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anonymouspuzzler · 10 months

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god help me i'm Writing

i did a little prose one-shot with Buck and Davey just to test out how it felt, and my buddies talked me into puttin 'er up, so now You All Must Read It Too. art at the bottom too if you make it through!

content warnings for: "Buck is basically about to have a panic attack the whole time" and "brief, not especially graphic description of that time Davey lost an arm", "maybe some secondhand embarrassment because Buck can't pick up a hint if his life depends on it", and "Like Exactly One Sex Joke". Okay Enjoy Or Don't

A bit of a crash after a job was standard. You know, the adrenaline wearing off, replaced by aches and exhaustion. The contrast of going from a dramatic heist or a bombastic fight, to mundanely washing up and scraping together dinner and such. The early stirrings of inevitable cabin fever, lying low for however long it took for things to blow over and the heroes to move on to newer, shinier threats. That ever-present, anxious itch at the back of his skull - the one certain that one day, his luck would run out, and he’d be tracked back here by someone who knew he wasn’t quite unkillable - growing just a bit louder in the aftermath of drawing so much attention to himself. Yeah, all that was normal; something he’d come to expect.

He was not currently experiencing that. No, the cold crawl in his gut as he looked around the empty hideout was decidedly not the usual post-job, I’m-gonna-be-cooped-up-a-while anxiety. This was new, and he knew exactly the cause.

Davey still hadn’t come downstairs.

No-- no, Dynamo. Dynamo hadn’t come downstairs. He kept letting himself slip like this, into that casual, dangerous familiarity. He absolutely could not keep doing that. He’d already gotten too close, crossed the unspoken boundary that kept them both safe in their line of work. It was exactly what’d gotten him into this mess in the first place.

For a few beautiful moments right after the heist, running on pure adrenaline and the high of victory, it had been like none of those concerns existed. Just him and Davey-- Dynamo; him and Dynamo-- and a giant, freshly-swiped stash of unstable compounds in the backseat. A job neither of them could have pulled off alone, and that had gone off with nary a hitch together. The strung-out, victorious cackles from them both, grinning wide, hands gripping each other’s shoulders, heaving breaths passed between each other so closely, he could still feel it in his lungs if he concentrated on the memory.

(So close to each other, that he could’ve lurched forward and kissed him like it was nothing. It took all his willpower not to do so, and that was one of many, many things here that terrified him; that his willpower could be so easily tested by what should have been the easiest, most obvious boundary.)

Of course, that moment couldn’t have lasted. Of course. It couldn’t have just from the baseline, but especially not when they had to deal with handing over the material to Practis. (Practis, stupid fuckin’ Practis, if he hadn’t owed them the favor he would never have gone to deal with ‘em.)

Davey-- Dynamo wasn’t stupid. Quite the opposite. All it’d taken was one well-placed question from Practis while Buck had been busy unloading the goods, and all the dots connected from there.

“O-positive?”

“...excuse me?”

“Your blood type. It’s O-positive. Am I right?”

He’d cut in before they could talk any further, of course, hustling Davey-- Dynamo into the car and bidding Practis a curt farewell, but it was too late. Dynamo was silent as they drove off, tightly-drawn lips betraying that he was deep in thought, even with his eyes hidden behind his goggles.

Buck’s mouth had been dry. Barely able to glance at him out of the corner of his eyes, heart pounding as he wondered whether he ought to make small talk just to distract from the elephant in the room.

He didn’t get a chance. Davey spoke up first.

“You went to them for help when I lost my arm.”

It wasn’t a question. Buck couldn’t tell if the tone was meant to be just observational, or perhaps accusatory. “...maybe,” he answered regardless, cringing the second it was out of his mouth. Repulsed by his own noncommittal cowardice.

Davey would have been entirely within his rights to cuss Buck out for the breach of trust; for hiding that from him all this time, leaving him in Practis’ debt without even realizing. He stared down at his lap instead, silent for a long moment. “...this job was the payment for that,” he added, another not-question. Nothing for Buck to answer; to clarify. “You had to do all this because of me.”

“Not because of you,” he retorted, only mostly lying. “It’s, just… you know. And, you ended up helping me get this stuff for ‘em in the end. So, like. You’ve more than returned the favor, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not, actually.”

“Oh.” Shit. His grip tightened on the steering wheel; his eyes honed in on a suddenly-very-interesting stretch of empty road on the horizon. Great job convincing the guy he owed you a favor, Buck. (Why do you care? Why care what he thinks? Why do you need his approval so badly?)

“...why the hell’d you go through with it, Buck?”

Shit. The million-dollar question. The one he kept circling around himself, trying desperately not to confront the obvious answer. (His name, his real name on his lips, again casting aside the safety of Dynamo and Bulkhead.) He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, seeing his gaze averted, gloved hand just barely tracing the edge where his newly-minted battle prosthetic attached to the stump of his right arm.

He needed an answer. (Deserved one.)

“...well, you would’ve done the same for me.”

The truth of it lingered in the space between his words, and he was terrified Davey would catch on. Because yes, Davey would have done the same for him, but because, Buck suspected, he would do the same for anyone - far, far too kind; too adverse to death for someone in his line of work. But Buck - Buck would not do the same for anyone. For Dynamo-- for Davey, only for Davey-- he would. He would, he had, he would again.

(Because Davey was whip-smart and funny and kind and beautiful and he was all those things to him, of all people. And god help him, he was a sad, grouchy, lonely old man and apparently someone treating him like a regular-ass person, like someone to chat and banter and plot with, was all it took for him to start falling head over fuckin’ heels.)

The rest of the drive back was silent, and in some deep, horrible, cold part of Buck’s gut, he was certain Davey had heard the words between his words.

And now here they were. They’d pulled the car into the hideout, Davey had mumbled out something about doing a bit of cleanup in the workshop before turning in, Buck had nodded and mumbled something about washing up so the shower’d be free when he came downstairs, and now here he was discovering Davey still hadn’t come down. (Avoiding him. Had to be, right? He wouldn’t blame him. Hell, maybe he’d grabbed his stuff while Buck was in the bathroom and ran out for good.)

He managed about five minutes of awkwardly milling about the hideout, valiantly trying to convince himself he’d flip channels on the TV or get out something for dinner, before finally succumbing to morbid curiosity and slipping upstairs to see if Davey was still working in the shop. (Making up excuses, trying not to acknowledge the inevitable. Maybe he was just engrossed in some task or another. Maybe he needed help with cleaning up and hadn’t thought to bug him about it. Maybe he sat down for a minute and fell asleep in the backseat of the car. Anything that wasn’t “running off without a word because Buck got way too close to him for people in their line of work”.)

He wasn’t there when Buck got upstairs, and for a moment his heart sank into his stomach, but then he noticed the golden sunset-light filtering in around the corner - the garage door was open. Davey was just in the entryway, just out of sight, Buck rationalized. (He left the door open when he ran off, the more realistic part of him countered. All contradictions in his head right now, both desperately trying to protect his fragile heart and steeling himself for the inevitable reality of the heartbreak.)

He rounded the corner.

Davey was there.

He was there (he was there, he really didn’t run off), back to him, not yet noticing Buck had walked in. Watching the sunset, it looked like, orange-and-gold light spilling across his sharp shoulders and thick curls. He’d removed most of his work gear - the massive prosthetic, the helmet, the goggles, the gloves - leaving him slim and exposed compared to the imposing figure he cut on the job. (Exposed both metaphorically - though Buck knew better, anyone else would see him like this and think he was fairly vulnerable to attack without all his gadgets and armor - and literally, overalls hanging loosely by a single strap in a way that made Buck fight not to ogle.)

It was a quieter, softer moment than Buck expected to find. For a moment, he wondered if he ought to slip quietly back where he came, leaving Davey to his private contemplation. But, at the same time, he had already trespassed, and it felt wrong to keep that fact to himself, too - reluctant, he cleared his throat, trying to hit that careful, contradictory midpoint of gentle yet forceful; enough to alert to his presence without making it seem as if he was demanding Davey’s attention.

(Dynamo. Dynamo. Dynamo. He was slipping, he kept slipping, and it was getting more and more dangerous every time. Harder and harder to pull back.)

Davey-- Dynamo turned, sharp, eyes wide, hair bouncing in its ponytail with the force. (God, he was beautiful. Objectively. Purely objectively. Big eyes, thick lashes, the way he worried at his thin lips with his gap-teeth.) At a loss of what else to do, Buck forced a grin and waved; Dynamo responded in turn. (Warmth in his eyes, but tightness in his smile. The heavy, anxious feeling from the drive returned to Buck’s gut in earnest.)

“Hey,” Dynamo started, tone light. (Yet forced; Buck knew how he spoke well enough at this point to tell - and god, god, what a sign of the danger he’d put them both in, knowing him well enough to recognize that subtle tell.) “Sorry, I didn’t realize that, uh, y’know-- time-- I-I’m just watching the sunset.”

“Cool,” Buck replied, feeling somehow even more socially inept than normal. “Cool. I can, uh--” He gestured behind him, back to the door; trying desperately to communicate he’d leave Dynamo to his privacy if need be. (To reflect, to escape, whatever. Maybe both. Maybe reflecting on how much he clearly needed to get the hell outta there.)

“No!” His voice cracked with the suddenness of the exclamation, sending Buck’s brows skyward - that he’d never heard before. Davey-- Dynamo seemed embarrassed by the outburst on his part, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck, gaze averted. “I mean-- nah, you don’t have to, you can, uh--” And he trailed off, gesturing dumbly to the empty space beside him, an unspoken invitation.

An invitation Buck, by all accounts, should have refused without hesitation.

…he didn’t, of course. Fuck, of course he didn’t. No, instead he shuffled awkwardly up to the empty space beside him, hands in his pockets, balled tight into fists. (He had the good sense to at least leave a polite gap between them, of course. Room for the Holy Spirit, he quipped to himself, trying desperately to lighten the mood in his own mind. He conjured an image of a cartoonish high school dance chaperone, screeching and shoving balloons between dancers’ bodies to force the distance. The thought only cheered him a minute before detouring into grim memories of his own high school dances, spent watching awkwardly from the sidelines, mooning over handsome young men who barely even knew his name. Multiple decades on and he still wasn’t too different from that pathetic kid. Fuck.)

Get back on track. Hands in his pockets, staring out at the (actually quite beautiful, damn) sunset, Dynamo beside him at a polite distance, doing the same. A variation on their side-by-side silence in the car before, but now with barriers removed - their expression-obscuring goggles, Buck’s imposing jacket, Dynamo’s massive prosthetic. Two men off the clock, without their armor, without defenses. (And he hated it, he hated how easy it was, how those walls just came down around Davey without him even thinking about it. This was rule fucking one of the villain lifestyle, not putting yourself in positions where you’re vulnerable around others. You never knew who might be just desperate enough to sell you out.)

