his jaw tick in surprise. The sun had just started to set, and the orange rays coming through the window made Charles look angelic.

“Mean Gertie is Anne's mom?”

Charles nods, an almost painful grimace on his face.

“But she's like-” Daniel takes a washed plate from Charles' hands, mechanically drying it up with a tea towel. “Ginna told me her husband accused her of abuse during the divorce. That's why she couldn't run for the high commissioner.”

Charles nods again, a little more stiffly.

“That's why he chose her, right? Max? Is that why he chose Anne?” Daniel whispers, scared that the people filtering into the villa will hear him.

This time, the other man doesn't react. “Listen, Daniel, what are you asking me for? You know him better than anyone in the world. Better than he knows himself, even.” And that's about the only confirmation Daniel needs.

#maxiel #daniel ricciardo #max verstappen #f1 rpf #f1 fic #my ficlets #diplomacy au

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alexanderlightweight · 11 months

Note

You know what I rarely see? In the show after wooing Alec, Magnus is not shown as overly invested and it always appears as Alec reaching/apologizing/moving the pair along. Which was definitely a writing/directing choice. But what I’d like to prompt if it suits you, is Magnus being the one to apologize or to reassure Alec that he is important and not temporary-I’m team immortal but this convo certainly should happen. I liked the way you had Alec be angry in that prompt fill about his birthday and Magnus had to own up to that. If this isn’t your thing no big deal! Hope the weather is nice where you are and nightshade has enough pets and treats for the day!

i believe in 'no partner is perfect' and while i don't tend to write the angstier couple stuff 'i like my malec happy' i don't mind occasionally dipping my toes into partner angst (with an immortal happy ending)

this particular fic isn't about about immortality but it's about haing two people who have fundamentally different lifestyles having a miscommunication that devolves and while the argument is based on the show scene, it doesn't follow it perfectly. nor is the actual argument written. just the aftermath.

my thoughts are that magnus tries to spoil alec in season two still but it's more intimate and offscreen and he sort of in season 3a but magnus relies heavily n his magic to spoil alec and he kind of is spiraling all of season 3 tbh. they just really were sprinkling angst on malec like it was salt and they realized the show was bland.

all they did was get oversalted content which got salty fans, since they forgot to add actual herbs and spices.

it's a bloody hot day okay. i love the sun as much -nevermind apparently this is a lie-

so i don't hate the sun okay. i enjoy sunshine in specific environments. the sun is not a tyrant devoid of compassion.

anyways i live in a desert because its whats best for the people i love but give me mist and foggy days and give me winters of waist deep snow i can fall in. oceans so cold your lips go blue and rivers so deep and clear and still cold with melting ice.

if people are going to send me 8-10 feet to the bottom of the lake because they lost their electronics. it better be cold and clear. not warm and murky. (this has only happened 3 times but i have a preference).

So I made Say breakfast and nightshade breakfast and then I made @saeths breakfast a few hours later so i made an extra egg for nightshade to tempt him to eat another bowl of kibble.

so i fed nightshade twice and forgot to make any eggs for myself ^_^ so he is plenty spoiled (don't worry his egg was made without cheese and salt).

also the reason i'm awake is because he needed snuggles and after that he wanted to play in the pool and then i was too awake to bother

but that's our wednesday so far and i'm getting my work out of the way so i can focus on writing and house things.

<3 lumine

Magnus is ready with another quick retort when Alec’s face goes blank for a moment.

The argument fades from Magnus’ mind in an instant, because while this is the perfect moment to land another barb, the words die and his sentence stops, ending with a snide comment he doesn’t really mean.

“That’s fine Magnus.” Alec says and he’s not angry, which is worse. He sounds tired and yet professional. His manner restrained and placating in the way he does when he no longer has any fight left and he just wants to retreat and lick his wounds.

Wounds that Magnus caused.

“Alexander—” Magnus starts, because he didn’t intend to get so upset but Alexander just shakes his head.

“You’ve said your piece, Magnus. I get it.” Alexander sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he shuffles. “I messed up, again.”

