#if anyone wants to learn about barcodes let me know

[electropneumatic]

I love barcodes, both 1D and 2D. I won't think about them for a little bit, but then I'll see one and be like. Ough. Beautiful. They are so cool. There is so much more thought put into them than most people realize I think.

Like look at that. That's so cool.

[pigeonwhumps]

First aid

Bug and Company masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @whumpinggrounds @den-of-whump

@painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Maria helps Sarita after she's assaulted and raped.

2.8k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, aftermath of rape, aftermath of assault, broken bones, painful first aid, past drugging, fear of drugging, recovery whump, lots of swearing, mutual caretaking, low self-esteem, learning to trust, mentioned fear of pregnancy, flashback

Sarita slams the front door open and it bangs against the wall. She hears running footsteps and Oscar appears around the corner, stops, blinks.

"Sari–"

"Get the fuck out of my way."

Fae steps back. "Let me help–"

"Fuck off. You can't fucking help, all people do is hurt me and I'm fucking sick of it. Leave me alone."

Oscar nods and retreats. Somehow, that feels even worse, but she ignores it as she limps towards the downstairs bathroom. She has enough to worry about.

She picks a test kit and the first aid kit out of the cupboard and thumps down onto the lid of the toilet.

Ouch.

Everything hurts. The bastard did a number on her before Maria helped her escape.

She does the kit first. That's... easier, and then she can stop thinking about it. And then she remembers that she can't do it, that it's too fucking early, and she's wasted a kit and it hurt and for fuck's sake, what is she doing?

She does take a pill, though.

Fucking assholes. Fucking assholes and their need to hurt someone. She doesn't even have a barcode anymore and he still did it.

Fuck everything.

She grits her teeth as she pulls off Maria's hoodie with one hand. She's had worse. She can deal with this.

But fuck if it doesn't hurt.

So. She should probably look at her injuries first.

She limps over to the sink (and now, now her ankle's starting to throb) and examines herself.

The cut over her eyebrow is bigger than she thought. She should deal with that first, before the blood runs into her eye again. She lifts up her t-shirt and yep, there are the scratches. Not nearly as big as they should be, barely even bleeding. Her knuckles are bloody, although for once it's not her blood. And she doesn't want to look at her legs. She refuses. They can wait.

The bruises aren't there yet, but they will be. Fucking everywhere.

She wants to cry. She can't.

There's a quiet knock at the door.

"What?" she snaps.

"It's Maria. Can I come in?"

Sarita reaches across and unlocks the door. "Sure."

Maria slips inside. Her shoulders seem to sag slightly upon seeing Sarita.

"You made it back. I was worried you wouldn't. That you'd flee and not come back." Sarita shrugs. "Head first?"

Sarita nods. She's glad Maria isn't asking if she's okay. She isn't and it's obvious, and she doesn't want anyone asking.

"Clean the cut. I'll fetch the zip stitch. It's hard to use on yourself."

Sarita takes the antibacterial wipes and cleans the blood and dirt off from around the cut. It stings but she's had to do way worse to herself.

She sits back on the toilet and allows Maria to do her work. She has first aid training, but more than that, Sarita's getting dangerously close to trusting her. It's unnerving.

"There."

"Thank you," she murmurs. Maria nods, eyes so concerned.

"What other injuries do you have?"

"My hand and shoulder are the worst."

"And your ankle? I saw you limping."

Sarita nods. "I'm fine. I've run on worse."

"So have I. Doesn't mean you should."

She shrugs with one shoulder, gritting her teeth as she pulls off the remains of her t-shirt. "Well I have. So."

Maria sighs and then winces. "Ouch."

"Don't you think I fucking know that?" Sarita snaps, and then looks away. Fuck. Maria doesn't respond to that.

Sometimes Sarita thinks Maria's too fucking patient with her.

"Sorry."

Maria shrugs.

"You should have a wash before anything else. Everything needs cleaning."

"I know," she murmurs. It's pretty fucking obvious. "But if I do I have to see my fucking legs."

"Well you'll have to look eventually. More than for the test. Which you remember is too early, right?"

"Of course I fucking do. I fucked up. No need to rub it in."

She must say it angrily enough that Maria flinches and apologises. Great, now she feels even worse.

"Sorry," she mutters.

"You wanted me to be blunter. Now I am. You don't like it. What do you want from me?"

"I didn't mean you should fucking change yourself for me!"

"Old habits."

"You're treating me like one of your fucking clients?"

"Well, you're not acting much like a friend right now!"

There's a stunned silence. They've never argued like this before.

Sarita drops her head between her legs. Fuck all of this. She's about to lose the only friend she has (she's not sure Oscar counts) and fuck everything.

That feels very funny all of a sudden. She giggles. Losing her friend. Oh well. She laughs harder, shaking with it. She'll be alone again and that's hilarious.

There's a weight on Sarita's shoulders, digging in slightly. "Sarita? Come back, come on. Stop laughing."

Sarita obeys, taking a large gulp of air, and another, trying to stop. She manages it, eventually, aside from a few hiccups.

"Sorry, sorry."

"What's wrong?"

Sarita shrugs, mostly ignoring the question.

"I'm sorry. For everything. For fucking running."

"Old habits. At least you came home."

"At least you fucking stood up to me."

Maria smiles tightly. "Bath?"

Sarita nods. She doesn't want to see her legs but she really needs to get rid of that man. Maria starts it running, and Sarita sorts out the temperature, nice and hot.

"What's really wrong, Sarita? Just this?"

Sarita pauses for a minute. She owes Maria something for putting up with her. And maybe Maria will spread it and she'll get really hurt once she finally gives up on her, but she doesn't think Maria's the type. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but, well.

"What if one day I get hurt in a way I can't come back from?"

Maria pauses in her act of fetching cloths. "Death?" Sarita shakes her head. "Well, we'll do our best to take care of you anyway."

That's not the most reassuring. She doesn't know how good at it they'll be. But she appreciates the effort, so she nods anyway, busying herself with turning off the tap and trying to climb in.

She won't cry. She can't cry. She gave up on that a long time ago. It doesn't help, all it does is make people hurt her more because they like her fucking tears. Her sweet, pretty fucking tears because she was trained to cry like that, to please her original owners. Because they were fucking sadists, even if they didn't show it in front of their kids. And then the vet liked it too, and half the people on the fucking streets, and she's not crying in front of anyone anymore.

It's not fair to Maria. Maria's nice, actually nice, not fake-nice. But she won't anyway.

"Woah, wait!" cries Maria. "Don't climb in yet, wait for me to help. I don't know what's wrong with your arm but you'll fall otherwise. Plus, you still have clothes on."

Sarita scowls but does as Maria says. Because Maria knows what she's talking about and because Sarita doesn't want to hurt her arm even more.

Also, she hadn't noticed she still had trousers on. She takes them off clumsily, not looking, and hugs herself.

Stupid fucking– she hates feeling this vulnerable. Even if it's only Maria.

Maria helps her slip into the bath, face turned away. Even with that relative privacy it's too much, when the last person to remove her trousers did... that.

"Could you fucking... I mean you can stay in the room but..."

"Right. Yeah. Course." She backs away. "Do you know what's wrong with your arm?"

"Broken hand and a fucking dislocated shoulder."

"I'll find what we need."

Maria starts rummaging around in the cupboard, and Sarita finally looks down at herself.

The blood is dry and crusted but there's not as much as she thought, not as much as there should be. There should be more. It hurt so much, it lasted so long, there should be more.

She remembers something she read once. That... thing that was a subjective eternity was probably only a few minutes. Objectively speaking.

She closes her eyes as she scrubs at the blood. She can still feel it but it's not so bad like this. She scrubs and scrubs desperately until it's all gone, until at some point she started looking, fascinated, at the pool of light pink covering half her body. She drains the bath and runs it again, filling it with bubbles that she's been making the most of before she's finally betrayed. Before the others finally have enough of her.

It shouldn't have bled. He wasn't that violent.

"You said permanent damage. Maybe that's why."

Sarita hums a response. She forgot she'd told Maria that. And oh, she spoke out loud without realising it, didn't she? That's bad. She needs to get a lock on that.

Once she's clean and dried, she takes the spare clothes Maria hands her from the basket and shrugs them on carefully. She leaves her bad – well, worse – arm free.

"I have bandages and splints and a sling. We should pop your shoulder in first. Painkillers?"

Sarita shakes her head. She can't trust medicine, not after all the vet gave her. The only reason she takes the pill is that she'd rather all the side effects she's ever experienced combined than the chance of becoming pregnant. For anything else she doesn't know... there's always, constantly, the possibility that there's something in them, something to make her hypersensitive or out of it or anything. The vet used to prefer it when she was more pliable.

They could be giving her anything and she wouldn't know, not until she was helpless and unresisting, and the more she stays here, the more she pushes people, the more likely it becomes. They could do anything to her. It'll be so much easier to betray her if she can't resist.

Maria won't. Oscar won't. But they could. They might. Everyone has their limits. And she's so good at breaking them all.

Maria nods. "This will hurt." And she tucks Sarita's elbow against her side, pulls her wrist away from her body, pulls her arm forward, and pulls her wrist back across her body. The shoulder clunks as it resets.

Ah, fuck, when Maria said it would hurt that was a fucking understatement. Her vision goes white for a second, then comes back, swimming, and bolts shoot up and down her arm. She swears loudly.

"That worked, then."

"Fuck."

"Let me know. With your hand."

Sarita nods, swearing some more. Fuck it hurts.

After a few subjective hours (but which can't actually be that long) the pain subsides a little and she whispers, "Do it."

"Sure?"

"Get it done."

Maria nods and sits on a stool, fitting cloth padding between each of Sarita's fingers. Sarita bites her lip to stifle a yell. Maria glances up at her, then straightens the... hard thing against her hand, wrist and lower forearm, and wraps it all tightly in bandages.