(...Even if he was increasingly certain, in some part of his anxious mind, that Davey would never dream of doing so.)

“...You wouldn’t happen to have any cigarettes, would you?” Dynamo suddenly asked, finally breaking the silence. The question came so out of left field Buck couldn’t help but turn his head to stare, finding Dynamo’s gaze locked on the scenery ahead, left hand fidgeting subtly with the outer lining of his pocket.

It took a second for Buck to even process the actual, y’know, words of the question. “...no, I don’t,” he finally replied. (Even if he wanted to smoke, frankly - which he didn’t - his chronic asthma decidedly wouldn’t appreciate it, and asthma attacks were one of those little things his super-durability didn’t prevent. It chilled him how he had to actively stop himself from freely sharing that sensitive, this-could-actually-kill-me information with Davey.) “...you smoke?”

“No, I quit years ago.” A quick, practiced reply. Automatic, in many ways.

“...then why did you--”

“I don’t know.” A quick, barked laugh, no humor behind it. “Just get the craving when I’m nervous, I guess.”

The easy honesty of his words stuck in Buck’s throat, choking down any response he might have been planning. (Too honest, too honest. Was he like this with everyone? Or… did he dare imagine this kind of trust was only for him?) He should have dropped it, he needed to drop it for both their sakes, but unfortunately, his brain was still reeling and he instead responded with a quiet, “You’re nervous?”

A pause. Too far. Davey’s-- Dynamo’s expression was tight. “Maybe,” he replied, quiet. Honest. Too, too honest, fuck.

Buck’s gut twisted and flipped, instinct of shut this down shut this down you’re in danger fighting heartily with a desperate, primal need to return the openness he’d been shown. “...is it… am I…?”

“No. Yes? No.” A heavy exhale, Davey’s hand coming up to scratch at his face, fingers nearly catching at the edge of his now-healed scar. “It’s not you. Exactly. It’s not your fault. Fuck.”

The silence settled back in for a long moment. Buck’s heart was pounding in his chest far too hard for him to dare try and say a word. Davey, for his part, continued to look out into the distance, shoulders tense, hand having come to rest with two fingers on his chin. (Now that he’d asked about it, Buck looked at the gesture and could practically see Davey holding an imaginary cigarette between his fingers. Must have been a long-held habit before he quit, the muscle-memory burned in subconsciously.)

Finally, Davey-- Dynamo broke the silence again with a heavy, shaky sigh. Something in his expression Buck couldn’t quite read. “Listen. I-- I think I gotta say some stuff. I don’t know exactly what I’m gonna say. But I think I gotta talk it out anyway. So if you could, like-- I dunno. Just listen until I feel like I’m done, I guess? That cool?”

His heart was beating so hard, it felt like he was going to throw it up. This was bad. This was bad. He needed to stop this, put up the safe and comfortable barriers between them again. Before it was too late.

Instead, he choked out, “go for it,” because he was an idiot.

The way Davey’s posture instantly relaxed sent him spiraling - forgetting his self-flagellation in the gut response of I did that I made him feel less nervous, followed immediately by a vicious reversal, because that’s all it takes huh you’re so lonely and pathetic that all it takes is a guy kind of half-grinning at you for you to fall all over yourself - until Davey starting to speak snapped him back to the moment.

“I’ve just… been thinking about today,” he began. “And like-- more than that. But, today specifically. The heist and all. It was just… it went well. I mean, you know. You were there! You saw how well we worked together. And it… look, I’m just gonna say it. That was the most fun I’ve had doin’ one of these jobs, like, ever. And maybe I’m reading into it, but… it maybe kinda seemed like you were enjoying it, too?

“It all just… it got me thinking. About that, and livin’ here while I healed up - which, by the way, also has been the most fun I’ve had since I, y’know, started being Dynamo - and just, everything to do with all that, and I… well… you’re not gonna like this.” He chuckled as he said it, mirthless, raising a cigarette-less hand to his mouth seemingly without realizing. “But I… I think. There might be something to… us keeping up with this. Like, working together. Full time. Full-on villain partnership. And I know that’s like-- we’re not supposed to do that. Safety-wise and all. How risky it is for us both. But I-- god, this is gonna sound stupid. But I… trust you. I do.

“I mean--” He gestured emphatically to the stump of his right arm, the haphazard stitchwork Buck had done with shaking hands, kneeling over him on the garage floor all those weeks ago. “If you really wanted me out of the picture, I feel like you had plenty of opportunity and kinda fumbled the bag with it, you know? And I-- I dunno. I hope I’ve made it clear I don’t wanna do nothin’ to hurt you, either. Or that I… can make that clear, you know? Do whatever you need to believe it. But the point is, I-- I like workin’ with you. I think we do good work together. I think we could keep doin’ good work together. And I… want to. Do that.” A heavy breath, a sharp exhale, rolling his shoulders like there’d been a physical heft to what he’d been saying. “Hoo!! God, really wish I had that cigarette right now. But, uh, yeah, that. I think that’s all. For now. Maybe. Yeah. Uh, yeah. Your turn, then. Thoughts, feedback, whatever. Go for it.”

His eyes were bright, his face split into a grin, but Buck -- he-- maybe he was reading into it too much. Maybe. But he could feel the anxiety rolling off Davey as he spoke, a mirror of his own. The words between words. Asking, practically begging for his approval the same way Buck kept longing for his.

His throat felt dry. He couldn’t speak, even if he wanted to, thoughts rolling frantic and aimless in his mind like marbles in a glass spiral. Words turning themselves over and over as his heart pounded and his stomach did enough backflips that it probably oughta qualify for the next Olympics.

We do good work together.

I trust you.

I want to.

Thoughts rolling themselves around in his mind. The dangerous pull, on the precipice of something he knew he couldn’t come back from. Exposed and armor-less here in the setting sun, nothing but the Holy Spirit and this question between them.

It was getting harder and harder to pull back to the boundary.

He had to. He knew he had to.

(Why?)

(He just had to.)

(...but why?)

Inhale. Exhale. Staring out into the sunset, filling the conversation with golden light. A warmth to counteract the anxious chill spreading from his gut as his mind worked itself into overdrive. He felt like he could choke on his own tongue, heavy with words he didn’t know how to speak. (Was afraid to speak.)

“...everything you’re saying is true,” he finally choked out. Almost without realizing it. It felt like he was watching someone else say it, just a little bit beside him.

Davey responded with a subtle, automatic grin and visible brightness in his eyes. It felt like it was putting his heart in a fucking vice. “Yeah?”

“I’m not finished,” he added quickly. Davey went still, went quiet in response. Automatically giving him the same space to ramble that Buck had given him. (Too much, too much, you’re in danger, what are you even going to say here, pull it back pull it back pull it back.) “Everything… everything you’re saying. Including that we’re not supposed to do this. And that it’s risky. Hell, risky doesn’t even begin to cover it; like--”

He felt sick. Panic welling up in his gut from all too many directions. (Shut it down, shut it down, before he notices, before he figures you out, you’re supposed to be the Invincible Fucking Bulkhead here--) “You. You do understand who I am, right? I’m Buck Armstrong. My family--” Bile in his throat, breathing tight; even to Davey, he couldn’t bring himself to reflect on his life before Bulkhead. Bring it back. Different approach. “No matter what I do - whether I’m stealing classified materials or a carton of eggs from the corner store, there’s gonna be a massive target on my back ‘cause of-- where I come from. And if you start associating with me full-time? Publicly? That target’s gonna be on your back too. And you--” His voice was breaking. Swallow it down, swallow it down, don’t let him notice. “...You can’t bounce back from it like I can.”

(There had been so much blood. There had been so much blood. There had been so much blood and it had been his fault, Davey jumped in because he’d already figured out Buck was weak, that he wasn’t as unkillable as he tried to make everyone believe, and he’d known and he jumped in the way and saved his life and look what he’d gotten for his trouble bloody and shaking and heaving in the dirt there had been so much so much he could see the bone he didn’t know what to do he just couldn’t let him die there for him he couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t not like that not for him not for him)

“...I mean. Yeah?”

The sheer casual-ness of Davey’s response snapped Buck out of what probably would’ve been a full-blown meltdown otherwise. He snapped his gaze over; Davey was staring back with the kind of mild dumbfoundedness one might get saying hey little-known fact, did you know water is wet. “Buck, I know who you are,” he continued, still utterly blasé about it. “This isn’t my first day in town, ya know. I’ve known about The Invincible Bulkhead since way before you and I started crossing paths.” (He winked at that, and Buck felt his panic coming from a completely different avenue now. God fucking damn it why’d he have to be hot.) “Point is, I’m not, like… stupid. I know your life is dangerous. I’m not saying all this, like, ignorant of that. I just…”

Now he hesitated, averting his gaze, moving to scratch the back of his neck again. Buck’s heart pounded in his throat. “I. I guess what I’m saying is that, it’d be worth it. For me. Like, ‘benefits outweigh the risks’ kind of situation. I mean, honestly, I’m gonna be living on the edge no matter what in this line of work, might as well have fun with it. So, uh. Guess what I’m saying is. If the only opposition you have to the idea is that I’m gonna be putting myself at risk without realizing it, you can toss that right on out. I know what I’m doing. You’re-- this is. Worth that risk.”

(The stumble of you’re felt dangerously deliberate. All at once he screamed in terror at it and clutched it close like a token.)

…was that his only opposition? If-- if Davey really was going into this knowing all the risks, wanted to go through with it anyway-- well, he was a grown-ass man, you know? And a smart one at that. (Smarter than Buck, it felt like, in more ways than one. He was constantly finding new ways to be impressed by this guy.) Did he… was there anything else, besides the whole well THEY say we’re not supposed to do shit like this, no I don’t know who THEY are either, which… all told, held increasingly little weight to him as the conversation went on. Was there anything, anything at all, that could convince him to stop this?

…

…oh, god, there was one thing.

There was one.

His whole body felt cold. His heart pounded so hard and so fast that it looped back around to being intangible to him, too quick to notice. Oh, god. Oh god. The one thing. The one thing that could take this sudden dream come true and throw it right back in the trash where it ought to be.

It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be fair to Davey, to not put it out there, to not say it. To invite him into this partnership and have him inevitably figure it out down the line, be ambushed by it. It wouldn’t be fair to him. It wouldn’t be fair.

He had to say it.

He would give anything not to say it.

But oh, god, it wouldn’t be fair.