Magnus winces, because he’s begun to feel more like a scolding mentor than a partner.

“I need to get to the Institute—” which makes sense, the argument started as they both got ready for their days. “I’ll—” and Alec hesitates and then shrugs, “I’ll see you tonight.”

—

Magnus waits until it’s dinner time and then portals to the Institute, already preparing words to once again explain that it’s not Alexander, it’s just not time yet.

He opens the door to the office without knocking and steps in.

“Alexander—” Magnus starts and then he hesitates.

Because for once, Alexander’s eyes don’t soften when they meet his. They remain cold, devoid of the warm ardor they normally contain but once again, without anger. Only an empty tiredness that Magnus longs to chase away.

“Do you have an appointment today, Magnus?” Alexander asks, setting down his pen and turning off his tablet with a sigh. Even upset Alexander will still give him his full attention and Magnus steps closer to the desk when Alexander continues, “because I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for a meal, or a conversation if it’s not official. So, if you don’t have an appointment, it needs to wait until I’m off.”

Alexander doesn’t mention coming home like he normally does, and Magnus suddenly misses it, with a deep lonely ache.

It also reminds Magnus that despite how often Alexander drops everything to join him, his boy is being worked to the ground and also driving himself to his limits in his pursuit of building a better Institute. Alexander is struggling to create ties between an Institute and local downworld leaders that would be revolutionary, with a sincerity that is unmatched by anything Magnus has ever seen.

Of course, he’s exhausted, and Magnus feels hollow now, remembering their fight all over again with a new clarity.

“No darling, it’s nothing official. I’ll see you tonight—” Magnus pauses, wanting to offer to summon Alec something to eat or drink, but it feels too much like an emotional bribe with how shuttered his boy is. Alexander nods and gives him the same perfunctory, polite smile he gives his siblings when he’s too exhausted to deal with them and doesn’t know what else to do.

It cuts Magnus to the heart to have that same expression directed at him, when he’s supposed to be safe for Alexander.

Magnus can’t handle the idea of reaching out only to be shied away from, so he runs from the possibility and instead summons a tiny flower to land by Alexander’s pen when the door shuts.

No one in the Institute seems to notice anything is wrong. Magnus gets a few strange looks, but he quickly realizes that it’s because everyone expected Alexander to be leaving with him, like his boy usually does.

Magnus feels cold and it’s with determination that he sends out an emergency message.

—

“I became stagnant in my old, single age.” Magnus bemoans, “I spent so long on my heartbreak that now, with a man I adore over every living being, I keep pushing him away.”

“Truth potion?” Catarina offers but Magnus shakes his head. Alexander deserves Magnus explaining this without the aid of something to help his thoughts form, even if it’s a trick Magnus has used continually and without remorse on himself.

This is different though because Magnus wants to become aware of what is wrong, not rely on a potion to figure it out.

“He wants to move in.” Magnus starts, about to launch into it when Cat laughs, interrupting him.

“What do you mean he wants to, he already has. Or did you just move him in on the sly and forget to ask him if he wanted to?”

“Cat—” Magnus says hesitantly, “he’s never moved in. He’s the one who brought it up. I told him no.”

Catarina pauses and then she sighs, and she summons her favorite, light summer beer and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Start from the beginning, Magnus. I need details.”

Magnus does, realizing things that he missed as he’s explaining so many details that he just assumed and took for granted.

“I did wonder that the Loft hasn’t changed much. It seems more like Alec’s an addition to your things rather than his own person.”

It’s that comment that drives Magnus into a frenzy the moment he’s home.

Magnus doesn’t go overboard; Alexander wouldn’t want him to. Also springing this on his boy after the prior rejection will be too much like whiplash.

So, Magnus starts very small.

He finally creates the foyer he promised himself and Alexander he would make.

Alexander’s never pushed but Magnus remembers the tightening of his shoulders and the way Alexander will be too tired for anything but cuddles — rarely even hungry — after barrages of people through the loft.