"Just the sling to go. Ankle?"

"Twisted. Maybe sprained?" whispers Sarita, barely able to think as Maria gently pushes her arm into a sling. She lets it go and it's held, although it really, really fucking hurts.

"We need to bandage it tightly then. Tissue for your lip."

She's not going to cry. She's not going to cry. She's not going to–

"You– did he–"

Because bruises are starting to form and Maria's eye is turning mottled red and blue.

Maria shrugs. "He didn't like me stealing his victim."

"I'm sorry."

She should've stayed. She shouldn't have let Maria defend her. She shouldn't have fled. Did he–

"It was just my eye. We were starting to attract attention so he left. I'm okay."

"But you might not have been! And I just fucking– I left you! Why are you here?"

Why does she care?

"Because you're my friend. Aren't you?"

Sarita nods, unable to speak. She's not going to cry. She's not going to fucking cry.

"It's fine, I've had worse."

So have they all, but that doesn't make this okay. Hypocrite.

Sarita reaches across Maria, grabbing a flannel and carefully ignoring Maria's flinch. Who knows where that man's grubby little hand has been.

"Can I clean your face?"

"Go ahead."

Sarita uses her good arm to wipe Maria's face, gently but a little more clumsily than she'd like – it's not the arm she normally uses. The flannel is lukewarm, and Maria closes her eyes to let her do it. She's too trusting.

"All done."

"Thank you." She picks up the bandages again. "Stretch your leg out for me?"

Sarita does so, disconcerted at the way Maria kneels fluidly to wrap her ankle.

"Don't– don't fucking kneel for me."

"It's the only way I can wrap this."

Sarita bites her lip with a wince and allows Maria to finish, binding her ankle until it's tightly compressed and barely bendable.

"I think we're finished here, unless you have any more injuries?"

Sarita shakes her head. "Where's your cane?"

"Outside the door. I'll grab it on the way out. We need to get some ice packs when you're ready."

Sarita nods. She doesn't deserve Maria. She gestures with her good hand.

"Let's go. After you."

Maria opens the door and picks up the cane leaning against the wall. Sarita limps out after her, trailing a hand along the wall in case she needs to hold herself up suddenly. The adrenaline rush has faded and now her ankle just hurts. She can't even rely on her own body at the moment and she hates that.

The frozen peas are at eye-level in the tall freezer and Sarita pulls out two bags, wrapping them in tea towels and passing one to Maria.

"Thank you." She presses the bag carefully to her face. "Will you join us in the living room? I know you don't like being around too many people, but just this once?"

"I don't like being around people who hate me," she corrects. Although it's also true that she doesn't like being around groups of people.

"Bug doesn't hate you. But their first impressions are more important to them than most, and they don't really know you."

"Fine. I'll come. For you."

Maria smiles. "Thank you."

Max and O are already in the room when they enter, and Maria climbs onto the sofa beside Max, into his arms. O taps on the inside of its box at the same time as Max speaks.

"Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

"Asshole raped me, Maria saved me. I'm fine, O."

"So am I. He didn't like me objecting. It was just a punch."

Sarita plops down in the armchair next to O's box, mostly curled, her leg out on the coffee table. She slaps the frozen peas onto her ankle.

Ouch, fuck.

O pokes its head out of the top of its open box.

"Hi, O. I'm okay, see?" O tilts its hand back and forth. "Fine. I will be." It points at Maria, whose eyes are closed, snuggled up against Max. "Yeah. She will be too."

O nods and disappears again. Sarita sighs, nursing her injuries. Fucking ouch.

Seconds, hours, minutes, pass, Sarita isn't sure and doesn't want to be, her mind somewhere she'd rather it wasn't. Until a key turns in a lock and she sits bolt upright, startled into alertness. She hasn't done any of her chores, she's not ready, it's going to hurt even more.

No. Wait. This is Alix's house, not any of her owners. They're not why she's in pain.

Bug pokes their head in the door. "Hi. We– what the hell happened, Maria? Are you okay? Did Sarita start something?"

"Bug!"

Sarita stands abruptly, barely hearing Maria's indignant reply. The burning in her eyes is becoming unbearable, the ghosts overwhelming, and fuck, she knows she doesn't deserve Maria but she'd never hurt her.

She has no energy to explain any of that though, and no fucking desire to cry in front of someone who won't even give her the benefit of the doubt. She limps upstairs, accidentally checking Bug's shoulder on the way, and falls face-first onto her bed, biting back a hiss of pain as her injured arm hits it. Fuck, that was a bad idea.

She can't get anything right. She rolls onto her side instead. It still hurts but at least now she isn't lying on her dislocated shoulder.

After a minute or so she realises she's left the frozen peas downstairs. She buries her face in her pillow.

Fuck everything.

[discluded]

Hi, I'm going to open this with I adore Jeff and Barcode! They seem to have a solid friendship. Having, said that I'm still not convinced by their romantic chemistry... and their fan service dynamic is giving me war flash backs. I had a young straight work friend, who I suspect was questioning or curious. She was very touchy/cheeky/flirty with me compared to others (after she found out I was gay) in a way that reminds me of how Barcorde is with Jeff. I dunno I'm definitely projecting, but Jeff seems solid in his identity (whatever that is, not my business) and he gets this careful, slightly tired look sometimes with Barcode that I strongly identify with. Anyway I know Jeff's focus is music anyway, but I just wish they'd paired him with Bible or Us or someone else for Wuju.

Sorry long weird ask, but if you were gonna pick from the KPTS boys, who would you pair Jeff with?

Hello ♥ kajsd;lfjask;l is this going to get me in trouble with the JBC fans 🤣

I don't think you're entirely projecting, but I also believe Jeff has specifically and actively made himself a safe space for Barcode to learn about and grow into himself. Jeff seems like a very thoughtful, compassionate, and empathetic person, and given how he's talked about his struggles in the industry before, I'm sure he wants to make a place where Barcode can be safe in his early career projects while also learning about himself. Let's not forget, being 18 kind of sucks, and being 18 in the spotlight -- as we know from the slew of Disney starlets that have ended up the way they have -- is actively detrimental to your mental health.

As for the exploring part, given how hard Jeff has little brother-zoned Barcode, there is a way he's definitely "safe" for Barcode as well. I don't have a problem with straight actors playing queer roles, especially if it makes them more compassionate and empathetic as well. As the brilliant Hikaru Utada has said, it's bad to cast the queer experience as so alienating it's incomprehensible to anyone who's not queer -- and I think Jeff is also a person who is "safe" for Barcode in that way too, if that answer for him is No. Which I think a lot of times the queer community is not as open to as they should be.

Are we also talking about the petting Jeff's leg like a kitty? 🤣 I also had a quick convo about this with @moerusai and @ohyesididnotjustdothat but if the target audience is yourself (read: Barcode's intrusive thought to treat Jeff like a cat) and other people happen to see it, it's not necessarily fanservice so much as... self service that also pleases fans. I mean we don't call the couple in line in front of us at the rollercoaster commiting revolting PDA fan service. They are just doing it because they want to, and we have to see it regardless of it we want to sometimes or not.

A final thought -- I actually agree about the JBC situation a little and think you're onto something, but on the other hand, it's important to be open minded about creating spaces where platonic male friendship -- between queer people who are just friends but especially straight men who are friends -- can physically and emotionally affectionate in a way men in western society are not allowed. This deserves a longer, nuanced essay than this off handed comment, but you know. them's the breaks.

As for who I'd like to see Jeff act with... Bible as a romantic opposite, or some sort of buddy-heist two feral cats platonic situation with Apo 🤣 give us the porsche+kim we deserve

[cometcrystal]

the amount of standard “hot guy and hot girl will they won’t they” content i see for fraphne is incredible because it is so not what they are like in canon at all. they're both huge losers.

fred’s only able to hold the attention of most women because he looks like the personification of a ray of sunshine but then he opens his mouth and he’s the most boring person you’ve ever met. in every continuity of scooby doo, fred is oblivious to everything around him that isn’t related to 1. the mystery 2. his best friends 3. his interests, which are very niche and dull to most. he would wear suspenders like a grandpa if he could find any that fit his crazy hugelarge self. he could tell you the barcode numbers for several varieties of nets, but couldn’t tell you what he had for breakfast that morning

daphne is impulsive and was probably the kid that had to learn not to speak her mind 24/7 because sometimes what’s on her mind is very rude (not always mean-spirited, but often rude) and people don’t take well to that. she will 100% ditch a guy she’s on a date with to go crawl around in a mold-infested cave. she’s only alive by the grace of god because he’s decided it isn’t her time yet and gave her 4 attentive best friends that will pull her back from walking off a cliff by accident because she was too busy looking directly at the sun like it’s some sort of contest to see who blinks first

both of them are so used to being 100% unapologetically themselves, sometimes to a fault. the reason they’re “will they won’t they” is because both of them have such massive trust issues that they’re afraid of their friendship imploding if something goes wrong. and it’s not in the “ahh i dont wanna ruin our friendship :pensive: let’s kiss and then never mention it again rinse and repeat” way. it’s in the way where they understand each other better than anyone else on the planet and they’re comfortable hanging off of each other in casual situations but the SECOND their pinky fingers brush they’re going to be overthinking it for 3 days straight. i think it’s the neurodivergence and lgbtness of it all. they not only don’t wanna lose each other, they CAN’T lose each other, because who else is gonna smile while listening to fred gush about something in a skymall magazine, and who else is gonna remind daphne to wear her running shoes instead of her heels when they’re about to go somewhere with lots of walking. i don’t know where this post was going. does anybody want to play guitar hero with me

[argentum-drabbles]

Palm Kiss with Prompto

Fluffier stuff this time around, hope you guys enjoy!