(Davey, stupid beautiful Davey, lit at all his most gorgeous angles by the golden light of the setting sun, watching him out of the corner of his eye, surely waiting for an answer. Davey, who he wanted so selfishly to keep here with him.)

He was at the edge of the cliff now. Teetering on the precipice. There was no going back if he did this.

But it wouldn’t be fair if he didn’t.

“...There’s one thing.” He felt like he was watching himself speak from a distance, words slow and heavy and cold on his tongue. He didn’t dare turn to look at Davey. Eyes trained on a suddenly-very-interesting point on the far horizon like it could get him out of this self-dug pit.

“...Yeah?”

“One thing,” he repeated. His whole body felt cold. God, Davey could probably see him sweating, even from the arm’s length away he was standing. He’d be lucky if he didn’t throw up in front of him by the end of this conversation. “If-- if we’re really going to seriously consider this. I have to tell you. It wouldn’t be fair not to tell you.”

“All right.” A long, long pause, tangibly so. Oh, god. His gut was so tight and cold it felt like he might shit blocks of ice, and then probably just keel over entirely to avoid engaging in this conversation further.. “...are… are you going to…?”

“Trying,” he choked out. Davey went quiet immediately. (Giving the space, waiting for him to be finished speaking. Fuck. Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t do this. Maybe he could just walk it back, pretend he was joking, ignore this whole conversation and just go back to the way things were this morning, before the stupid heist that had made everything go so complicated. But--) “It wouldn’t be fair. If I didn’t. Say this to you now. If I let you, like-- stay here and start working with me and uproot your whole life and didn’t tell you this and let you-- let you opt out.” (Because he would, surely he would, there was no way he would just let it go once he did.)

He went quiet again. Davey didn’t interject this time. Waiting for whatever he had to say.

(Couldn’t pull it back. He couldn’t pull it back again after this.)

His hands clenched white-knuckle at his sides. Sweat down the back of his neck. He had to say it. He had to. He had to. And then Davey would leave and he’d go back to his normal pathetic life and never see him again.

His mind, miles away as he finally forced his mouth open, idly noted that it’d probably been over twenty years since he last made himself say this out loud to another human being.

“...I’m. I’m gay.”

No response. Whether the polite space to continue or the cold silence of judgment, he couldn’t tell and he was scared to dwell too far on it. Forced himself on; no turning back now. “I’m-- gay and I. You. It’s. I-- I think you’re a v-very. Attractive man. And that’s--” he all but retched; suddenly the words were pouring out of him rapid-fire, like he just had to get them out of him no matter the cost-- “I’m not saying that cause I think you’re, like, obligated to be okay with that if you stay, I-I just know it’s not fair to have you like, living here without knowing that-- like most people wouldn’t be cool working with someone they know has a big stupid crush on them so like it’s no hard feelings I can pretend we never talked about this and you can just go and we can just wave from a distance when we run into each other during jobs and it’s fine it’s cool.”

And there it was.

Oh, god, and there it was.

The careful, safe boundary of Bulkhead and Dynamo was no more. Instead, Buck Armstrong, pathetic, lonely, middle-aged man with a big stupid gay crush, stood there sweating like a pig and watching the sunset on the horizon, waiting to hear sweet beautiful Davey turn on his heel and walk out of his life forever.

Davey laughed.

His head snapped around so fast he swore he could hear the vertebra crack. That-- much as that awful little voice in the back of his head wanted him to believe otherwise, he knew that wasn’t a mocking kind of laugh. No, no it was quick, breathy, high; the kind of laugh he’d heard from Davey as they drove away from the scene of the crime earlier; the kind you let out when you were so overjoyed and relieved that all you could do was laugh.

Davey was staring at him. Davey was smiling. Ear-to-ear, crinkling up the corners of his shining eyes, golden and glowing in the sunset light.

An entirely different kind of chill went up Buck’s spine.

“I was hoping--” Davey started, and then laughed again, drawing a hand back through his hair. “I mean-- you, you get the vibes, you know, but you don’t know if it’s just you reading into what you want to see or if it’s actually there--”

“You were hoping?” He repeated, quiet, dumb, cracking in the back of his throat. Did he hear that right? He couldn’t have, right? Or it was like, slang for something? He didn’t know slang. It was probably some kind of slang that didn’t mean anything remotely like it sounded like. That was the only thing that made sense here.

Davey barrelled on like he hadn’t even spoken. “I mean, all the banter when we ran into each other on jobs, right? And-- and I kept trying to tease it out, like, see how you reacted if I got kinda flirty, but I still wasn’t sure and what was I supposed to say, hey Buck thanks again for not letting me die alone in the dirt by the way do you like men. Like, come on--”

“What you wanted? Flirty?” Surely none of this meant what it sounded like it meant. Surely. Or maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he finally got so panicked he died, like a rabbit does. That would make sense. That would make sense. That was the only thing that would make sense.

Davey finally stopped speaking.

Buck froze.

Davey turned. Eyes on his. Boring right into him. And then he smiled, a different kind of smile, slow and warm and half-lidded in a way that instantly turned that icy chill in Buck’s gut into something molten-hot instead. The slight part of his lips around gap teeth; the crinkle in the corner of his brown eyes; the something something something undeniable in the way he looked at him.

He took a step forward. Buck remained frozen in the headlights of his gaze.

A hand, reaching out, slow, gentle - enough to pull away from if he wanted (like he ever fucking would) - fingers grazing across his knuckles and taking his hand. A slim, calloused thumb circling against his palm in a way he could only possibly describe as intimate, fingernail catching ever-so-slightly at the skin.

He stared down at their hands like it was something utterly alien. (Which-- might as well be. When was the last time he held hands with someone? Oh my god, was he so utterly lonely and pathetic that he was reacting like this to holding hands??) Moved his gaze back, heart pounding at that warm, warm look of his, straight down into his soul. He was so close, now, obliterating the Holy Ghost between them; that imaginary chaperone must be losing their ever-loving shit right now. He was certain Davey could feel his hummingbird-pounding heartbeat this close, smell the way he’d fear-sweat so badly during this conversation he already needed a second shower. (As it stood, he could already feel the slight rise-and-fall of Davey’s chest as he breathed, smell the detritus of the car and the dried-sweat stench of earlier exertion.)

They were back in the car after the heist again. Close, so close, passing the same breath between each other, close enough that Buck could easily just lurch forward and--

It had been a very, very long time since he’d done this. His nose bumped Davey’s, mustache catching awkwardly at his lip; Davey simply hummed a laugh into his mouth and tilted his head to better the angle. Fuck. His lips were thin and chapped; his teeth dragged across Buck’s lip and bumped momentarily into his own as they drew closer. (Maybe, he thought with uncharacteristic optimism, it’d been a while for Davey, too.)

One final half-step forward, the last of the gap gone. Buck’s massive barrel-chest awkwardly slotting against Davey’s sternum, his hand squeezing as they pulled together. He drew his other hand up to rest against the back of Davey’s neck without even thinking, feeling the baby-hairs at his hairline against his fingertips. Passing the same breath between each other, slow and warm and deliberate.

They pulled away too quickly. They pulled away after a million years. Buck’s eyes fluttered open, finding Davey smiling down barely inches away, cheeks dusted red, a terrifying adoration in his eyes, framed golden at the edges by the sunset-lighting in a way Buck was already scrambling to commit to memory.

It was all too much. He was going to-- fuck, start crying, or throw up, or both, and he frankly didn’t want to ruin this moment with either. So instead, burning beet-red, he ducked his face into Davey’s shoulder because it was the only place he had to hide. Davey - sweet, perfect Davey who just let him kiss him, what the fuck, that was real, right, that was real - just laughed again, light as anything, and he felt his face come to rest on top of his head, still toying with Buck’s hand in his grip.

“Take it there’s no further arguments, then?” He giggled. Buck could practically hear the wink in his voice, and it did nothing to calm him down.

“God. God. You really are serious about all of this.”

“Christ, Buck, yeah. What’s it gonna take to convince you I mean it? I could kiss ya some more, if you want. No opposition to that.”

“Fuck, man.” He couldn’t help but wheeze out a laugh himself, relief suddenly forcing itself out of him in waves. (Holding Davey like this felt really nice. Really nice. Wonder if he’d let him keep doing this.) “Fine. Yeah. Yeah. If you’re really so sure you wanna settle for dying in this shithole with me.”

“Don’t be silly! I’ll die outside this shithole with you. We’re infinitely more likely to beef it on the job.”

“God. Fair enough.” A slow inhale, head swimming with the smell of Davey. Dear god it all kept sinking in. “I know-- w-what I said still stands, you know, you don’t-- you’re not obligated to reciprocate or--”

“You think I’m feeling obligated? Christ, Buck,” Davey laughed again in reply, squeezing his hand tight. “You really haven’t been paying attention. I’ve been trying to goad you into making out with me practically since we met.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No, see, that’s what I was hoping my flirting’d eventually lead to--”

“Christ alive, Davey--”

“Too much?” There wasn’t the slightest hint of repentance in his tone.

“You’re the worst.”

“You like it.”

“...I do.”

Another sweet, slow laugh; Buck felt Davey press another kiss to the top of his head and thought he might spontaneously combust. “Well, I like you too. You wanna head upstairs about it? I need a shower.”

“Mhm. Yeah. Yeah. Sure. Go ahead. Just… I need a second.”

“All good.” A long pause, a warm silence. Davey’s thumb still stroking circles into his palm. “...uh. One thing. If you mean you wanna stay down here another minute while I head up, I, uh. You gotta actually let go of me.”

He blinked. Somehow he’d gotten so wrapped up in holding Davey, he’d forgotten he was doing the holding. “Oh. Oh, uh-- right. Yeah. Right. Sorry.”

His bastard traitor of a body did not release his hold on Davey.

Lucky for him, Davey responded to the clear freeze-up with a good-natured chuckle, finally releasing Buck’s hand to trace up his arm and wrap around his shoulders, holding him in return. “Or, y’know. We could just both take a second. Go up together when you’re ready.”

“I-- th. Y. Yeah. Yeah.” His burning cheeks had spread to a slow warmth all through his body, tingling at every nerve, lit up with the long-forgotten ecstasy of human contact. He moved his own freed hand to the small of Davey’s back, settling against him, for a moment forgetting all his usual terror of vulnerability. Somehow, somehow, against all logic, against all odds, he felt safe here.

Bulkhead and Dynamo disappeared, up on the shelf with all their gadgets and armor. Buck and Davey remained, holding each other close, breathing the same breath back and forth, illuminated in the golden light of sunset.