The kitchen he only summons when Alexander asks, which is rare, so he makes it a permanent fixture and makes sure to hang an apron with little angel wings up. It’s with a pained smile that he sighs and wonders when he got so old that he forgot to enjoy life, and instead spent all his time focused on the past, just like Ragnor always warned him about.

Magnus doesn’t want to regret any time with Alexander, and he finds that he already does.

Not the time spent with his boy, but the time he could have focused on him more.

Magnus has spent so long protecting himself from losing Alexander, that he hasn’t noticed that he’s pushing him away, stopping him from coming too close.

Except Magnus has also bound him tightly.

Alexander sleeps more often in Magnus’ bed than his own. He’s rerouted his own schedule so he can take the last patrol before shift change, come to Magnus’ loft, write his report there and send it in, and be in bed for Magnus to return to.

Except for work, Alexander spends the majority of his daily life either in the loft, or with Magnus.

There are signs of him, all over the loft, but Magnus can’t look at a single piece and think, “Alexander picked that out.”

It aches in way that is almost visceral, because now that Alexander isn’t here, it’s only more obvious.

Magnus is chest deep in a drawer when he becomes aware of his boy stepping slowly into the bedroom.

“Is this a bad time?” Alexander’s tired voice asks. “I noticed there was a new door and tried to knock but the door just opened.”

Magnus wants to say something except he’s furious with himself and everything and the idea that Alexander saw a new door and knocked instead of walking right in, tears something in him.

They stare at each other for a moment, Magnus with his hands still wrist deep in the dimensional dresser, sure he’ll eventually find more than the sparse offering of Alexander’s clothes that he has.

“Where are all the clothes that you leave here?” Magnus asks instead of answering because he genuinely doesn’t know, “I was cleaning, and I couldn’t find them.”

Alexander sighs and Magnus just knows that he’s gearing himself up to — once again — explain to Magnus that it’s not about the clothes, before his boy visibly gets too tired. Instead, he just shrugs and potions to the paltry pile that Magnus has found.

“You have more than that!” Magnus exclaims, frustrated because he knows Alexander does. “That green shirt I got you that you loved. And those pants, the black ones with the umber stitching. The cream sweater I adore you in! That suit I had tailored for you in Milan and the other one in Hong Kong.”

Alexander sighs and he rubs a hand over his face, the stubble he normally shaves away in Magnus— in their bathroom, shadowing his face.

“Magnus, those don’t exist anymore.” Alexander doesn’t seem upset, if anything his face softens into an almost reluctant fondness, “you tend to vanish all the clothing you get me, some way or another. Mostly before fucking me. I tried to ask you one time where they went and you waved a hand and said, ‘another dimension, nothing to worry about’.”

“Surely that’s not all I said.” Magnus protests weakly.

“Well, you proceeded to fuck me unconscious so no, it wasn’t the last thing you said. But it was the last thing you said abut clothes.”

Magnus gives a flat chuckle and then sighs, snapping his fingers to clean up the mess.

“Have you eaten?”

“I figured I could grab something from the cafeteria when I head back. It’s fine.”

It most certainly is not fine, but Magnus doesn’t think coaxing Alexander into eating is going to work this time, which means that Magnus has accidentally undone weeks of effort.

Magnus doesn’t press, doesn’t remind Alexander that he can here. Or that, if by normal standards Alexander stays until he usually leaves Magnus, it would be the early evening of the next day.

“So, you were cleaning.”

Alexander is looking around, voice faltering but face devoid of actual emotions.

“I realized some things, after this afternoon.” Magnus admits slowly, “you’re the first person I opened my heart to, Alexander. In a very long time, I’ve told you that before.”

Normally, explaining things is easier but all Magnus can think is he’s not explaining it correctly.

“I know. But Magnus, you’re the first person I’ve ever opened my heart to.” Alexander interjects and he sounds raw and broken, like he’s been torn apart. “Doesn’t that get to mean anything too, to you? Because I don’t know what I’m doing, and you told me that there was nothing wrong with that. That I had nothing to feel ashamed about but now, it doesn’t feel like that.