Thinking about sitting with Prompto in one of the foldable chairs at a camp we made for the night with the others. He's showing me King's Knight on his phone trying to teach me how to play but I'm way too distracted with how close he is to really listen. At some point he puts his phone away, kinda realizing that I'm not gonna be learning much of anything tonight. He's still tapping away on his phone, but while the other guys have taken off most of their gear to be more comfortable, Prompto's still wearing those gloves. They look nice on him, but I've always wanted to really see and touch them without the gloves in the way.

They looked pretty, slightly larger than mine and fast at tapping a screen or pushing buttons or a trigger. He always seemed so shy about them, the way he was shy about his body in general. Without thinking, I'd put my hand on his, causing him to drop his phone and have slide out of his lap onto the dirt.

He'd look over at me, stumbling over his words to ask what I was doing as his face grew more and more red. I'd hold his hand and pull it slightly towards me, asking for permission. He lets me take his hand all the way over to me as I stroke all over his gloved hand, especially wherever there was skin. I come across the strap that held his glove on his hand and I gently tug at it, asking if I could take it off. Prompto's so taken with my softened voice and pleading eyes that he lets me

I undo the strap and I slowly slide the glove off his hand, not wanting to hurt him, as if that was even possible. Prompto's heart is beating out of his chest, not used to anyone taking so much interest in him. When the glove is off and in my lap, I hold his bared hand in both of mine, enjoying the warmth I felt from it. My thumbs rub back and forth across the back of his hand and at this point I can feel him struggling for breath.

I turn his hand over, trying to memorize every line on his palm and every curve and knuckle of his fingers. I trace my finger over his palm lines, causing him to nervously giggle from the ticklish sensation. His hand was even more beautiful without those gloves, and I couldn't stop myself from leaning my head down and kissing the center of his palm. Time seemed to stand still and Prompto was trying to process the affection I was giving him as I continued to kiss all over his palm, moving to up and down his fingers.

At some point, his bracelet slipped from its usual spot around his wrist, revealing the barcode. He tried ripping his hand away from mine but I managed to grab it again. He didn't try to fight it as I brought his hand back over to my face. I studied the barcode, wondering why he was so scared to let me see it. Prompto started shaking, the pressure of how I would react crashing around in head head and nearly sent him spiraling.

But everything he felt in that moment shattered when I nuzzled the barcode with my nose and followed it with multiple kisses. I didn't know at the time why he was so scared of it, it's a part of Prompto so it was just as beautiful as the rest of him. When I lifted my head and gave Prompto his hand back, tears were in his eyes.

I was so scared that I pushed him too far, that I overstepped a big boundary, but instead he leapt to give me a crushing hug. I held him as close to me as I could while he continued to cry into my back, tears spilling onto my shirt.

When the guys came back out to the campfire, Prompto was quick to fix his gloves and bracelet, and that overwhelming sensation of time being stopped disappeared. The guys had questions and Gladio's ribbing was even more intense than usual, but even with our scattered responses we knew what just happened was so much bigger and wonderful than they would know.

[albino-whumpee]

It was a sunny day

SO, I finally wrote the accident. God I had so so many doubts about this part. But hey, its ok. its just for fun. 778900´s POV first before we dip into Robert´s.

This is a series, here´s the Masterlist

Taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @crowned-avery @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump  @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @boxboysandotherwhump

TW// dehumanization, slavery, human trafficking, narcotics and syranges, death, child death, car accidents, dub-con, dub con touching (sexual), kind of spicy, blood, conditioning, defiant whumpee, curse words, This one is messed up, so please be careful when going through it.

It had been two years.

778900 had been waiting for two years for someone to take him. As the days passed, as he tried completing his training with as little “incidents” that ended up in him getting yet another set of fresh bruises, the hope of getting out was starting to die out.

He tried being good.

He tried to do everything the handlers ordered him to do. Did his positions, however humilliating they were, ate the flavorless nutrition meals, kept his head down and his attention sharp. But it was useless. One way or another, he would fail.

So he payed attention to even the tiniest detail.

How the handler´s watch would always mark 5 am when they were told it was night, how the blond handler´s hands always stayed a moment longer than necessary when he was on position training, how the cooking classroom was essentially the handler´s meal prep, the direction all handlers walked to when they talked about “going for some fresh air”; How the handlers would shift the camera in the hallway next to the handler´s room after taking a boy with them for whatever lame excuse they would put and finally, how the medic at the facility kept syringes with a powerful narcotic in her coat´s pocket just in case.

You signed up for this

A voice inside his head told him, before he stared at the handler´s clock and found the needle pointing at five, just as expected. As he went to the medic´s office to receive his daily dosis of vitamins. “Special treatment” was not quite the reason he had to take them. It was just them making sure the precious money and time spent training him, wasn´t wasted on a defective product.

He didn´t remember anymore, but he had come weighting half the acceptable for a boy his age and size. It was no surprise he fainted with just a stretching routine. It had gotten better with the vitamins, but the handlers were forced by the medic to not beat him if he fell to the ground.

He was deeply thankful for the woman to go that far for him even with the handler´s threats. So, so very thankful he got vitamins thanks to her kindness. Or so he made it seem, as she allowed him to give her a hug. Not sensing at all his hand taking out the syringe before responding to her “take care” with a bright smile on his face that distracted her from his hands.

You wanted to not make any decisions for yourself.

He heard deep inside his head as he added something to the sauce for the dish they cooked at class that day. The trainee sneaked glances at the blond handler coming to his table to watch him clean up after cooking, noticing the last boy went through the door with his handler, he knocked the sauce all over him. Loudly. So fashionably eye catching, the blond whipped his head to laugh at him.

“I-I´m sorry, I didn´t see it and…I´m so sorry” He stumbled on his words, acting as if he was cleaning himself up. Smirking to himself, the man pulled him up and started cleaning him.

“Jesus, what a waste. How can you be that clumsy?” he asked him, not exactly sounding annoyed to put his hand over his chest. Slowly, 778900 took the man´s hand and passed it down his torso.

“Thank you…” he said with a honey toned voice, making sure he pressed his hand right above his crutch, noticing the hungry look the man gave him, he rocked his hips on his hand, letting out a breathy moan. With his hand teasing the edge of his trainee shorts, the albino leaned to whisper on his ear, “…For helping me clean up” he finished with a little pop, “We have position training after this, but I will need a bath…” almost to emphasize,  The boy pulled the man´s dripping hand and pressed it to his lips. 778900 gave him a kiss on the cheek as he pushed one glaced digit into the stunned man´s mouth. “Please. I wouldn´t like anyone but you to do it” he had said in that needy voice he would hear romantics talk in sometimes.

He took off his finger to let him speak, but he could still feel the warmth of his tongue licking him clean.

“Where did you learn to talk like that?” the man asked him wetting his lips, before the trainee gave him a bratty pout and leaned on slightly closer.

“Does it matter?”

The man had bitten the bait. Or more accurately, licked it. Directly or from his hands. The boy had even moaned to encourage him to continue. In his bliss, the man was completely taken by surprise when the albino put his hand over his mouth and felt something puncturing his skin and then warmth began spreading through his body. He felt his limbs growing so heavy suddenly, he slouched over the boy. 

“Shh” the albino trainee whispered on his ear as he passed his fingers through his hair “Be a good boy and go to sleep for me” he said, putting away the empty syringe while staring at the turned off camera on the edge of the room the whole time.

A moment later he had crawled below the man and started undressing him after futilely trying to cut off the shock collar on his neck with a kitchen knife. The boy took his clothes and covered his hair with the little cap with “WRU” embroided in bright blue, making sure to cover his neck properly.

You signed up for this

His mind rocked back and forth as he kept his head down. Navigating the halls to the handler´s room in a quick, anxious pace that tried to avoid every suspicious eye. The trainee waited a second for the men to come out of the handler´s room to sneak inside. He couldn´t make up any letters as words without a migraine attacking him. So he guided himself with the drawings on the level map.

Silently, he came out of the room with the elevator on the far right on mind. He walked the same direction as them when they said they would “go get some fresh air” but found a handler and a few boys cleaning the halls. It was part of their training. He quickly noticed the handler´s eyes fixing on him. So, he took one boy and quietly directed him to clean over a spot on the other side. Far from them. The boy obediently followed his instructions and he patted his back before walking to the elevator.

I signed for this

He told himself as he extended the card over what he assumed was a card reader. There were no buttons but to open and close, so the only way to get out was only through the handler´s and executives cards, each designated to an specific floor. Of course, that was something the panicking, albino trainee didn´t know. He only had the Handler´s card by pure chance, but for his audacity, he was rewarded with the doors closing to feel the vertigo from going up.

And I fucking regret it.

There was a loud ring when the doors opened up again to a floor, and he prayed, it was the highest point. That there was a door conducting outside.

And it was.

He pushed it open and found above, the almost forgotten sky. The sun was already high up and just a few clouds spotted the vast blue.

It was a sunny day.

He stepped out without letting go. The view of trees, the sun on his skin and seeing how blue the sky was, drove him to tears quick enough that he didn´t notice there were other handlers smoking there.

“Hey, got some reds? I ran out” one of them asked, eyeing him for a second before a frown formed on his face, “Who are you? I have never seen you” He ignored him, heart throbbing on his ears as he tried walking past them, into the woods, “Hey!” one of them launched himself to grab his wrist, pulling on the uniform enough to find the barcode and numbers. “HOLY SH-” the man couldn´t finish before 778900 whipped his hand back and sprinted towards the forest. As quickly and as far away from their screams and their batons and the range from his collar as his feet could carry him.

Unknowingly, going straight into the highway.

He could hear their yelling getting lost behind him. Adrenaline helping him to outrun them. He jumped and knocked over a few bushes on his way. Tearing the clothes apart in his rush. Sweat made his forehead slippery enough for the cap to get lost somewhere on the way, but he couldn´t stop.