[Image ID: A digital illustration of Puzz's OCs, Buck (a middle-aged, barrel-chested white man with balding red hair, a large nose and a bushy mustache, wearing a green turtleneck, kahki pants and brown boots) and Davey (a middle-aged, lanky black man with amputated right arm, diagonal scar across his face, large ears, large eyes with long lashes, large eyebrows and curly dark-brown hair in a ponytail, wearing overalls with one strap down and pointy brown boots). They are hugging each other tightly, with Davey's back slightly facing the camera. Buck's face is buried in Davey's chest, blushing furiously, while Davey rests his head on top of Buck's, with a slight smile visible. There is golden light painted behind them and illuminating the edges of both their figures. End ID.]

#anonymous puzzler art #anonymous puzzler writes #anonymous puzzler originals #long post /#ask to tag! content warnings in the body of the post!#Villain Coded comic

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literaticat · 6 months

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I thought the main appeal of scholastic (YA & mg is all I know about) was the fair component? I've heard from several scholastic authors the vast, vast majority of their sales came from the fair and there wasn't much done beyond that. As in, really nothing.

So assuming you are a marginalized author signing with Scholastic, it's likely the sales will be majorly different post this decision to let folks opt out of books with marginalized rep, right? I find that deeply concerning and certainly worth a boycott of the publisher as a whole. Or am I not seeing some other factor here?

While it's true that Scholastic can move a lotta paper through their clubs and fairs -- Scholastic clubs and fairs doesn't necessarily pick up every book that Scholastic Press publishes -- and Scholastic Clubs and Fairs carry more than just Scholastic books.

(For example, I just looked at the random first page of the Scholastic Clubs YA section, and while there are Scholastic books there, I also spy titles from Harper, S&S, Disney, Viz Media, Abrams...)

I totally understand being concerned and irate about this bone-headed "opt-out policy." I am, too. But I also know that Scholastic Clubs and Fairs has a looooong legacy of making sort of mealy-mouthed and lousy "try to please everyone" decisions -- that for sure isn't new. I mean I get WHY -- they have accounts across the political and socio-economic spectrum and they don't want to lose money -- but if course, you can't please everyone, and when you try to please everyone, it ultimately pleases no-one.

It ALSO makes me beyond-words angry that this policy actually exists (VERY SADLY) because the environment in some school districts and states has gotten so dramatic of late that teachers and librarians are being targeted, harassed, fired and sued over diverse books, and that a handful of complete assholes are making it impossible for educators to share great books with their classrooms, that teachers jobs are being threatened because certain books *exist* on school property, etc.

I think there's better ways for Scholastic to deal with it, probably, and I'm guessing that they are currently scrambling to figure those ways out. (Or not! I don't know! But I AM pretty sure that they are scared as hell -- in my mind I'm picturing a bunch of clubs and fairs people cowering behind Clifford the Big Red Dog as both liberals and conservatives wave pitchforks and torches at them. CLIFFORD, DO SOMETHING!)

So yeah. I dunno, I do think that the Clubs/Fairs business is at some kind of crossroads right now, and yes, it could be that how they work will end up changing even more, and that might affect author's bottom lines. It's definitely something to watch out for and be mindful of. So far I haven't seen dramatic dips in Clubs/Fairs income for my authors, but I also haven't been doing like a *forensic analysis* of it, nor can I see what the big picture numbers look like.

As far as a boycott, what I'd ask anyone to consider is, what does a boycott of Scholastic look like? And who is it helping?

Is it that you/the public aren't buying any Scholastic books? When they DO publish loads of marginalized authors? You'd certainly be making an impact on those authors, but not a positive one. In fact, I'd argue that the book banners who are behind all this chaos would LOVE for you to boycott Scholastic. They are, in fact, URGING people to boycott Scholastic. I've seen material from certain right wing groups about how Scholastic and their authors are degenerates that literally made me sick to my stomach with fear for my authors' physical and mental well being. I definitely don't want to do what THOSE people want us to do.

Is it that you, as a parent or school administrator or whatever, decide not to do a Scholastic book fair at your school? I get that, and as far as I'm concerned, as long as you are doing that for nice, wholesome reasons, like you want MORE diverse books in your school and you'd rather support a local independent bookstore who can bring great books in, it sounds like a fine idea to me. (If you are doing it because you don't want kids to have access to ANY BOOKS or something, well, that's gross as hell!)

Is it that you, as an author, are asking your agent not to submit to Scholastic? That's totally within your rights, and it's perfectly OK -- but also, they DO have some great editors, and I think it's also perfectly OK to not want to throw the baby out with the bathwater, so if you DON'T want to avoid them, I don't think that's a problem.

I'll be watching how all of this continues to play out, and I'll be watching the royalty statements and such, and if there comes a point where there IS a huge dip in income or something like that, where it seems like "OK, they are not a viable publishing partner" -- that's another conversation. But so far we aren't there, that I can see. I reserve the right to change my mind!

In the meantime, I URGE YOU, VOTE, especially in local elections -- people just don't vote for School Board and such, so the only people who ARE reliably voting are the terrible people, which is how they get so much power. If you can, give money to organizations that are fighting the good fight against censorship and protecting librarians and educators. And if you have it in you, get involved with your local library board, school board, PTA, or whatever you have to do to BE IN THE ROOM when these psychos are trying to ban books and take away children's freedom to read.

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joyfulapostate · 7 months

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Support me on Patreon!

I'm getting ready for a bigger project than I've ever attempted before on this blog: I'm writing a book!

Actually, two books!

The first book I'm currently calling an "Ex-Christian Un-Devotional." I'm taking the rewritten verses that y'all liked the best and compiling them in a weekly devotional format. As I write the 52 chapters, I'll post updates, drafts, and behind-the-scenes content on my Patreon.

The second book I'm currently calling "Mere ExChristianity." It is a response to C.S. Lewis's infamous and often-recommended book Mere Christianity. I hope to counteract the self-sacrificial messages in this work as well as instill hope for a brighter, self-determined future for my readers.

If you can become a patron, your support will help me pursue this work. And if you can't, I still want to thank you all right now for following this blog. I am so grateful for your positivity, humor, and encouragement which have kept me going while I engage with such distressing material. My joy is not just my own because you have all contributed to it. Thank you.

#blog meta #patreon

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disciple-of-frost · 23 days

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Okie dokie then... (0 A 0)

Also! I'm just going to be answering these as a comprehensive list and not send out more. I'm really really sorry, I just don't want to send more to people I might have already sent this to. Just know I appreciate each and every one of you and my inbox/messages are always open if you want to chit chat more!

Also Also! I'm just going to be answering 12 things that make me happy, a nice happy medium also cuz my brain like to freeze up whenever I try to think about myself and my interests. (T _ T)

1.) My mutuals OCs! Seeing the love poured into each character and the unique takes everyone has done to fit MSQ/character dynamics to them is so cool! I know we aren't all a hivemind and we won't like all of the same characters, but seeing you all uplift and be supportive to one another helped me be more open and post about Ishi.

2.) Coffee. I am a caffeine fiend and I have done my damnedest to recreate a lot of the drinks Starbucks has released at home. And I will say, I make a mean Lavender Cream Matcha. If you think you can't make something like that I'd say don't be afraid to try. You might surprise yourself.

3.) Monster High. I was in high school in conservative, small town nowhere when they first released and my parents didn't feel the need to buy things that weren't necessities. So now that I'm an adult and enjoying things I never got the chance to when I was younger I have 5 Draculauras hanging up in my bedroom.

4.) My cats. I know I said Animals already in another post, but I don't care. I have four fur babies and they are so special to me, I'm currently living in a really small semi-beaten up apartment because any houses for rent where I am have pet limits and I am not going to abandon two of my cat's just so I can live in a slightly nicer but exceedingly more expensive house. It's not a perfect place to live by societal standards, but it's ours and my boys are everything to me.

5.) Music. I am expanding my music horizons, but for the most part I still listen to a lot of the music I did as a teenager. Linkin Park, Killswitch Engage, Sevendust, Breaking Benjamin, etc. But I do try to find more independent artists that emulate a similar sound to my old favorites; Mallavora, From Ashes to New, Aviators, Magnolia Park.

6.) Gonna move away from physical/material things for a sec. That feeling you get when you get done cleaning a room and you sit down, take a deep breath, and just smell the clean.

7.) The satisfaction of finding a new recipe and nailing it on the first/second try.

8.) Seeing people be kind. I know there are horrible things happening in the world right now, but seeing seemingly small acts of kindness get's me teary eyed. A person rescuing goose eggs from a pond and returning them to their nest. A man picking up trash from a forest creek. Somebody getting gifted a plane ticket to go see their family in another country or having a family member show up to surprise them. I'm honestly getting misty eyed just typing this out. I'm just a really emotional/sentimental person.

9.) The fact that I have been able to keep a single plant alive for more than a week. My partner and I got a potted plant at a baby shower for his boss almost a year ago and that little guy is still kicking.

10.) Giving compliments to people when I'm out in public. I never got a lot of positive affirmation as a kid so whenever I see someone being unabashedly themselves and just wearing their style proudly I like to let them know they look good and that they're killing it.

11.) Finishing a game that had me emotionally invested. Lookin' at you Persona 3: Reload.

12.) Seeing my friends in person after not hanging out in a while. Being an adult can be lonely and people have responsibilities in their own lives that they have to put first before leisure and friends. So actually finding time to be together with the people I love and being able to hug them is super important to me.

Okay then. That's about it for now, if I do get another one of these I'll try my best to list a few more.