"It feels like I can’t do anything right and I thought, I hoped something was coming together with us but now—” Alexander gives a heavy sigh and shrugs. “Now I don’t even know what I am to you anymore. Where do I belong, in your life Magnus? If you tell me where to fit, I’ll make it work.”

And that breaks Magnus’ heart, because Alexander was never meant to feel like he had to cut off pieces of himself to ensure Magnus loves him, that he has a place in Magnus’ life.

“Oh darling, beloved.” He murmurs and Alexander flinches, like it was a knife to his side. “You belong. The entirety of you. You belong in my bed because it’s no longer just my bed. How can I say it’s my bed when I lay in it without you and can’t sleep? When I reach for you in the night and can’t find you?” Magnus moves across the room with slow, purposeful steps and then reaches out to carefully — only because Alexander allows it — cups his face.

“Alexander, I have no excuses. My heart is old, and it is scarred and it is a wonder that you love me with all the cracks you’ve seen exposed. I don’t fear men or demons or angels, Alexander. I fear my heart being torn from my body and leaving me alive, an empty hollow cavern where it should be in the shape of you.

“I’ve always been too much, Alexander. I put my own fears on you, not that you deserved any of it, sweetheart. You’re right. I am your first relationship, and you grew up and live in a shadowhunter society. The relationships you've witnessed aren't similar to ours at all.

"You trust me to guide our relationship but I’m always encouraging you to ask me for things and you rarely do. I’m sorry, that you finally trusted me enough to ask me for something and that I broke that trust.”

And Alexander breaks, his eyes filling with tears and he coughs, scrubbing over his eyes because he hates being emotional during talks like these. As if Magnus will use the crystal sorrow streaking his face against him.

“I don’t understand.” Alexander murmurs against Magnus’ shoulder, “I thought this was already my home, here with you. I don’t know what I did wrong, I’m sorry Magnus.”

“Oh sayang.” Magnus whispers, eyes stinging because his heart is lanced every time Alexander apologizes. “You did nothing wrong. My heart was too scared to admit that you already were home for us, I pushed you away because I panicked. I’m sorry, my darling.”

Magnus is as tender and sincere as he can be, because he doesn’t want Alexander internalizing anything over this. Especially not when he realized that for Alexander, the loft already was home and he just wanted permission, for it to be official.

It’s endearing and sweet and Magnus presses a kiss to Alexander’s temple, softly and then harder when Alexander pushes into the caress.

"This is already your home. Where ever I am, will be your home." Magnus promises, "that will never change, my love. This is our space, for us to grow together and live together in.

Instead, Alexander tackles him to the bed and just lays there, pinning Magnus to the comforter as he snuggles into Magnus.

"Alexander?"

There is no answer, just a soft, exhausted snuffle and Magnus wonders how upset Alexander's been, thinking he was deprived of the home Magnus gave him.

He uses magic to change their clothing. More conversations and decisions can be made after rest and well, Alexander certainly isn't going anywhere and neither is Magnus.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters #shadowhunters au #my fics #my fanfics #my ficlets

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messrsbyler · 8 months

Text

and when in s5 we get a scene with will and jonathan together, and will notices jonathan has been acting weird. jonathan is quiet and all over the place, gun in hand even when he’s not that good of a shooter. will knows how badly jonathan hates guns, because will feels the same way. their weight and cold touch are tied to memories of their father, of the cruelty of his voice and the violence in his heart. but jonathan is still holding a gun with a tight grip as if in this moment it was an anchor, pacing around the room and yet always keeping an eye on will. and will gets it.

“you couldn’t have known,” he says. his words get lost in the emptiness of the room and for a second will thinks his brother didn’t hear him, too alert with the sounds coming from the outside.

“what was that?” jonathan asks a moment later.

will’s eyes fall on the gun again and his stomach turns. he looks back up at jonathan’s face and sees it clear as day, there, in the lines at the corners of his mouth and the tension in his brows, will sees the guilt his brother has been carrying around all these years like a gun he can’t let go, as cold and as heavy.