So he kept running until finally, he felt concrete under his oversized boots. He didn´t know how far he had run, but he knew he wanted to collapse right there and then as the haziness of hunger overcame him. He couldn´t stop now, but he allowed himself to catch his breath with his hands on his knees.

It was a second.

Just one second.

However, it was all it took to pass from breathing triumphantly that he was out to be in front of a van driving pass the limit.

It was one second when he curled into himself and the van turned to his right, avoiding him by mere centimeters and crashing violently into the other side of the highway. Turning and turning and turning.

The boy rose to his feet when he stopped hearing the metal crashing into the pavement. The world seemed to slow down then. As his chest heaved making his wayt to the turned around car, hoping there had only been one person aboard, his heart leaped. He had seen too many shadows, too many clothes scattered around.

Then, he heard the screams.

For a hot second he stayed still, considering he could simply turn his back on it. He would be in serious problems if they found him… but he had provoked it, hadn´t he? It would be his fault if something happened to the poor people inside the van. If they died… they would have died on a sunny day.

People shouldn´t die on sunny days.

A voice different from the usual, a voice that made him irrationally sad, told him.

So, he tried to rush to help, but felt the familiar bolt of pain on his neck. So much stronger than normal, he fell to the ground, his hands up on his neck before he could register he had screamed. There were a row of convulsing bolts that pinned him down. The electrifying pain took away his consciousness bit by bit.

He let out a whimper as someone grabbed him by the uniform´s shirt and started beating him. Reflexes too slow to put up his hands to defend his head or face. It took little more than two hits to draw out blood. To make his ears ring and his eyes to mud everything. But he didn´t need to see or hear to know it was the blond handler, pissed out of his mind.

He was barely awake when his head was pressed against the concrete, while he was roughly handcuffed on his back, before being pulled up. Only to be slapped when he couldn´t stand for himself, and then, thrown into the unforgiving cold of the van´s floor.

The car started so quickly, as he tried to pull himself up the ground, he couldn´t avoid slamming the back of his head against the door´s sharp edged lock.

From then on, it was black.

—-

“Yeah, yeah. I called an ambulance” the man shouted into his phone as he drove back to the facility. A pissed voice on the other side yelled at him loud enough to make him separate the phone from his ear, “Do you fucking think this was on the manual? They´re supposed to be fucking broken! How the hell did he get his hands on a narcotic? How the hell did no one notice? He´s white like a paper sheet for fucks sake!” he screamed back, hearing attentively to the voice “What? No, he´s fine. Just some scratches and- FUCK” The wheels burnt when he stopped the car to whip his head towards the blood pond on the back of the van. Fuming, he passed his hands through his hair, failing to hold a frustrated scream as he slammed open the doors and checked for a pulse. 

He sighed in relief before he passed the barely breathing boy to the front, wrapping a discarded scarf around his head before fastening the seatbelt and driving back.

“Jesus, kid” he shook his head, eyeing the unconscious boy next to him   “Couldn´t you have tried to escape in a less flashy way?”

When he got back, he begged the doctor he had stolen the narcotric from, to treat the boxie. To give him the strongest serum they had, because it wasn´t only him risking losing his job or worse.

She had no other choice than to agree. In the worst case, he would have brain damage. Putting aside the possible motor damage luckily they would be able to fix before anyone noticed, however, a colateral would be damage to his short term memory. Meaning, he would do things without being able to recall them later. In the optimistic side, it wouldn´t last forever. He would remember some things eventually. Hopefully much time after he was bought. When he wouldn´t be the company´s problem anymore.

Hoping it would be that way, she began treatment.

The man made his way to the handlers above, then. The men laughed at his incompetence, but he had made up his mind.

“I´m gonna quit”

“Right call” one of them said.

“None of you will talk about this. EVER. Nothing happened. I´ll even pay you, but none of this ever happened, understood?”

The men exchanged looks before smiling at their ex coworker “And what are you gonna do about the van?”

“Bad accident, four people died in situ. A four year old between them I heard”

“And the doctor too. The one that CEO´, was marrying on March. Heard CEO´s on the hospital as well” the blond handler gulped. “Guilty, Sanders? Want some serum to forget like the boxie?”

“Nothing. Happened” The men said through gritted teeth. The other two stared at him before pulling their hands up. What did they care anyways? If they had cared about humans pain, they wouldn´t be in that line of work. Well, beyond their own amusement.

When Sanders went away to write his resignation letter, both handlers stayed there for a while. Looking at the sun go higher and higher. No clouds on sight. It was the kind of day kids would use as an excuse to go outside. The perfect day to go on a picnic. To grab your partner and have a nice date. One of them wondered if they people on the van were going to do just that when the boxie jumped on the highway.

“What a pretty day to die though” he said, sipping on their cigarette looking up at the sky.

—

A few months later, “nothing happened” made the freckled twenty year old college student, the costume order box boy for a broken hearted CEO and two years later, a lonely, grieving woman take out 778900 out of his box.

[secret-engima]

spideypoolalways

Does Regis ever ask how Titus has papers for the boys? Whats Cor or Clarus' PoV of this? What are some things (fluff or humor) that the boys get up to? Because I can see them getting adopted into the Ulric Clan because of shenanigans and Nyx going 'Yes, these are my people' since LCs just remind me of Ulrics with magic. And how do the Galatians take to the nephew of the Nif Chancellor and clone of the Crown Prince? Since I'm imagining that Titus told some of them and the

spideypoolalways

rest are guessing anyway. And does everyone assume that Noctis and Nox's magics resonated since they're kinda sorta close to each other/are the same person? How does Regis take the news that the only reason that Noctis got healed is because Nox pretty much felt everything Noctis did? /Both/ of his sons were basically attacked by a daemon and he only knew about one of them at the time and didn't do anything to calm or reassure Nox? (Clarus: Only because you didn't know

spideypoolalways

About him, Regis. Regis: Thats no excuse, Clarus.) Does Iris get to be a Shield or did Nox latch onto Axis or one of his kids? Does Acastus find Prompting and drop him off with Noct/Cor? Does Nox hang out with Noct, Ignis, Gladiolus and Prom all the time or does the memories act up enough to make him feel weird about it? How does Regis take his brother and son's Sick Days? What about Dissidia? The 3 youngest Royals getting snatched and the group watching on Crystal

spideypoolalways

Vision? Dad Titus/Regis freaking out over their kids having been summoned to a death match? And how exactly does Titus see the boys? Sons, brothers, cousins? Oooh, more Trauma. Noct, Nox and Acastus w/others playing and end up in the Crystal room. Cue the boys lighting up, maybe passing out because the magic hits their young system really hard (its why Royals aren't supposed to be Presented until 18) and everyone freaks out, and news makes it to Regis and Titus that they

spideypoolalways

Are in the infirmary and the gist of what happened via panicked guards and rush there immediately and are jumped by panicked kids talking and crying about what happened. I didn't realize I had so many questions. But now I need to know. 👀👀 Please!🙏

spideypoolalways

Oh! Just remembered a little more! Does anyone pick up on the people/places that he shouldn't know? Do they assume that Nox got some of it from Noct, like with the Marelith? Or are they assuming LC/ Oracle DNA mix?

Me: Yes, Regis asks about the papers and Titus doesn’t OUTRIGHT admit he did an illegal but he does grudgingly explain that he needed papers in case the NIfs came looking and he ... knows ... a few people who can help ... “recreate” papers for refugees who lost theirs in whatever fire or tragedy drove them from their homes.

Regis mulls over that for ten long seconds then blatantly pretends he never heard it in the first place. Those “people” likely saved the life of his son and half-brother, he can let it slide this once.

I need Nyx Ulric to adopt these two now JUST so Nyx can tease that he’s related to Captain (then later when he learns that they’re Lucis Caelums he can quietly die in a corner because OH NO HE’S RELATED TO THE KING). Not sure how or when Nyx adopts them, but he absolutely does.

It probably happens when he's just a wee bit sloshed. Not enough to be incoherent or insincere, but enough that he doesn’t feel any fear offering to adopt the pair while babysitting them because Captain had to work late and Nyx is off the combat roster until his ankle heals. Once he’s sober he is a Panic™, but Captain takes it surprisingly well and Nox loves his new braid. Acastus just looks Amused™.

Lib slaps Nyx over the head because IDIOT THINK THIS STUFF THROUGH then gives him another drink because TWO MORE ULRICS. It’s a good thing Nyx is an Ulric Keeper in this AU, because he can teach them most of the Ulric Clan stories and dances and make them proper Ulrics.

Acastus loves introducing himself as Acastus Ulric Drautos, both because it’s fancy like “Lucis Caelum” is and also because it made both Titus and Nyx spit their coffee the first time they hear it.

The Galahdians ... have mixed feelings at first. But the predominant one is that it doesn’t matter that this kid is clearly related to the Chancellor (at first they all think the Chancellor bedded Captain’s Aunt, since they don’t know about the LC blood, and that’s why he looks like Ardyn) because Captain has clearly staked a claim on him. Galahd (in my HCs) is a Very Adoption Heavy culture and big on judging people by their current family rather than any previous blood ties, so ... mostly the Chancellor thing gets intensely ignored. Acastus isn’t an Izunia, he’s a Drautos (and then later an Ulric). So they will treat him as such.

But in private there is some debate on exactly what happened, for the Chancellor to vanish around the time his ... relation (son? They mostly assume son), shows up in Drautos’s care.

No few number of them think Titus stumbled on Ardyn with the two kids and killed the Chancellor to save them.

For Nox ... the Lucis Caelum blood is basically impossible to hide. This boy LOOKS like a literal carbon copy of the Prince but younger and he’s young so his control over his magic is ... not. Not that good. Especially not when there’s so mUCH of it.