Thank you to @paintedscales, @shadesofblades, @myreia, @draconian-empress, and @corsair-kovacs! 💙

#inbox answered #paintedscales #shadesofblades #myreia #draconian-empress #corsair-kovacs #about me

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carinasibila · 7 months

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PICK A CARD Personal Development Reading (Oct 2023) Disclaimer: Only take what resonates and leave the rest behind. I am only posting this reading on profiles I’ve listed on my Linktree (linktr.ee/carinasibila) – all other profiles that might post it are fake. Decks used in this reading: Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot Blue Bird Lenormand* Original Kipper Cards** 🔗 Linktree 🔗 https://linktr.ee/carinasibila ☕ Donations/Tips ☕ https://ko-fi.com/carinasibila PILE 1 X of Pentacles, Fish*, Concern** Back of the deck: The Empress For the near future, the cards show that you should allow yourself to fulfill more of your material wishes. While prudence and moderation are laudable traits, a treat once in a while is important for you as well. The cards indicate that this will help you gain/renew a sense of abundance in your life and increase your life satisfaction. Alternatively, you’ve been wanting to become more productive but have found yourself blocked for a while. For you, the cards indicate that the ideas regarding productivity you were taught in the past don’t actually work for you right now; instead, trying out new and unorthodox ways of becoming more productive will serve you well in the near future. PILE 2 IV of Cups, Whip*, Judication** Back of the deck: IV of Pentacles You’re currently holding yourself back in certain situations for fear of not having anything meaningful to contribute. The cards indicate that this month is an auspicious time for you to work on changing your point of view: mentally focus on how overcoming this challenge will help you prove to yourself and others that you’re indeed able to make valuable contributions. If this doesn’t resonate, the cards remind you to work on becoming less defensive: while it does make sense to maintain a certain distance towards other people’s opinions, you need to be careful to not too readily view their words as personal attacks, because in doing so you might miss out on opportunities for friendships and valuable insights. PILE 3 III of Pentacles, Child*, Distant Horizons** Back of the deck: Page of Pentacles If you've been wanting to expand your knowledge in one or more areas of interest, the cards recommend for you to start a study group this month: learning together on a regular basis and exchanging thoughts and ideas with other people will positively affect your motivation and broaden your horizons in unexpected ways. Alternatively, if you've been intending on establishing healthier habits, the cards counsel you to get together with like-minded people, preferably people full of optimism and cheer, and work on setting and implementing goals together. This will not only increase your motivation and thus chances of success but also give you a chance to forge meaningful connections.

#tarot #pick a card #witchblr #free tarot #monthly tarot #spiritual guidance #carinasibila

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anukulee · 8 months

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All I Ever Wanted

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Requested by; Skymoonandstardust (Tumblr).

NOTE: This couple's meeting and similar to His Maiden In A Tree, through some details have been changed. Keep this in mind while reading this.

Atop a throne Loki Laufeyson (formally Odinson) sat, his eyes drifting lower then him ever so often to face his subjects, a dream that he had held ever since he was a little boy. Yet rather then rival in such a feeling, Loki was dishearted, as finally the desire he had held for so long had finally been fufilled. Why is that, was a question that would often occupy his mind, invading his thoughts at the worst of times, times where Loki was supposed to be preoccupied in doing his needed kingly duties, such as listening. Rather then drifting in and out of conscious, only picking up what was needed. Loki's finger wondering to the top of his forehead, leaning towards his side, almost as if he was in deep thought over the issue, when truly his mind was else where.

Through the subject below seemed to take no notice of Loki's lack of attention as he continued to patter on with whatever issue that concerned him. As this non-sensensical rambling continued on, until something pulled Loki out, yet rather then it be the man kneeling in front of Loki it was someone else. "I believe we will be able to assist you, good sir, won't we brother," the person spoke, his voice as booming as one might expect of the man behind it. This voice belonged to Loki's adoptive older brother Thor, a title that he had been forced to acknowledge if he wished to remain as king over his sister Hela.

If not for the years of pratice that Loki had as a the silver tongue, he would've stuttered at the abrupt shift of the conversation. Especially one that he had been paying little to no attention to. Yet the words came flowing out of Loki as naturally as one might expect, living up to the reputation of silver tongue. "Yes, I believe we can, brother. Now if that is all you require perhaps Hela may see you out?" Loki refering to Hela Friggadottir, their adoptive sister currently positioned at the edge of the throne room, dawning her usual black attire, eyes boring into his, not buying a word that slipped out of Loki's tongue.

"We shall see brother, that is if this man can make it out," Hela noted, a small grin appearing on her face, one that very much mirrored her adopted little brother. While normally Loki might've take amusement in Hela's remark, his mind still remainded on other things, having no remark to Hela murderious comment.

"Now sister you jest right," Thor said speaking in Loki's place, lifting up his hand up in a stop position.

"And if I weren't how would you suggest in stopping me baby brother?"

"I have done it before sister, don't think I can't do it again."

"Yes, but you had the help of our dear brother, whose mind seems to be else where."

Upon hearing this comment, Loki seemed to snap back into place at least long enough to form a response. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me."

"You mistaken me, dear sister my mind is entirely on matters here."

"So you claim brother."

"You dare speak against your king," Loki asked, his eyebrows tilting upward. It was at this moment that the subject seemed to take to leaving without Hela's guidence likely knowing better then to get involved in the matters of the gods, especially the ones of the former Odin children.

"Yes, if your mind is elsewhere I shall speak up. After all I didn't give up my quest just to serve an absent minded king, if I wanted that I could've done it with dear old father."

"Are you sure you would like to continue speaking dear sister," Loki asked, as with simple glow of his seidr, in Loki's hand materialized a dagger, one that he was prepared to aim towards his sister if need be.

"You wish to aim a dagger at me, Odin's rightful born? Dear brother I believe you must be mistaken, if you think this shall end well. Remember I am the goddess of death."

"And I am the god of mischief, I have died so many times I have long lost count."

Sensing the tension between his two sibling, Thor took this chance to place himself in front of the two stubborn beings. "While I enjoy your banter dear siblings, I believe we have other matters to attend to."

"Such as what," Loki and Hela asked in harmony, something that resulted in a mutual glare towards the other.

"I believe we have another subject to attend to."

"We do," Loki and Hela asked once again in harmony.

"Yes, and I can't call her in if you too are squabbling."

"Big words from your mouth brother, it's unusual," Loki remarked, the remark meant more towards teasing then the deggration one might think.

"I do learn things from you, brother," Thor remarked with a smile, which recieved the smallest smile from Loki's lips/

"I suppose we can continue this disucssion later sister."

"Giving up so easily little brother," Hela asked, her tone as teasing as one expect of a big sister.

"Never, but I believe our brother is right, we have other matters to deal with."

"Fine, but just this once."

"Indeed," Loki said, before motioning his hand towards the door. "Now open up, and bring our next person."

"I shall do it brother," Thor volunteered.

"You don't trust me do you brother," Hela asked, putting her hands towards her heart in mock concern.

"I do, sister, but I believe our brother would like to see this one," Thor said, as a smile began to peek under his features, and before Loki could ask what he might, he saw her. Upon seeing her everything seemed to stop.

"I see, perhaps we should our dear brother alone for this matter," Hela hinted, as a smile began to peek on her own features. Loki far too busy in other things to pay attention to the looks that was crossing his older siblings faces, as soon the two took their leave, as Loki was left alone with her…

Her head adored by a bright blue hood, her almost red auburn hair parted on both sides, flowing to the tops of her purple dress, blue eyes lingering up to face Loki's own green ones. "Is this the right time? I could always come back another that if that is what you wish," she asked, her voice far more nervous then what Loki would wish especially coming from her. Yet how he loved hearing she spoke, her voice just as angelic as he remembered.

This being the very thing that seemed to make Loki speak, his gaze no longer lingering merely on her. "Non-sense my dear you are always welcomed. Now come forth my siblings are no longer here so feel free to come closer. I promise I shall not bite."

"Are you sure for I have heard tales of you?"

"And do you believe them?"

"Perhaps, who am I too question your actions," she asked, a the smallest of smile began to peak from her lips.

At that moment all Loki thought was, there is my queen. A thought that wasn't uncommon especially in regards to her. A comment that he didn't hesist to voice. "For someone as shy as you, one might expect the comment that come out of your mouth."

"Perhaps, but it has kept me from the marriage market until now."

"Until now," Loki asked, his brows starting to furrow.

"Yes, it seems people think I am long past the age to marry."

"Marry," Loki asked, almost stuttering almost as if something was caught in his throat.

"Yes, unless you have a problem with that?"

At that moment so many thoughts began to run through Loki's mind. Her marry? She can't be of age not yet? Can she? I believe she is around Sif's age. Sif has yet to marry so why should she? If she is then who might marry her? Perhaps a noble man or if she is unfortunate she might marry Thor or worse. Why does her marrying someone make me feel like this? If she does marry Thor, why couldn't she marry me, Loki questioned, and with that very question did the pieces begin to fit into place.

This feeling in his heart almost as if he was jealous, when he should be delighted by the thought of her finding someone. The sense of something lacking whenever she wasn't in his presense. His forever lingering gaze whenever she is around as he was reminded of something from so long ago.

The moment of her finding him in that tree of there, one that stood there despite the test of time, despite everything that had happened. The moment she called out from the tree, choosing to talk to him, not knowing his position. Their friendly bickering despite her shy nature. The way she continued to stand beside him despite all the mischief he caused, even after finding out who he was was. Something that was confirmed all those years later when she had blurted it out. Moments that Loki found himself longing for now as he sat upon the throne almost frozen. Wondering just why he was longing for those days, and why wasn't he happy? Why do I feel so empty without her around, he wondered.

As if a light bulb finally went off in his mind everything became clear, he loved her. This being the reason why the very next words came out of his mouth. "Then why don't you marry me?"

At this the one Loki's now saw as his queen frozen, Loki's hands now on his mouth just a little too late now. "Marry you?"

"Yes," Loki uttered, his silver tongue forever gone, with that.

"Me marry you?"

"Does the thought digust you? Marrying a monster?"

"You are no monster."

"Then why do you stutter?"

"It's unexpected."

"Is it truly, we have known each other since we were children playing in that tree of ours?"

"Yes, I suppose we have?"

"So what will it be?"

"Are you even ready for this, or is this because you think I might be taken by another," Loki's queen asked, now taking steps to grow closer to the throne. As Loki made his way down slowly, his steps echoing across the room taking her hands into his ever so gently.

"My dear, I have everything I have ever desired since I was a child, despite this all day I have felt as if something was missing. Yet the moment you came in it was as if something felt more full."

"It did."

"Yes, and I can't express how much it hurt, when I thought you going to another and even my brother. It was then I thought how much I love us, especially out shared soft bickering."

"Is that all," Loki's queen asked, her eyes blicking far to flirtlessly almost as if she knew the spell she had cast upon him.

"Not even close, perhaps I shall say how much I love how one moment you might be shy, yet the next saying the last thing one might expect. Or perhaps the way your auburn hair glows in the light, the deepness of your ocean eyes, or even the way your hair falls just below your breasts."

"Paying attention to my breasts much?"

"You are going off track, what I am trying to say is that I wouldn't mind getting to know more of you."

"More of me?"

"Perhaps the way your face might become after a night of pleasure, or what the Midgardians call bed head. The way you would laugh beside me every day just as we did underneath our tree. The way you would listen and make comments alongside me in that sly way of yours. Or just for you to be mine."

"Are you proposing to me?"

"Perhaps, honestly I am not too sure, all I know is that I don't want to give you up, and wish for more. That you are all I ever wanted."

"I see."

"So what do you say?"

"I suppose we could try this, if I am all you ever wanted."

"So will you take me to be your king?"

"As long as I am your queen."