“you couldn’t have known, jonathan. what was about to happen to me… that night.”

this time will’s words make it through jonathan’s walls. he whips his head around and stares at will with wide eyes. “what?”

will purses his lips and fights the knot lodged in his throat. “it wasn’t your fault, what happened. you couldn’t have known.”

jonathan’s expression opens for a second and will sees the raw pain and anger jonathan’s has kept in a tight grip all this time. he watches the self loath swirling in his eyes. then, jonathan’s face folds into a cold purse of lips and a hard stare. “that’s not true.”

“but it is!”

“will, no.” jonathan’s voice trembles and so does will’s. they are both fighting a battle against their tears, and they are both losing.

“jonathan-"

“i should’ve been–"

“i don’t blame you!” will snaps. his voice pierces the silence and sends a chill down his spine. jonathan stares at him, eyes still wide and shoulders tense, looking about a second away from turning around and bolting out the door. he wouldn’t do it, of course. he would never leave will alone. he never has, even if he doesn’t see it that way.

“you were there for me, jonathan. you found me. you brought me back. i don’t blame you for that night, i–" will chokes on his tears. “i never did. but if you can’t stop blaming yourself then at least take credit for everything else, too! for when- when you kept me safe from dad, when you took extra shifts for all of us, when you went after a monster just to get to me. when you… when you told me nothing would ever make you stop loving me. you were there, always. and that night… you couldn’t have known what would happen. no one could’ve. it can’t be your fault.”

#thinking about jonathan’s guilt and about will reassuring him that no it wasn’t his fault #AARGH #stranger things #will byers #jonathan byers #my ficlets

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shieldofiron · 4 months

Text

Date With Destiny

For @strangerthngs4life Happy Birthday!

Tina's Halloween Party, 1986

Tina’s living room was stuffed, again. She was dancing on the dining room table with Chrissy Cunningham of all people, dressed like 2/3 of Charlie’s angels, while Carol smirked up at them, her own angel’s wings rakishly askew.

Billy did his best not to roll his eyes at the girl looking up at him with stars in her eyes, “So, what’s college like?”

“It’s just a community college. But it’s cheaper than state,” Billy shrugged.

“Okay, but is it true that you’re roommates with King Steve?” She was a little wasted looking, just on the edge. He tried to look around for her friend, but they were nowhere to be found.

He wanted to scoff. No one actually calls him King Steve anymore. That can’t be real.

"He’s roommates with me,” Billy shot her a grin.

She ran a hand along Billy’s abs, “Wanna get away somewhere.”

Billy caught a glimpse of a certain brunette coiff bobbing over the dance floor, “I gotta go, but do you know anyone who could take you home?”

She looks around like she’s waking up from a dream, “Uhm… you?”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I got some plans later,” Billy chuckled, licking along his lower lip like he was really regretting it, “You want me to drop you with your friend?”

She glanced around and then leaned up, whispering in his ear.

“I wanna go home with Chance Rojas,” She ended on a little giggle.

He just smiled. He always liked a crafty girl.

“Who doesn’t?”

She blinked up at him, but her confusion disappeared when he gestured over to Chance.

“What’s up, Hargrove. Surprised to see you here,” He was almost as good looking as Harrington. But there was no fire though, he was mild all the way through. Just another reason he was fine dropping off Jenny with Chance. Not a rotten bone in his body.

“Jen had too much to drink, and I got a date with destiny,” Billy carefully handed Jenny over, getting a mouthful of cat ear headband when she suddenly started acting a lot sillier than he had a second ago.

“Destiny?” Chance’s brow furrowed, but he handled Jenny really carefully, “Someone from college?”

Billy shrugged, “Yeah, sure. See that she gets home safe, k?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Chance nodded.

Once he was pretty sure Jenny wasn’t about to do a comedy prat fall, he headed off towards the dance floor.

Harrington was leaned up against a wall, bobbing his head to fucking Belinda Carlisle. He was trying his hair a little longer for 1986, bangs curling over his forehead.

Billy walked right up to him and pulled out a cigarette, ignoring the Samantha Foxx wannabe who was trying to pull Harrington further onto the dance floor.