All of Galahd listened to the Glaive who was on babysitting duty when Nox had a rare tantrum and skewered the wall with ghostly blades and all privately, immediately agree to Never Tell Anyone. Ever.

Well. To be fair, they do debate whether they have a duty to tell Regis, but again the Adoption Culture comes into play and they decide it’s up to Titus to spill that secret. A few Glaives do ask Titus about it (Titus nearly has a heart attack because SINCE WHEN DID THEY KNOW) and when they ask if they know who the mother was, Titus looks very grim and very, very quiet for a long time, then admits:

There is no mother. There never was.

They stare at him in confusion until Acastus, lurking nearby with too-sharp eyes, gives a smile that could cut and says brittlely that “amazing things that can be done with science these days you know. Truly amazing. Why, get a blood sample and a tank of the right solutions and you could probably grow anything you wanted”.

The Glaives are Horrified™. So is the rest of Little Galahd when it gets around and then is made a Clan Secret by all the Clans unanimously. The secret never leaves the borders of their little slum.

Also yes, people assume that Noctis’s and Nox’s magic resonated because Nox is a clone and it freaks them out.

Regis is Such A Guilt when he finds out how Acastus knew about Noctis’s injury. No it doesn’t matter that he DIDN’T KNOW NOX EXISTED. One of his son’s (his FIVE YEAR OLD son) was suffering. Was screaming in agony and terror and Regis didn’t do a THING about it and no amount of logic can make that better.

Nox latches onto Axis’s triplets in this AU so while Iris will be best friends with him, his Shield, Hand, and Sword are actually all made up of Axis’s three kids. Axis is a BIT of an internal Scream when Nox is at the age people start making noises about him building a Retinue and taking Iris as his Shield and Nox goes, “NO. I have a Shield already! A Hand and Sword too!” And stuff spirals out to reveal Axis as Clarus’s kid (Clarus takes it much better than Axis thought he would, tho Axis didn’t expect to see Lord Amicitia go deathly pale and sit down hard in the nearest chair).

Honestly Iris might be the future love interest in this AU you never know. It would be hilarious if nothing else.

Bold of you to assume Acastus didn’t find Prompto early and bring him home to NOX because “Look Beloved Nibling I Found You A Friend!”. Prompto is a confusion because Nox is like- 4 at the time. But Prompto likes babysitting and playing with Nox and hearing Acastus’s stories and Titus just kinda- sighs his way through the playdates until he realizes that Prompto has been staying in his house for about two weeks with no sign of the parents.

Titus, after much snooping later, sitting at the kitchen table of Grandma Ostium quietly pulling his hair out: HOW DO YOU ADOPT A THIRD CHILD. DOES IT COUNT AS KIDNAPPING IF THEY COME OVER AND STAY WITH YOU FOREVER AND THE LEGAL PARENTS NEVER NOTICE. ACASTUS WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME.

Acastus: I regret nothing. Do you want me to fake Prompto’s death? I’m sure there’s enough Prompto’s out there that nobody will notice if you gain a nephew called Prompto Drautos.

Titus, holding his face in his hands while Grandma Ostium laughs at him in the corner: NO, ACASTUS. DO NOT FAKE THE DEATH OF THE CHILD. How do you even know how to do that? Nevermind I don’t want to know.

Roughly a year later when Everything Gets Revealed, Titus and Cor: *intense staring contest over Smol Blond Child*

Cor: You don’t know where he-

Titus, growling like a cranky Behemoth that might very well bite off someone’s head: He’s a Niflheim created clone. I know.

Cor: ....

Titus: He's been living in my house for a year. I’ve seen the barcode. It’s not like I wasn’t raising one already.

Cor: His legal parents-

Titus: Is me. The Argentums were emotionally neglectful and didn’t even notice when he hadn’t come home for a week and a half.

Cor: *guilty angry silence*

Titus: ...Kid could use an uncle. If you want to man up and be part of his life.

(hgfhg this is post is getting long Imma try to speed through the last questions a bit)

Yes, Nox hangs out with the Chocobros when he can because he adores them (especially Brother Prompto and Team Mom Iggy) but he also has his own friend group in the Little Galahd community so it doesn’t strike anyone as odd really. Nox is a naturally loving child for all he’s shy and Iggy and Gladio are Noctis’s friends and Prompto is his adopted brother (and later Noctis’s best friend).

Regis does Not take the Sick Days well. It makes him alarmed and angry because Lucis Caelums aren’t supposed to get sick days from their own magic and it speaks of BAD THINGS that both of the presumably experimented on and tortured LCs have them.

I’m going to have to come back to Dissidia another time (someone remind me) because this post is too long to ramble here but it would be- it would be Great. Honestly. It would either be the 3 littlest, just Acastus, or just Acastus and REGIS for some brotherly bonding and any of them would be Great and Chaotic. Crystal-o-vision absolutely happens.

The Crystal Room is under 24 hour guard so I don’t think the kids could wander in by accident, plus Acastus would actively avoid the area because of his Trauma.

Now Acastus being presented when he turns 18 on the other hand... >:))))))

Short Version: Much shouting, much alarm, much angst from Regis and Titus and everyone and also the first Sick Day Acastus has had since he turned 17 and by far one of the worst he’s ever had in his (second) life.

I might to a longer version later but not right now.

For Nox’s oddities and odd knowledge they kind of assume both? At first they think it’s just him resonating with Noctis so deeply that there’s a transfer (cue angst from Regis because what is going to happen to Nox when Noctis fulfills his destiny as Chosen King???) but then when Nox starts knowing stuff Noctis doesn’t/can’t know, they start to wonder if the scientists ... Tampered with his DNA. If they got their hands on Noctis’s, which should have been impossible, then it’s not all that out there they got their hands on Oracle DNA.

Sylva is ... very alarmed and very confused when Regis secretly contacts her on a secure encrypted line to ask if there were any ... symptoms to look for in an Oracle child. Because- yes there were but WHY DO YOU NEED TO KNOW?

Regis: they wouldn’t happen to be *lists very specific things*

Sylva: ....Have you seen any Messengers nearby lately.

Regis: Carbuncle, a black puppy that disappears into thin air, and a bird woman who can summon wind storms. She calls herself Garuda.

Sylva, having a minor crisis behind her Queenly Facade: I am Very Sure I only have two children so please explain this. Right Now.

Regis: Well............. NiflheimclonedmysonandIthinkmixeditwiththednaofyouoryourdaughterandhehasseerpowersandImayormaynotbepanickingrightnowpleasehelpme.

Sylva, slowly running that over in her mind and figuring out what Regis just said:...

W H A T.

XD Honestly Niflheim might invade Tenebrae only to find the royal family gone because Sylva coincidentally packed her backs and took her and her children on a secret trip to Lucis to have a look at Nox, then since they’re there when Niflheim invades and a spy gets word on what just happened Sylva and Co just- stay there. Oracle Mom Death averted.

Also they absolutely think that it’s Luna’s DNA they used to make Nox because of how instantly Nox gloms onto Luna like a limpet- JUST like he did with Noctis and Regis, and how Luna gets this dazed look in her eyes as their magic tangles and she whispers, “I ... I know you. I know you, don’t I Little Prince? I met you in a dream.” Luna starts crying softly as she pets Nox’s hair and when Sylva asks in alarm why she’s crying, Luna blinks and whispers, “Because he was crying in the dream, and I couldn’t comfort him.”

Acastus lurks in the shadows, watching it all with ... very mixed feelings.

Oracles. He could have gone his entire second life without meeting anymore Oracles. Aera she looks so much like you is that what our daughter would have looked like and oh astrals I KILLED her. I killed the girl with your eyes and your smile and laughed about it later.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Choice: Chris

CW: References to past noncon, torture, conditioning, and training. Trauma response including ‘freeze’ response, flashbacks. PTSD and survivor’s guilt.

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump, @oops-its-whump

“Chris?”

It’s only when Mari speaks that Chris even realizes he’s stopped. She and Ben are a few feet ahead, the three of them heading to the little ‘food court’ in the Student Center to grab some lunch that wasn’t meal-plan food. Mari’s hair laid over her shoulder and caught the light just so in way that she always claims is accidental, but Chris has seen her put enough time and effort into her hair to know it really, really isn’t. 

Except right now he can barely see her at all.

His heart is suddenly still inside his chest, held there through some endless eternal second, and he’s startled into a gasp when it starts beating again. Adrenaline floods his system at the same time and Chris opens his mouth to say I’m just fine but nothing comes out. 

No words. How can he make words happen?

He knows how to speak, except sometimes, when he’s scared or the world is overwhelming the connection was broken.

He can think the words, we need to go I need to go I can’t be here with him but nothing happens when he tells his mouth to move. Only breathing, nearly silent, like an animal hiding under a bush and hoping the predator wouldn’t find him.

“Chris, what’s up?” Mari moves back over to him in a swish of long flowery skirt, putting a hand on his shoulder. When Chris flinches back and away from her instinctively, she pulls her own hand back like she’s been burned, then turns to look at Ben. “Hey, Ben?”

Ben had initially stopped to look back at Chris, too, but now his eyes were moving - not lingering on Chris’s pale face, the bright red spots in his cheeks the only color other than the faintest, faded smear of freckles, but instead following Chris’s gaze to a series of booths set up down a side hallway. “Oh, I forgot all those career guys were here today.”

“Yeah, they come every couple of months, my sister said. She used to go here. What’s up, Chris?” Mari reaches out again but this time, she hesitated before touching him.

He can feel the pressure of her fingers before they reach him, the way they part the air around her. He can feel the weight of the fluorescent lights overhead, hear the soft high buzzing sound they make that sometimes it feels like nobody else can hear but him.

There’s a part of the Student Center he can’t even go in because the ventilation system makes a squeak and he’s the only one in his friend-group who can hear it and it drives him crazy and none of that matters because he’s right here, he’s right here, he’s here and Jake’s not and he’s here.