"You have always been my queen even when we were beneath our tree. So how about it," Loki offered, his hand now offering towards his queen's.

"I say lead the way my king," Loki's queen said, taking Loki's hand into hers, as the two began their journey, as finally, Loki would have everything he would ever want, all with his queen by his side.

#angst with fluff #angst with happy ending #anti sylki #thor odinson #Loki Friggason #loki laufeyson #loki laufesyon x reader #hela odinsdottir #loki x female reader #loki x you #shy female #strong female lead #loki request #loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki fic #team odinchildren #king loki

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dragon-tailz · 3 months

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Musharna mail!

You find yourself walking down a garden path, your blue and pink sneakers crunching the gravel beneath your feet with every step you take. Your periphery is blocked by high hedge walls, and the towering poplar trees beyond that, but the sky above you is bright and clear and the flower beds beside you are full of colorful flowers. Peonies, foxglove, begonias and anemones wave cheerily in the breeze as you pass by.

You’re positive you came to this garden for a reason, although at the moment that reason escapes you. However, as you follow the twists and turns of this verdant labyrinthe, your purpose here quickly becomes apparent. You brush a pale colored curl of hair out of your face as you emerge into the hedge garden’s central clearing. On a raised platform of intricate brickwork stands garden furniture arranged into a makeshift tea table. The table itself is round and its metal framework is covered by a tablecloth, while the four seats around it are adorned with plush pink cushions at their backs to make sitting on the harsh material easier. Three of the seats are occupied. Former gym leader Opal sits in one- she wears a cyan baseball cap with a white pokeball design and is currently pouring more tea into her Togepi-patterned teacup. Next to her sits Allister, wearing a huge and heavy looking pumpkin shaped crown and pouring tea into one of his mask’s eye holes from a Sinistea-patterned cup. Across from Opal sits Hop, who wears a puffy Wooloo shaped hat (“Who has the Wooloo hair now?” you find yourself thinking) and daintily nibbles a strawberry topped teacake.

The sound of your shoe against the gravel alerts them to your presence.

“Oh, young Bede,” Opal says warmly, “Now, this is an interesting turn of events. How nice that you would happen upon us and our little hat party. Good thing I prepared for an extra guest.” She patted the empty seat across from Allister at the round table.

You blink at the scene before you and stutter slightly. “I- Hmph. That’s very kind of you, Ms. Opal,” your voice comes out deeper than you are used to it being, “But I feel the need to point out that I am woefully unprepared for a ‘hat party’. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your invitation until I find myself an appropriate hat.” You find yourself wondering why you weren’t invited in the first place. Perhaps THEN you’d have brought a hat to wear… although probably not. Hats are awfully troublesome to the distinguished gentleman who likes to keep his hair just so.

Hop raises a dark brown eyebrow. “Uh, Bede? Mate? Have you looked at yourself lately?”

There’s a curious ripple in the air above your head. You reach your hand up and feel a party hat squashing your fluffy white hair, its strap hugging your chin to keep it upright. You know without seeing that it is covered in orange and green spiral stripes. “I stand corrected.” You sigh and step up to take your seat at the table, the chair making an awful scraping noise as you tug it out and along the brickwork below.

The four of you sit and eat in silence. Allister continues pouring tea and passing snacks into the holes in his mask, going along a clockwise pattern- a piece of biscuit in his left eye, a drop of tea in his right eye, a slice of cake in his mouth, on and on around and around. Hop is still nursing the same piece of teacake. Is that boy taking the smallest bites he possibly can? Often, your gaze flicks toward Opal. You can’t help but think that there’s some sort of manner or custom that you’re missing, something you’re doing wrong without even knowing it. The tea party is an incomprehensible, nonsensical dance. Forks are placed to the north of one’s plate, except at Hop’s place where it’s to the south. All participants rub the handle of their teacups with their thumbs before picking them up, but the number of rubs seems to have no rhyme or reason. Everyone’s gaze wanders toward you disapprovingly no matter which number you try. Opal excuses herself at one point for chewing her scone an odd number of times. You find yourself sitting there stiffly, in your orange and green party hat, making as few moves as possible for fear of them being wrong. How ridiculous you must look, mistaking the rules of this frivolous game…

Of course, eventually the tea party is done. It just… finishes. In the manner of dreams, you blink and suddenly find yourself standing with them in another portion of the garden, knowing without saying that the party was over. You, Hop, and Allister stand in a line, Opal pacing before you with her large wizened hands clasped behind her back. You are all still wearing your hats, and Opal’s in particular stares you in the face as she shuffles by. “Now, children, what hat party would be complete without a little bit of fun?” Opal’s eye glitters with mischief. “And I just had a good idea, as I tend to do. We’ll make it a competition.”

Hop pumps his fist. “All it takes is a little healthy competition to keep a person energized! Count me in!” Allister stands stock still. Well, not quite- he wobbles and slouches under the weight of his gargantuan pumpkin crown.

Opal chuckles and holds up an Alcremie’s flower sweet between her thumb and forefinger. “Look here, the three of you- I’ve had my wonderful Mawile hide a flower sweet just like this in and among the shrubbery you see before you. I don’t have any real prize for you, but the first to find it will be a reigning champion of garden hide and seek, I suppose, hohoho~”

Hop adjusts his stance and puts a contemplative fist to his chin. “Well, I HAVE always wanted to be the champion of something. Any rules?”

Opal waves a dismissive hand. “No rules. I'd hate to stifle the creativity of a boy so clever that he answered all my quiz questions correctly.” You find yourself struck with a sting of jealousy and indignation. Did she have to tout Hop's success around him all the time? He'd have answered her questions in the gym challenge correctly, too, if not for… if not for… what was it that got in your way? You can't seem to remember, and you drop the subject as Opal turns her attention toward you. “Now, Bede, you can think of this like another one of my little tests. You know, I daresay I'm impressed how far you've come since I found you in Hammerlocke all that time ago… Will you be the one to win this challenge? Or perhaps it will be one of these skilled young men beside you. Oh hoho, I'm on the edge of my seat!”

She shuffles a few paces away, giving the three boys a clear view of the path before them. She counts off on her fingers, three, two, one, and the challenge begins. Hop sends out his Corviknight and leaps onto its back, bursting into the air at startling Mach speeds. Allister turns his head to stare straight at you before slowly disappearing in a puff of dark colored smoke. You're the only one who walks down the path and deeper into the hedge maze, your shoes crunch, crunch, crunching on the gravel path.

You spend a great deal of time sifting through the hedge rows, looking for a glimpse of orange petals. Conveniently, none of the flowers growing by the path are orange themselves- they all come in purples, pinks, and blues. The sun creeps across the sky as you search, the only indication of the passage of time. You wipe sweat from your brow and scratch at the strap around your chin. It's disheartening to be met with the same verdant green everywhere you look. Step after crunchy step, bush after leafy, defiantly green bush… the monotony is so infuriating that when you finally spot a flash of warm color you lunge straight for it, paying no heed to the thorns wreathing it.

A rose. A red rose. You're moving too quickly to stop when you realize just what you've found, and your hand closes around a thorny branch. You pull away. A bead of blood wells on your finger, red as the flower glaring at you from the depths of the hedge.

Suddenly, a scent fills your nostrils. Strong, overpowering, all-too-familiar… woody, like oak, cloying, like leather. Undertones of something sickly sweet in comparison. You try to whip around, see the person who must be behind you, but the dream holds your attention, your gaze to the red rose. It expands. It fills your vision. You cough again. Suddenly, you find you can't breathe. The strap about your chin has tightened, turned to thorns, draws blood. You claw at it. Your fingers turn even more red.

Just as you think you can't take it anymore, you wake up.

Wyverlyn blinks the sleep out of her eyes, black washing away into the familiar sight of her ceiling and the fairy lights lining the apex of her walls twinkling in the dusky morning blue. Her heart pounds against her ribcage painfully and her dry throat swallows nothing.

Lifting herself with a weary hand on the railing of her loft bed Wyverlyn's body disrupts a rapidly thinning cloud of fragrant mist, the pink haze smells sickeningly sweet, like decomposing roses.

Her eyes follow the trail of perfumed gas as it drains out her open window that was closed when she went to bed.

"That's... definitely one of the weirder dreams I've had about Bede..."

#ask game #inbox asks #pokeblogging #pokemon roleplay #roleplay #pokemon irl #real pokemon #ballonleastadiumofficial

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driftward · 1 year

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Article Title: Application of Crystalline Nuolith Energy Channels for Increased Durability and Longevity Reading Level: Considered appropriate for those of thirteen summers and up Abstract: An investigation into the failure of nuoliths subjected to novel high energy patterns (e.g, dragonfire) revealed that a change in material composition and arrangement may improve nuolith durability. By picking a material with a crystalline structure that becomes more organized under repeated high-energy stress conditions, we have found that while the resultant nuolith becomes more brittle (i.e. more prone to stress fracture), it is less likely to spontaneously undergo rupture and resultant ‘flare-out’ failure events. Crystal selection criteria can also influence aetheric elemental alignment of nuoliths for various purposes. Notes: None Article contents believed to be relevant to current investigation into the incident. -Y.Shtola

-*-

Apple held her eye to the microscope, looking at the exposed nuolith core under it. She made a thoughtful noise to herself, and with a flick of a lever, increased the magnification. Under the scope lens, she could see the fine lines that had been grooved into the sides of the core channel. They looked to her like fine veins, with faint feathering around each one. To an untrained eye, they may have appeared random. To Apple, the pattern was obvious.

She nodded, and turned to look to Zoissette, who she had called in to review the results of her investigation. Zoissette had brought in the nuoliths a sennight ago, telling Apple of Mathye’s troubles with keeping a full nuolith array working for any extended period of time. Apparently, he was quite hard on his equipment, channeling dragonfire through the devices, which were not meant for those kind of energies.

And, occasionally, just driving them through a person, like an aether-fueled spear instead of the fine healer’s instrument they were meant to be.

Apple was not about to judge.

“Okay! Take a look!” said Apple, hopping out of the chair to make space for Zoissette.

“What am I looking at?” asked Zoissette.

“Do you see those fine lines?”

“Looks like someone took a miniature stylus and scratched it up.”

“Right. But look! They’re not random.”

Zoissette lifted her head to look quizzically at Apple, and Apple smiled broadly back at her.

“It is a fractal pattern. You might see similar in nature, you know, in the veins of leaves, or, luckily for us, in the formation of certain crystals. The dragonfire energies are powerful, but not wholly chaotic, it seems. I think what is happening is the aethers in the dragonfire create a standing resonance wave. That’s what makes it so powerful. Unlike a mage’s destructive spells, which are usually just straight elemental aether saturated with energy, the dragonfire has multiple aetheric elements.”