“No sailor’s hat?” Billy asked with a smirk, puffing out a plume of smoke.

Steve smirked right back, fake blood cracking on his upper lip, “I don’t recycle costumes, unlike a certain someone I know.”

Billy ran a hand over his bare abs, fingering the edges of his mottled Starcourt scar, “I don’t know what you mean. Not a Conan fan, Harrington?”

Harrington ran a hand through his hair, with his only free hand.

"Your little babysitters club help you with that?” Billy tipped his chin towards the fake chainsaw covering Harrington’s right hand. What a dork. Looked hot though, shirt all ripped up. But he wasn't showing enough skin for Billy.

Harrington shrugged, “Maybe.”

“Looks good.”

Harrington huffed, “What do you want, Hargrove?”

“Nothin’. Can’t a guy say hello to his roommate without getting the third degree?”

Harrington pouted, his pretty pink lips pulling down, “Hello. Goodbye.”

Billy leaned in close to the girl, “You sure you wanna stay with Mr. Personality over here?”

She glanced between them, “Uhm…”

“You know what they say. Blondes have more fun,” Billy gave her a slow once over, barely registering her costume.

“I’m good, thanks,” She tossed her pretty permed head.

Billy shrugged, “See ya at school. Harrington.”

“Yeah,” Steve shook his head, “Whatever, man.”

Billy made his rounds, pretending he didn’t see the unmistakable silhouette of Jason Carver climbing into the back of Eddie Munson’s weed van as he sped off into the night.

He was supposed to pick up Max from some party at Harrington’s little nerd shadow’s house in about two hours. Master of Puppets was turned as high as he could go as he burned rubber through this tiny shithole of a town. He still hated it. Well, maybe not as much now as when he had to live there full time. He shook his head, yanking off his stupid headband and flinging it into the back.

Harrington didn’t appreciate how much work it was to look this good. He should have dressed like George Michael, then maybe he’d have gotten Harrington’s attention.

He sped off to the quarry, cranking up the heat so that he didn’t freeze his nipples off, and parked.

It was only a few minute’s wait before a deep burgundy car pulled in next to him. Harrington waited at the passenger’s door, finally pounding on the window.

“Let me in, asshole, I’m freezing my dick off out here.”

Billy leaned over and grinned at him, finally opening the door.

“Jesus,” Harrington sniffled, curling into the passengers sear and running a hand through his hair, “Heard you had a date with some chick called Destiny?”

Billy stuck his tongue out, “You like your new nickname?”

“I hate sneaking around, I thought we were fucking done with this,” Harrington huffed.

“We are. It’s just one weekend, babe,” Billy shrugged, “If my dad thinks I’m being a dirty queer, I won’t be able to see Max again.”

“I know, I just…” Harrington huffed.

“I know it sucks, but tomorrow we’ll be back home. Thank you for pretending for just a little bit. I love you,” Billy reached over and took Steve’s hand, “You’re my destiny.”

He meant to toss it off like a joke but it came out embarrassingly sincere.

Lucky for him he’s dating a total sap.

“You’re my destiny too, Bils,” Harrington’s pretty, pink lips are slightly parted, perfect for kissing.

Somewhere, blocks away, the teens were still dancing. Max was rolling dice or playing Sorry or whatever passed for a party with her nerds.

Billy tugged Harrington closer, chuckling as he tugged on the leather belts that had been rigged across his chest.

“Next year, you gotta be shirtless too,” Billy grinned, “Give this one pony town a show.”

Harrington groaned, “No, I think I’ll leave that to you.”

Billy ghosted his lips over Steve’s, still thanking God. Harrington wasn’t his roommate, or his rival. He really did feel like his destiny, like every sorry, broken lego of his life slotting into the right place when he was around Steve.

Harrington kissed every time like it was his first and his last, clingy and desperate, hands cupping Billy’s jaw. He kissed like nothing could tear them apart. And Billy would make damn sure nothing ever would.

Also on AO3:

#ShieldofIron #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #my ficlets #happy birthday #omg they were roommates

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