Chris’s foot feel rooted to the spot even as he desperate to run, staring at a single one of the booths, having to remind himself to blink. 

Can’t run. Have to be still. Have to be so still.

Chris’s left hand drops down to the outside of his thigh, tapping there, half-hidden simply by how quietly and quickly he moves. Have to learn to hide it, have to hide it, can’t let anyone see, stillness is better than what I do-

Help. He can think the word but can’t say it. He’s here. How to explain who ‘he’ is? How to even start. They don’t know, nobody knows, he can’t tell anyone. He can’t tell anyone why he’s scared of the WRU booth.

The logo is cold water down his back all on its own, but he’s seen the logo enough that it’s not the scariest part. He doesn’t feel suddenly terribly small because of the heavy white drape hung with the WRU design printed over it in a vibrant, bloody red. 

The table has the same kind of fabric over it, covered with brochures and paperwork that Chris knew about but had never tried to read, himself. It wasn’t worth giving himself headaches just to see-

Fucking lies, Jake had said, bringing home a stack he’d found to shred and soak in water and then dump in the trash can to be perfectly useless. Lies and lies and fucking lies, and those rich assholes buy every single one because it’s easier than looking any of you guys in he eyes to see that you’re people.

None of that is what holds him still.

What freezes Chris isn’t even the familiar black uniforms of the two men who stand by the booth shaking hands and saying friendly hellos to anyone who paused to take a look. 

What freezes him is one of the men wearing the uniform, a man he knows so well that even his bones go cold just at the sight of his profile, the straight line of his nose, rounded chin, angular jaw. The blond hair graying around the edges is a little grayer, now, but no less recognizable. 

His smile is still branded in hideous fire along the inside of Chris’s mind, along with a trainee’s shaking need to do whatever it took to make him smile, because that’s what it means to be good-

“H-handler.” It’s the only word he can remember, in that moment. It’s the only word he knows, the only person in the entire world is his handler who will come to unlock the door and bring him his food and take him for training or showers or all the other terrible moments that will never stop being etched in Chris’s memories and running like soft fingers down his spine and gripped onto his hips-

“What?” Mari’s voice breaks the moment. “What’d you say?”

Chris doesn’t look at her. He can’t.

He can’t, because Handler Petrus turns and looks right at him.

Kneel. Kneel. Fucking kneel get on your knees show him you’re good Position Two Position Two Position Two-

His knees start to buckle but he catches them, rocks forward and then back just once to remember that his body is his own, he can move it however he wants. If he doesn’t want to kneel he doesn’t have to kneel but the handler’s eyes lock on his eyes and they’re cold, so cold in his friendly smiling face.

Now that wasn’t so hard, was it, 223499? Get up, there’s mouthwash by the sink.

Hold position, or you’ll get another day without food.

Good boy, there, see, you’re a quick learner when you want to be-

“I, I, I don’t want to be,” He whispers. But it doesn’t matter. What he wants is irrelevant, Handler Petrus always gives you choices, you can choose to be good or choose to be bad and get disciplined, and there’s a choice but both of the choices mean you do what he wants because what the trainee wants is irrelevant.

Doesn’t matter.

You’re not a person anymore, so stop the sniveling and hop up on that table.

“Hey, Earth to Chris.” Mari snaps her fingers in his face and the moment breaks, all at once. Chris jerks in a breath only to realize he stopped breathing at some point, dizzy with lack of oxygen, blinking rapidly to get water back to eyes that had gone painfully scratchy and dry from no blinking. “We’re gonna be late to class if you keep just staring at nothing.”

“Lay off, Mari,” Ben says, and Chris wonders if it’s accidental or on purpose when Ben steps between Chris and the handler’s gaze. “He does that sometimes. Come on, Chris, do you need a sec? We can go to the basement, nobody ever goes down there. If you just need some quiet.”

“Um. I... I, I... I d-don’t-... I-I-I-” He looks around Ben, and realizes that Handler Petrus isn’t looking at him. The older man has turned away, is shaking someone’s hand, giving them a brochure with a friendly welcoming smile. 

Chris wants to run and grab it out of the pretty boy’s hands, yell at him that it’s a lie it’s all a lie and it’s going to hurt and it’s hell-

but they’re not here to pick up new pets, are they? No, that boy Handler Petrus is talking to isn’t going to be a pet. He’s going to be a Handler. 

Going to learn to hit and terrorize and torture and train people just like Chris. Is he in it for the hitting, the hurting? Handlers enjoy it, mostly. They like that part, they’re supposed to like that part, and it’s only the pets who would do anything to make it stop-

Anything, whatever you want, please I’ll do whatever you want I’ll sign your stupid paper just please let me out let me out let me out

Handler Petrus isn’t looking at him anymore. That moment of what had felt like eye contact, the paralyzing realization that he was right there and he could walk over and say kneel, pet and Chris would and then everyone would know what he was and is and will always be... it’s gone.

Handler Petrus didn’t know who he was.

He’d just seen someone staring, he didn’t see a pet, he didn’t see 223499, he didn’t see the scars where his barcode used to be so carefully hidden by his long sleeves. No... no, he’d just seen a gawker. Some college kid taking a moment to look. 

He didn’t know him.

The relief Chris feels realizing that his long blue hair and his narrower face, without the hint of puppyfat roundness he’d still had when he went to Sir’s, went unrecognized, nearly knocks him off his feet. He grabs onto Mari just to steady himself and she smiles, puzzled, but holds on.

“Hey. We can go somewhere,” Ben repeats, softer this time, but more serious, too. “If you need a minute.”

Chris turns back to Ben and gives a thin, frightened smile. “I’m okay. Let’s... let’s, let’s go get l... get, get lunch. I, I just-... maybe I’m j-just hungry.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Ben shrugs, and Mari links an arm in his, and Chris lets them lead him away.

He looks over his shoulder only once to see that Handler Petrus is still talking to the same boy, who is writing something down on a piece of paper. There’s another boy, in shabbier clothes, clutching an old backpack and watching but not moving any closer, not yet.

Chris knows what he’s looking at because Jake would know what he’s looking at.

One boy talking about taking a job... another watching and wondering if becoming a pet would solve whatever problems were roiling around inside him.

Chris tells himself he can’t do anything to stop it, not without putting everyone he loves at risk, and he lets Mari and Ben lead him away. He doesn’t think about the boy with the backpack through his lunch. He doesn’t daydream through all his classes about finding him and telling him what it’s really like. He doesn’t think about him at all.

He definitely doesn’t wake up in a cold sweat from a nightmare that night about the boy with the backpack signing his contract, and pad out to the end of the hall to be alone.

He doesn’t clutch his phone like a liferaft.

He doesn’t call Jake at 4 AM and beg him to say it’s okay if he can’t save anyone else but himself, if he can’t be the one to help other people be saved, that it’s okay if he’s too scared to ever have his handler’s eyes on his face again. 

He doesn’t ask Jake to remind him it’s been four years and he never has to go back.

He doesn’t.

Except he does, and Jake says all the right things, and then Chris hangs up the phone and hugs his knees to his chest and rocks and rocks and rocks and cries for the boy with the backpack, looking at the WRU booth and thinking he sees a way out of anything, when all he’s looking at is a way into something worse than whatever hell he’s living through.

Chris hopes and prays to nothing and no one that the boy walked away, that he didn’t make the choice.

Maybe next time he’ll be strong enough to risk the handler’s eyes and be as strong as Jake is and ignore his own fears to stand up for someone else. Maybe next time. Maybe-

Chris is still there when the sky goes grayish pink and the sun starts to rise.

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter XIV

After stopping at Leirity Seaside and Spelcray Haven, the group makes it to Cape Caem. Iris departs from the party and heads into the house to see Talcott. While the boys spoke with Cindy, (Y/n) wandered off towards the cliffs. She admired the beautiful view of the ocean with the lighthouse at her back. She inhaled deeply, the salty sea breeze bringing her a semblance of peace. The gentle breeze also cooled her heated skin. She stretched her arms towards the sky with a hum of content. "This place really is nice."

Glancing across the surface of the glistening ocean, (Y/n)'s peace of mind was shattered by Callyx. Unconsciously, she raises a hand and presses it against the back of her neck. Her smile was vanquished by a melancholic frown. Although hidden by her clothes, she felt as if she could feel the one thing that connected her to the empire-the barcode. Unlike Prompto, hers was located on the back of her neck. She knew the truth behind his existence, but he didn't. Nor did he know the truth behind hers.

"Hey!"

(Y/n) was startled from her thoughts when she heard Prompto yelling. She turned around and watched him run towards her. "Hey, I thought you'd be with the others."

"Why would I be when my favorite person is missing?" He asked with a smile. She wanted to smile, but her dark thoughts kept her from doing so. Of course, Prompto could tell she wasn't cheerful as usual. "Y'know, frowny faces aren't allowed here. The view is way too beautiful. What's wrong, (Y/n)?"

She looked away from him. "Dark thoughts, that's all. I thought I had managed to push them aside, but they keep resurfacing."

"Are these "dark thoughts" because of Callyx?"

She nodded her head weakly. "Yeah..."

"You listen to me anytime I need to talk and always know how to cheer me up. Whenever I needed a shoulder to cry on, you were there. You're the reason I've come this far and think I'm actually a worthy person and not just some waste of space. I just want to let you know I'm here for you just like you are for me, and I'm not going anywhere, okay?" Prompto reaches out and takes her hand in his, squeezing it gently.

(Y/n) could feel the sting of tears forming from his kindness. She bit her bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. She couldn't even bring herself to look at him in fear she'd begin crying. All she could do was squeeze his hand in return. "Thank you, Prompto, but I'm afraid this is something I can't share with you just yet."