“The different aethers should interfere with each other, right?” asked Zoissette.

“And they do! But remember, there are the three conquests - earth grounds lightning, lightning boils water, and -”

“- and water erodes earth. Also there are the submissions, fire extinguished by wind, ice melted by fire, wind obstructed by ice.”

“Right! Now, don’t forget the nativities.”

“…lightning spark arises to fire, fire ashes all to earth, earth stills, shunning sun, becoming ice, ice fades and melts to water, water mists and turn to wind, and wind’s energies excite to lightning,” said Zoissette, almost singing. A song meant to help teach children the elemental wheel.

Apple nodded. Zoissette looked thoughtful.

“Basic elemental aetherology,” said Zoissette. “Tell me what this has to do with dragonfire and these grooves.”

“Right, well, the dragonfire is cross spectrum aether, not any singular element, but all of them together. I think that what’s happening is that it is naturally aligning the elemental forces so that they interfere in a specific way. Negative interference is kept to a minimum, but positive interference is enhanced. You can’t get rid of the negative interference altogether, of course, but what you get out is a sort of self repeating wave.”

Apple gestured at the microscope, and Zoissette peered back into it again.

“Repeating in a pattern that starts small and grows outward, never terminating. Well, not until all the aether has been consumed, anyroad. Where the grooves start I think is the bottom of each fractal - where the negative interference begins to shift to positive. And look how they feather out from there.”

“… oh, wow,” said Zoissette. She stood up, looking thoughtful. “That discovery is worth a paper itself.”

Apple smiled, looking pleased with herself.

“And with that, I think I figured out how you can engineer the nuoliths to last longer.”

Zoissette looked over, interested.

“Now that I know about the waveform, I can create a channel better suited for it. The use of some kind of multi-aspected crystal would be ideal, in an rainbow like arrangement of elements that would help guide and direct the waveform, but that would require new techniques for growing crystals, and would probably be very unstable. No, instead, I think we can use a single large unaspected crystal for each core. If I can find some exceptionally pure ones, they shouldn’t groove. Instead, the energy will actually make the crystal structure more stable as it gets used. Of course, this will harden the crystal. If you look at Mathye’s nuoliths, they bent and flexed, bulging in places, until he experienced an aether blowout. With this change, it’ll be more likely to crack instead. If he’s not careful, it’ll eventually shatter, so he’ll need to swap them out once he starts to see the stress cracks, but that should be okay. The nuoliths will last longer anyroad than with what he was doing before, and might channel a bit better as well.”

“I think Mathye can be satisfied with that,” said Zoissette, looking thoughtful. “You said an unaspected crystal core. I wonder, if you used an aspected crystal - perhaps a corrupted one for the core instead…?”

Apple shook her head. “That would throw off the dragonfire’s wave and collapse it prematurely. The nuolith will last longer, but the spell output would be much weaker.”

“Ignore the dragonfire. What if it were to be used in the normal way most Sages do, just using it as a channel for spell works and aether?”

Apple looked thoughtful. “Interesting. Give me a moment.”

She sat down, and began to scribble some notes. Zoissette peered into the microscope again, and pondered. The grooves she saw, and how Apple was describing them, were giving her the beginnings of an idea.

“Hmn. Not great,” said Apple after a few minutes of drawings and math. “You’d be limited in what spells you could use the nuolith for. Also, the channel normally does not affect the core much, but if you purposefully used such strongly aspected crystal, you’d be damping out spells that weren’t of that element, while not really enhancing the ones that are.”

“I had another thought,” said Zoissette. “You said these grooves are the result of multiple aether waveforms. Can we possibly make an artificial crystal channel with grooves intended to amplify a single element? I’m thinking… a purifier of sorts. Use an aspected core with a properly grooved channel. Nuoliths are designed to shunt off some of the aether energy that flows through them to provide healing healing magicks that the Sage can direct. I’m thinking of making a nuolith that can take aether in, shunt off the elements we are not interested in, keep the ones we are.”

Apple looked thoughtful again, and began to scribble more drawings and notes. “I don’t think that’d be much use as a Sage’s nuolith… but I think I see what you’re getting at. Channel grooves to collapse elemental aether waves we aren’t interested in, amplify the ones we are interested in, and channel the leftover parts of what we are not interested in…“

Apple grinned up at Zoissette. “Thinking about making a nuolith to fire a pure elemental blast? You could just study more thaumaturgy, you know. It’d be easier.” She looked back down at her notes. “…but I think it’s doable.”

Zoissette smiled. “Great work, Apple. Back to the original problem. Do you think we can build better nuoliths for Mathye?”

Apple nodded eagerly. “I was really hoping you’d ask! I’ve already done the math and drawn up the designs.”

“How can I help?”

“Well, if you could get me the unaspected crystals, I’ll arrange for some time on the workshop fabricator. Also, I know you’re good with metalworking.” Apple held out a sheet, which Zoissette took and looked over. “Make me frames to these specifications, and we can test them and have them ready pretty fast, I think.”

Zoissette nodded. “And for that other idea of mine… can I borrow the notes you just took about it? I want to see what I can do with that.”

“Oh, sure, of course!”

“Thank you, Apple. I really appreciate this.”

“I’m just happy to help.”

Zoissette fidgeted, and looked mildly uncomfortable. “…I feel kind of bad asking all this of you. Is there anything I can do for you in return?”

“You’ve given me enough material for probably two, maybe three papers. I like this kind of thing! You know I do. Get me the materials I asked for, and we’ll call it even.”

Zoissette nodded and smiled at her, and after they exchanged some notes, she was on her way. Apple just sat back and smiled wistfully, waving at Zoissette’s back as she left.

She wished she’d stay around more often. But then again, that was Zoissette, always off and away, doing something or another.

Apple sighed, and returned to her own work.

#The Incident #Component: Aetheric Alignment Array

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wyrdify · 2 months

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Honestly, I logged on to switch all of my blogs to "Prevent third-party sharing" since that is a thing I have to do now. Tumblr, I am not happy about that. Sigh. Anyway, here's an update on life. College: In week 7 now for both of my classes. I am honestly struggling to keep up with them, so I may speak with the accommodations people to see what can be done to help. My grades continue to be good, but I feel like I'm struggling with the lectures and amount of material I need to read, especially for the first class. I just need to get myself to do it. Health: I have an official diagnosis for fibromyalgia now, and I started some treatment for it. DBT group is going well, and we just started the third module, Distress Tolerance. I'm still waiting on hearing back for a new psychiatrist and therapist, but I got that ball rolling earlier this month. I made it clear to the person doing intake that I want actual diagnoses since that did not happen with my past providers. I will likely be waiting a while for that. Jobs: Husband's job has improved. Mine has not, but I am continuing to tolerate it while working on my degree. I am also casually looking at positions in the library field to apply to. Reading: Currently, I'm reading Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones, and I want to say I'm almost halfway through it. I have four other books from the library waiting to be read. Honestly, I read while eating lunch, and it's quite relaxing. Video games: I play Palworld here and there when I have spare time. I also need to make my PS5's storage space bigger so I can play Genshin again. I haven't played it in weeks. Writing: Between college, work, and my social life, I don't honestly have time for much writing right now. That may change once the semester is over, but I'm not sure. That's all. Again, you can find me on Discord if you feel like chatting!

#thewriter; post #tbd

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feelin-kinda-cocky-bmc · 1 year

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Calling all BMC Writers!

Hello fellow BMC nerds :>

If this project hasn't shown up to you yet or if you're not in the Discord server, then you probably haven't heard about this project I'm working on: Feelin' Kinda Cocky!

Feelin' Kinda Cocky is a Be More Chill dating sim/visual novel where you play as Michael, and romance one of four love interests at Middleborough high (not including secret routes and possible polyamorous routes).

This game has been in production for two years now, but is stuck in the writing phase. I just recently completed Rich's route and have just started Dustin's. Not to mention, I have a bit of early-game material for Jake and Jeremy. Between school, extracurriculars, and taking care of my mental health, it has taken me a long time to write. However, I was recently prescribed ADHD meds, which will tackle my executive dysfunction. That, combined with a lofty New Years resolution, I'm aiming to get all of the writing done before the end of 2023. ...Especially because the artists for this game have been extremely patient with me, and I want them to be able to contribute sooner rather than later. Although I might have one or both of 'em draw some stuff to make the Tumblr page look nicer-

So that's why I'm here! To looks for some likeminded writers in the BMC fandom, which I know there are many on Tumblr lmao- If you're interested in helping out, there's two options right now:

The FKC Community Idea Drop:

The FKC Community Idea Drop is a Google Doc for you to just drop your ideas down. Are there any post-Squip ideas/drabbles/scenarios/dynamics you've ever wanted to see fully realized? Well throw 'em on the doc! If your idea makes it into the game, you'll be credited by whichever name you put on the doc, because I don't believe in stealing ideas. This is a non-committal way to contribute to the game at whatever pace or frequency you want. Feel free to just go wild with whatever you wanna put on there!

Link here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/134HD8ZxBILGacL5Zg165A-mU0IX3HbQqynKuyCqctIE/edit?usp=sharing

2. Joining the FKC team

Everyone who has joined the team so far (two artists and a writer) has joined completely voluntarily, purely in an effort to bring this idea to life. I feel like this is a given, but I want to make it clear that this is not a paid job for anyone involved, including myself. Just like Be Less Single, Feelin' Kinda Cocky will be published on a website and/or on Steam for free, meaning I will make absolutely no money off this game. I just want to make a fan-game with the help of my fellow fandom nerds lol

As a writer, I'm hoping we can work collaboratively to come up with storylines, route events, and dynamics between the ships. Whether you want to work on all the routes, or just focus on one ship, I'd love to work with you! I am currently one person attempting to plan out and write four separate routes, all with three different endings if you don't include secret routes, which I will write myself regardless.

I will also say, if you want to multitask (for example, be an artist or a programmer while also being a writer), go ahead.

For the writing (and the game as a whole), I want to make it clear that I care a great deal about positive representation. And I don't mean just making cute little scenes of our favorite ships (though that is absolutely apart of the game); I mean accurately depicting things like trauma, mental illness, neurodivergency, queer experiences, relationships and friendships, so on and so forth. Not only because all the things I listed are important to me, but because they're extremely important to a lot of other people, especially within this fandom.

Now, if there are any other ways you'd want to contribute to Feelin' Kinda Cocky's development, let me know! And if you have any questions at all, my inbox is always open, and so is the Discord server (linked on this Tumblr page)!