Prompto didn't want to force her to do anything and respected her decision. "Well, when you're ready, I'll be here."

The guardian inhaled a shaky breath. She managed to turn and look at him, but the thing she was trying to not do happens. The tears she's been holding back spring free and cascade down her cheeks. Before she could even attempt to wipe them away, Prompto was already on it. His hands cradled her cheeks, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears. He was taken aback at her sudden tears and couldn't help but worry. "H-Hey, it's okay. Please don't cry, (Y/n)."

"I'm sorry, Prom," she sniffled.

"Don't apologize, silly." Prompto presses his forehead against hers with a warm smile. He wipes her tears away for a little longer before slipping his arms around her smaller frame and hugging her gently. She didn't hesitate to reciprocate the hug and wrap her arms around his torso. They remained in each other's arms until they heard Noctis shouting their names. Prompto pecked her on the forehead before grabbing her hand and rejoining Noctis and the others.

Once back with the others, Ignis explained how they learned where to find the mythril to repair the boat from Talcott. Their next destination would be the Vesperpool. As they were about to make their way into the house, Gladio stopped them. "So yeah, gonna have to ask you to handle this boat business without me."

Prompto gaped in shock. "Say wha?"

"Got some business of my own to deal with," the shield vaguely responded.

Noctis knew Gladio all too well and didn't try to change his mind. "Do your thing. Not like we could stop you anyway."

"You know me too well." He walked past the three boys and came to a stop beside (Y/n). He patted her on the shoulder. "Keep these guys in shape while I'm gone, short stuff."

She smirked in amusement. "You can count on me. Take care of yourself, Gladio."

"Don't have to tell me twice. See ya 'round." With that, the shield left.

<-------------<<<<<

Several days later, everyone minus Gladio was in the Regalia. Noctis was driving, Prompto was in the passenger's seat, and Ignis and (Y/n) were sitting in the backseat. The strategist recognized their surroundings from their earlier expedition in the area. "The waterfall cave was right around here."

"That means the lake should be somewhere north of here," Prompto said.

"Be wary, though-where we go, the empire seems to follow."

"Which means we might see Callyx again..." The marksman muttered with a slightly angry undertone.

"You hate the guy that much?" Noctis asked.

"Yeah, I do!" Prompto sat up in his seat with a huff of annoyance. "He hurt my beautiful goddess!"

(Y/n) chuckled slightly at his reasoning. "Trust me, I made sure he felt some pain before I left."

Eventually, they pull up to a tunnel whose gate had previously been locked. It opens and allows them passage. Prompto was puzzled at the entire thing. "Wait-what happened to "under imperial lockdown"?"

"They all but turned the key and left the gates open for us-as if awaiting our arrival," Ignis commented.

"And if anyone's waiting for us, I bet it's those guys," the sharpshooter grumbled.

"Chancellor Izunia and Callyx."

"Can't complain as long as they let us in," Noctis said.

"Who's to say they'll let us out? Not to mention we're a man down. Would that the marshal were with us," the advisor stated.

"But we have (Y/n) now!" Prompto chanted. "And whatever happened to that guy?"

"As I understand it, he's put his tomb raiding on hold to help the hunters take care of some troublesome beasts."

"No rest for "the immortal"," the prince said.

(Y/n) was curious to ask about Cor since she's only heard a few things about him from Prompto, but her train of thought was derailed when Noctis slammed on brakes. She braced herself as the car swerved from the harsh braking, her nails digging into the leather of the seat. Wondering why he made a harsh stop, she looked up to see an imperial blockade consisting of an MA Veles and imperial troopers.

"No way through," Noctis mumbled.

"So they give us access to the Vesperpool, but still intend to stop us by setting up other blockades," (Y/n) stated as she got out of the car.

"Yeah, it totally doesn't make any sense," Prompto commented. "But what do you expect from the empire?"

"Good point," Noctis said.

Once everyone was out of the car, they summoned their weapons. Ignis, wielding his daggers, warned his companions. "We must be doubly cautious."

"Right. No Gladio, no room for error."

Even without Gladio's presence, the battle went smoothly. They were able to easily dispose of the imperial forces and continue down the road. This time, Ignis was behind the wheel. Noctis, even with (Y/n) in the backseat with him, was able to spread out. "I could get used to havin' all this room back here. Too bad Gladio isn't as small as (Y/n)."

"It is quite cozy back here without him," the guardian said, stretching her arms into the air as her (h/c) locks were tousled by the wind.

Prompto glanced into the backseat at his best friend and girlfriend. "I'll let the big guy know you guys said so."

After a few more minutes of driving, Ignis parks the Regalia near the Vesperpool. Everyone exits the vehicle and heads into the nearby swampland in search of the ruins they heard about from Talcott. Down the trail, they spotted two familiar cars. One was red and the other was black.

"Oh, great..." (Y/n) groaned.

As they come near the ruins, they find Ardyn and Callyx waiting for them. The female spirit smirked in satisfaction seeing her fellow guardian's right eye was foggy. The skin around it was pink and puffy from where she burnt him. The boys also noticed the man's maimed eye. Prompto leant over and whispered to the golden-eyed spirit. "You did that to him?"

"Yeah. He deserved it," (Y/n) replied.

"Damn..." Noctis mumbled at seeing the damage.

Ardyn addressed the group as they made their way over to him and Callyx. "Gentlemen." He then took off his hat and bowed in (Y/n)'s direction. "And lady. What a pleasant surprise."

Prompto glanced between the two men with a groan. "Ugh! Told you they'd be waiting!"

"With my imperial friends, no less."

"Splendid," Ignis rhetorically retorted.

The chancellor quickly tried to assuage their concern. "But fear not-I'll put in a good word. Well, come along, then." He turns and begins walking toward the ruins. Callyx, on the other hand, didn't budge. He glared at the girl with his only remaining eye. He took a few steps towards her, but was stopped by Ardyn. "Do behave yourself, dear friend."

Callyx gritted his teeth, clenching his fists tightly. "If I could, I'd rip into your flesh again, right here and right now."

(Y/n) wasn't afraid of the man and stood her ground. "Did you not learn your lesson the first time? Guess you didn't and now don't wanna keep your left eye. I don't mind burning it like I did your right one."

"Why you little-!"

"Callyx," Ardyn gently called out in warning.

The male guardian reluctantly backed away with a snarl. He turned his back to his fellow spirit and followed after the chancellor.

Ardyn smiled at the group as Callyx took the lead towards the ruins. "I do apologize for his unruly behavior." He adjusted his hat and walked alongside his spiky-haired companion. "Now then, don't stray too far, lest you get left behind. And surely you'd rather avoid unnecessary scuffles, seeing as you're now a quartet. Oh, dear. Touchy subject?"

"One we won't discuss with you," Ignis quipped rather harshly.

"Then let's discuss why you're here. Hmm.... It can't be archaeology... Mythril, perhaps?"

"This guy's reading our thoughts!" Prompto gasped.

"Mythril-it's a precious resource. We can't just let anyone get their hands on it," Ardyn claimed.

"But you'll help us get ours on it, right?" Noctis asked.

"I never said that!"

"Of course you didn't," Prompto muttered.

"Where is the fun in that?" The chancellor questioned. "I thought you'd rather dig it up yourselves."

"We'll make you all do the damned dirty work yourselves. You're capable enough even with one person missing," Callyx sneered.

(Y/n) couldn't hold her snarky remark at bay. "Oh, so you won't dirty your hands for mythril, but you're fine with killing your own people. Nice to know."

"You're making it very difficult to not kill you," Callyx growled.

"You won't because your tail wags for your master."

"So does yours," he retorts.

"But mine doesn't keep me on a short leash and actually trusts me."

Callyx's self control shattered. He reached out to grab the girl, but his arm was grabbed by her and she twisted his arm behind his back. Using her foot, she kicked the bend of one of his legs and forced him to a single knee. He grunted in pain as he struggled against her, but his current position made it difficult.

The guardians' argument didn't go unnoticed. The boys and Ardyn had watched the entire thing unfold. The chancellor was smirking in amusement while the others were shocked. The auburn-haired man strolled over with a chuckle. "As I believe this is a suiting punishment for Callyx, I do beg of you to release him, my dear. His punishment will come at a later date, I assure you."

(Y/n) glared at the chancellor before releasing Callyx. The male spirit got to his feet, rolling his shoulder and trying to ease the pain. "Damn you..."

She crossed her arms with a victorious grin. "Run along, kitty. Your master's tugging on your leash."

Without another word, Callyx walked away. Prompto watched the emerald-eyed guardian stalk away, clearly consumed by anger. He then looked over at his spirit with an astonished expression. "Wow, (Y/n). I've never seen you so angry before."

"I'm not someone who usually is easily angered," she sighed. "But Callyx just grinds my gears. Knowing he's willingly working for the empire and killing our people is what irks me the most."

"By that display, I do believe we won't be needing Gladio's assistance for this endeavor," Ignis said.

Noctis glanced at Callyx's retreating form before looking over at the golden-eyed girl. "I thought you were gonna break his arm."

"Oh, trust me, I wanted to. I already broke it once, but I'll gladly do it again," she responded. "Guardians are more resilient than humans and our injuries heal quicker, but it seems Callyx is still experiencing issues with his arm after I broke it at the fort."

"Indeed, he is," Ardyn sighed. "You did quite a number on him, my dear. The poor man was brought back to me with his eye singed and arm shattered."

"And you're not mad?" She inquired.

"Of course not. Callyx fought and lost. Tis a mere outcome of battle."

Hearing Ardyn's confession, (Y/n) felt a tinge of sorrow for Callyx. The chancellor wasn't saddened if the man was injured in battle. He doesn't care for him like Prompto does her. She shook her head, ridding herself of the thoughts. "Putting all this aside, aren't we here for mythril?"