Thank you to everyone who's been with the development so far! Hopefully, this turns out awesome when it's done :)

#bmc #be more chill #broadway #musicals #lgbt #fkc #fkc sim #feelin kinda cocky #boyf riends #expensive headphones #pins and patches #homeboys

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inkognito97 · 11 months

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Whisker me away - Part 2: You’ve got purr-sonality

“You know that Mum and Dad are not going to let you keep him, right?” Izzy hated being the deliverer of bad news, but somebody had to do it. She just wanted to warn her big brother, especially before he got too attached to the furry companion that still rested in the large male’s arms. The cat actually seemed to like his current position, if its purring was any indication that is. Izzy couldn’t blame the animal. Who wouldn’t want to be held in a strong and protective hold, especially while being injured?

“I figured as much... but what they don’t know, won’t hurt them,” there was a slight grin on the corner of his mouth. One that Izzy hadn’t seen in quite a while. Actually, she couldn’t remember the last time that she had seen Alec actually smile.

“Ehm... excuse me? Who are you and what did you do to my parabatai?” Jace joked. He was grinning, almost on the verge of laughing. He couldn’t quite believe his ears. His parabatai usually was one to follow every little rule. More often than not, he had saved both Izzy and him from getting into trouble because they were not as rule-abiding as their bigger brother. “I cannot believe that today is the day that you, Alec, are rebelling against our parents.”

“I guess there is a first time for everything,” the dark haired male shrugged and didn’t seem too concerned. In fact, he was already preparing some very good reasons for keeping his foundling, should his mother find out and start protesting. One of the strongest one were that she wanted him to have an occupation that would make him look more approachable for any female subjects that were wife material. Alec didn’t have it in him to tell his parents that he was in fact completely uninterested in women. That was something not even his siblings knew. It was a well kept secret. He didn’t want to be shunned for it... especially since it was expected of him to eventually get married and continue his bloodline. If he wouldn’t do it, Izzy would need to step up and he’d rather see his sister free and happy. Alec... well, he would survive even being married off to... someone.

“Do you think we can sneak the cat in without anyone noticing?” Jace asked aloud. He had slightly tilted his head, a sign that he was deep in thought.

“Unlikely. The surveillance cameras will catch sight of him,” Alec shrugged. Again, if he wanted to keep the cat, he was sure he would be able to get his mother to agree. At least this time... perhaps it would help, if he agreed to one of her crazy ideas. It definitely would be worth a shot.

Alec’s gaze shifted to the black ball in his arms. The cat seemed content resting there. It was actually rubbing its head against his shirt, despite the dirt and ichor in the fabric. What a cute little thing the animal was, despite the bloody injury and the ichor now ruining part of its fur.

A quite meowing let him come back to reality and he realized that a pair of golden eyes was looking up at him with a questioning gaze. He just smiled reassuringly at the fur ball. “You need a name,” he mumbled, but apparently loud enough for his siblings to hear.

“Oh, oh I know! How about... Leo? As in the Latin word for lion,” Izzy seemed to like her idea very much. The cat looked unimpressed at her.

“Definitely not. Leo is not a name for a cat,” It was Jace who protested.

“Well, we are NOT going to name him Jace Jr.!” Izzy pouted and crossed her arms over her chest in defiance.

“Why not?”

Alec sighed and rolled his eyes. It was a good thing that he had found the injured cat, because that gave him the right to name it. It would spare the fur ball some comical name choices. He looked down again only to frown. Was the cat actually looking worried?

“Don’t worry, little guy. I am not going to let them name you... but keep that to yourself, deal?”

Golden eyes looked up and the cat even relaxed again. Strange, Alec hadn’t noticed up until now, that the black foundling had tensed up in the first place. A little purr escaped the feline and the Shadowhunter took that as a sign of thankfulness.

He let his siblings bicker the rest of the way to the Institute. Thankfully they hadn’t been far from it at this point. Also he had been able to zone out most of their dialogue. He was not at all interested in the suggestions they were making. In fact, from what he registered, one was even worse than the other one. He could be wrong, but he was pretty sure he had heard Purrada at some point. Ridiculous! They were naming a living being not some accessory.

When they finally returned to the institute, their parents were actually waiting for them. Apparently they had heard about the encounter and problems the trio had faced or at least they had figured as much since it was rare for Jace of all people to agree to back-up. Their gazes, which they had presented their children with, had been interesting to say the least. It had been a mixture between disgust at the state of their children and worry for them, which had surprised Alec, just a little bit. What had truly surprised him was that none of them had said a single word about his foundling. His mother had spotted the little black ball of course, despite it snuggling even more into the leather jacket, probably in search of warmth. Perhaps Alec had imagined it but for one moment he could have sworn that there had been the merest hint of a smile on her usually stoic and serious features. His father on the other hand hadn’t noticed a thing. Or at least so it had seemed. Not that it mattered much to Alec.

One way or the other, this was the reason why he found himself with his new cat friend in his bedroom. He had taken the liberty to assign Jace the pleasure of writing a detailed mission report – he was sure that Jace wanted to punch him for that – so that he wouldn’t need to waste his times finding the right words, while fighting not to fall asleep. Besides, he had a little furry patient to take care of first anyway.

“So, let me have a look at you,” he put the cat on his bed, without thinking too much about it. Of course he had draped one of his white towels over the mattress, before putting the cat down. He didn’t want the feline’s blood on the bed linen, or rather: he didn’t want to change them. He was just tired and wanted nothing more than to finally have a good night rest. This couldn’t be too much to ask for, right?

“It looks worse than I thought. You poor thing, it has to hurt a lot,” he said to the animal, who meowed, apparently in agreement. Carefully he brushed through the black fur on the cat’s head. It was really soft and almost silken to the touch. It calmed him.

“I will clean the wound first. It might sting a bit. Afterwards I will try my best to get the ichor out of your fur, though I fear a bath might be inevitable,” he explained with an apologetic hint in his voice, despite knowing that the feline couldn’t possible understand him. To his repeated surprise, a strange sound escaped the feline, almost like a huff or even a sigh. This was most certainly a strange cat. Or his mind was just playing tricks. Instead of pondering more about it, Alec set to work.

The cat held still extremely well. It hissed here and there and recoiled sometimes from his touch, when the pain seemingly became unbearable. But all in all, he was a way better patient than his brother Jace would have been.

The tall Shadowhunter cleaned the wound on the side carefully, before stopping the bleeding with another wash cloth that was now ruined. He didn’t mind, not at all. Afterwards he applied some paste that should help with the cleaning, before bandaging the feline up. It wasn’t pretty, a bandage rarely was... but the white cloth stood prominently out against the black fur of his little friend. The feline obviously seemed to come to the same conclusion. It had smelled at the paste, making a gagging sound before averting its gaze. Now that the bandage was on, it looked displeased but made no move to scratch or bite at it.

“You are a smart one, aren’t you?” Alec asked fondly. He loved animals; they were the better humans, so to speak. They rarely had a bad bone in their body. All they did was to survive, even if it seemed gruesome. Animals took their humans how they were, they didn’t demand some ridiculous things from their owners and most certainly they didn’t judge. They were just there, supporting and loving.

The cat meowed as an answer and Alec didn’t resist the temptation to pet it right under its chin. The cat seemed to enjoy it and even tilted its head a little upwards, while closing its beautiful eyes. Eventually, it started to purr. Alec liked that sound; it made him feel welcome and appreciated.

“Will you allow me to look at your leg too?” he asked the feline, without expecting an answer. The more surprised he was, when the cat actually stretched the leg in question, the one with which it had been trapped. With an incredulous look, he gazed into golden eyes. They seemed to dare him so ask and to speak the thoughts that were circling in his brain. This was truly a smart cat, perhaps a little bit too smart. Then again, he didn’t know much about animals. Of course there was Church, but even Church was something special. Perhaps this cat had been touched by magic at some point in its life. It was possible, with warlocks, fairies and many more magical creatures roaming this planet. Or perhaps the black fur ball just needed to stretch its leg, because it was hurting and perhaps Alec was again over thinking something as simple as that. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“You still need a name,” he finally said, while looking at the hind leg that thankfully had just minor scratches that were quickly taken care of. Living the life of a Shadowhunter with three younger and often reckless siblings he had quite some training in patching somebody – or in this case, somecat – up. Not the most desirable trait, but certainly a useful one. He just wished that he was as good with finding names, like he was with patching wound up. “How about... Whiskers?”

The cat looked unimpressed and hissed. It wasn’t the aggressive tone from the alleyway, but it made one thing clear, Whiskers was not a good name.

“Okay... then perhaps... Blacky?” Alec tried again.

The cat gave an almost pained sound as an answer and it laid its head back on the towel, only to cover its eyes with its paws.

“Don’t be so mean... Creativity isn’t my strong suit...”

The cat raised its paw and looked at him as if to say, “No kidding.”

“Hey... be grateful that I am not naming you Jace Jr.,” he deadpanned and the cat lowered its head back in what seemed defeat. Alec chuckled and the feline meowed. “Or worse, Mewlius Caesar or Catpurrnicus!”

He laughed and definitely deserved the tail that playfully slapped him right in his face. He wouldn’t be happy with names like these as well. A few meows escaped his feline friend, only his meows didn’t sound friendly at all. It was almost as if the cat was complaining about his terrible taste.

“Okay, okay. I get it. I was just kidding, don’t worry,” he laughed. “But really... what to call you?” he pondered for a moment more. His fur ball stayed on the bed, apparently lying comfortably where it was, especially now that no one was disturbing the wounds on its body. “Mhm... I found you in a dark alleyway...,” he let his eyes roam through his room. It was nothing special, just a standard room, with a large bed, a few windows allowing him to enjoy the garden of the institute and with the spare possessions he owned, like his first bow. “Midnight!”

The cat looked up in surprise.

“That’s what I’ll call you. Midnight... Because I found you at midnight... more or less. What do you think?”

The cat tilted its head and for a moment that was all it did. Then, a single and friendly meow was his answer. For a moment it even looked as if the black fur ball was nodding.

“Perfect!” Alec nodded in satisfaction and lifted the cat up in his arm. He had a secure hold of the feline, Midnight, while he threw away the ruined clothes. “Now, you sit here and please don’t destroy anything, okay? I will quickly shower and change and then I will get you something to eat. I promise, alright?” Again the cat simply meowed, while being placed on top of the blanket on Alec’s bed. It looked at the blanket for a moment, wriggled and pawed at it, before settling and curling up right where it lay. Alec smiled.

#ao3 #au #sweet #magic #fanfiction #alec lightwood #magnus bane #part 2 #whisker me away #inkognito97 #malec fanfic #cat

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