He tipped his hat with a faint smile. "Right this way."

They continued to follow Ardyn down the trail until they reached the ruins. Outside the entrance to the ancient structure stood the woman they had fought against at Fort Vaullery. Beside her were two imperial officers.

Ardyn turns to Noctis and the others. "Fear not-I'll be but a moment." He walks over to the woman and begins to speak with her.

Prompto looked over at his best friend. "A moment doing what?"

Noctis shrugged his shoulders. "Beats me."

(Y/n) looked around at the number of imperials were stationed in the area. She could feel their eyes on her as their grips on their weapons tightened. She grimaced at the unsafe feeling she was experiencing. She was the conduit, the spirit the empire was seeking to kill. Now she was standing in the middle of an imperial hornet nest, afraid she'd stir the insects and wind up dead. "I'm not so sure I should be here..."

The prince glared at the imperial troopers who were eyeing the spirit. "Nah, it's fine. If they really wanted to kill you, I'm pretty sure they'd already done it."

"Perhaps the chancellor is the reason they remain inactive," Ignis speculated.

She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "I just hope we get this mythril as quick as possible..."

Just then, Ardyn calls out to them. "All clear! Go ahead."

The group approaches the woman, who was eyeing them closely. "So, you're the "new recruits" they sent over for "special training." Nice cover, runaway prince."

"Thanks," Prompto replied.

Noctis groaned at how casual the blonde was being. "Oh, c'mon!"

The woman shook her head with a sigh. "At ease, "recruits." There's nothing in it for this ex-mercenary to turn you in."

"Well that's a surprise," (Y/n) muttered.

This caught the ex-mercenary's attention. "Good thing because your name and the prince's are on the empire's list. The very top, I might add." She took a few steps towards the girl and examined her appearance. "But I know I'm already gonna like you, firefly."

The guardian blinked in surprise. "Why's that?"

"You're the one who fried Callyx's eye. If you hadn't done it, I would've. Bastard's been a thorn in my side for a while now." She patted her on the shoulder, grinning. "I look forward to working with you, firefly."

(Y/n) glances up at the sky, noticing the sun was beginning to set. "Then let's get this show on the road."

Her grinned widened. "Took the words right out of my mouth. Let's get moving, "recruits"."

Seeing the group had become acquainted with the ex-mercenary, Ardyn chimed in. "I trust you'll be civil. Commodore Aranea Highwind, I leave them to you."

Aranea puts on her helmet and guides the group towards the entrance of the ruins. As they trudged through the shallow water, Prompto noticed the strange design of the ruins. "What kind of place was this? Any idea, Ignis?"

Ignis was also intrigued by the ancient structure, but he had no answers for the blonde. "None."

"Gee, I wonder what happened to the locals."

"Why not head inside and look for 'em?" Aranea suggested.

"I'm not so sure if we want to find the locals," (Y/n) said. "Who knows if they're hostile or peaceful."

"Guess we'll figure out the hard way if there are any locals," Noctis spoke up.

When the sun set behind the horizon and the moon rose into the sky, the entrance to Steyliff Grove was open. As they entered the ruins, (Y/n) took note of the design. She ran a hand across the wall. "Hey, Prom. Don't these ruins look a lot like the ones we hid in a while back?"

Prompto also analyzed the structure of the ruins. His eyes widen when he too saw the similarities. "Oh, yeah!"

"You must be talking about Costlemark Tower," Aranea voiced. "Place is crawling with daemons and has the same strange mechanism that prevents anyone from entering during the day."

The marksman glanced over at the ex-mercenary. "Does that mean this place is gonna be crawling with daemons too?"

"Most likely."

"Oh, yay..."

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

[authorkimberlygrey]

The things you need to start the self publishing thing

This is a day late, doesn’t even follow the how to do the thing format, and my dyslexia is running rampant today so ther’s probably six billion typos and mispellings but fuck it let’s goooooooo

Shit you’ll need before you can even get to the shit you need: 

A complete manuscript

I’m talking multiple drafts here people. Beta readers, self edits, tears, blood sacrifice, the works. Unfortunately, this isn’t 1920, we cannot publish our first drafts. 

I mean, you can but its not gonna go well. 

Money

Like. Lots of money. This shit is Expensive. 

A Plan

Don’t be like me. Don’t just suddenly go “alright let’s publish” one day

Actually lay out a timeline for yourself 

Expect delays 

So Many Delays

Plan for publishing at least like six months in advance you will thank yourself later I promise

Ingramspark vs. Createspace or whatever they call it now. They changed the name the other day I think

I went for ingramspark 

Because 

Fuck amazon

Ingramspark is More Professional 

Everyone else also thinks “fuck amazon”

You’ll be able to sell your book more places this way. 

This one is a p personal decison so look this shit up yourself. 

One you’ve got that shit, you can get this other shit

First things first, hire an editor. There are a shit ton of different editors out there, I’m not listing them all, mostly because I don’t remember them all and a lot of them overlap anyway. The majority of places will let you pick an editing ‘package’ that’ll combine several types. Go with that. 

Alright I’ll list a couple kinds of editor. Just the ones I can remember tho, I’m not looking them up again.

Content Editor-looks over the big picture, the story itself. Fuck that grammar bullshit, this is about lookign for plot holes and character inconsistencies and shit. Basically a beta on steroids, I love these dudes. 

Line Editor-this is what everyone thinks of when they say editor. They do the grammar shit. 

Sensitivity reader-make sure you’re not making a dick of yourself, good thing to have. 

Learn how to Format the book

This one you actually can do yourself, its not like...unattainably difficult, especially if you can get ahold of Microsoft Word. 

The basics are: 

Book Size

8.5x5.5 is pretty much the most common

And that’s the interior pages, the cover itself tends to add a lil bit onto that and so if you go measure a bunch of books you’re gonna get 9x6 or something

Font

12 pt. Times New Roman is the standard

Margins.

I think 1 inch is standard? 

Listen, this shit gets complicated and its been like nine months since I did it, I’ll link you some things at the end so you can get a better idea. 

 Header and Footer

Pro tip: Center all of this shit, that way you don’t have to fuck around with aligning it right on the corners of the page. 

Author name on one page, book name on the other

You can do evens or odds, I don’t think there’s a standard

Page number on every page 

EXCEPT: the first page of a new chapter

Just to make things more difficult, nothing goes on those pages. Because fuck you. 

Widows and Orphans 

Yeah I know “what the fuck does that mean???” 

You know how sometimes you’ll have this one sentence that’s just hogging a whole page? Yeah those 

Or those times that a sentence goes onto the next page all on its own

I’m not sure which of those are widows and which ones are orphans tbh. I mean... I could probably guess but nothing is simple you know? 

There’s some places that’ll tell you to do this manually by changing the line spacing and/or text size of each page? 

Don’t fuckign do that

That’s ludicrous. 

There’s literally a button for it on microsoft word

This is one of those things where the easy solution is actually the one you’re supposed to use. 

Oh yeah, indents

No you can’t just press tab

That would be too easy.

And nothing can be easy, remember? 

0.3/0.5 is the standard I think. 

Also make sure everything is left aligned. 

And the line spacing is usually double spaced? I think? 

I want to say there was a certain number of lines per page that was standard and you’re supposed to fiddle around until you get that. So enjoy. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0IGkyMhsr28

https://firstmanuscript.com/proper-manuscript-format/

A Cover

Unless you’re like A Professional don’t do this yourself its way more complicated than you’d think 

Have a Solid Idea of what you want your cover to look like. Just shrugging and going “idk man” isn’t going to help anyone. 

This isn’t just the fun artsy shit either

Figure out where you’re putting the blurb and your author picture and your author bio, which, btw, you gotta write too. I’ll get there. 

Author Bio 

Jenna Morecci did a whole video on this so def look that up cause that’s pretty much the best info I’ve got for you. 

But: 

3-5 sentences

Written in third person

Yes its weird to write about yourself this way, just go with it. 

Embrace your inner “whatever fictional character talks in third person” and go with it

One sentence on your experience with writing whatever this is

One sentence about yourself/shit you like 

And one on something else, I’m not watching the whole video over for this. Just go watch Jenna, you’ll love her.

I don’t think I’ve ever read an author bio and I don’t know anyone else who does either but I guess somebody must so we all have to suffer. 

A Copyright thing

Like. Register your book with the copy right office so that if someone tries to steal it you can tell them to stop. 

Yes this costs money too. Becasue fuck you I guess. 

This sounds really intimidating but honestly you just fill out paperwork and while that stresses me personally out beyond rationality its not really that bad. 

Don’t forget to add the copyright page in your book too, there’s a thing on the format for it, lemme look 

Here ya go: 

https://blog.reedsy.com/copyright-page/

An ISBN

Most people upon reading this immeditaely went “what the fuck is an ISBN?”

If you didn’t then good job you’re more prepared than I was. Good on you. 

An ISBN is like an identifying number for your book. 

Actually, its an identifying number for specifically this format of your book. If you’re planning on doing a paperback and an ebook or a hardcover or an audiobook or whatever, you need to get an ISBN for Every Format of it

You can buy ISBNs ((in the US at least, I don’t know about other countries sorry)) on Bowker.com 

Why did they name it that? 

I don’t know

You would think that they’d maybe pick a more...I don’t know, relevant name for their site? 

Listen, a fact of publishing a book is that everyone involved has conspired to make is as frustrating as humanly possible. You’re just going to have to accept that. 

Why is their whole site mascot a bird? 

Also don’t know. They’re having a good time with it I guess.

Maybe something to do with Bowker sounding like bough?

Also a barcode! 

Yeah, didn’t think you’d have to buy that did you? 

Neither did I but here we are

Actually you don’t have to buy one if you use ingramspark, they’ll give you one when you use their cover template thing apparently. 

Know what price you want to sell the book for

Even in self publishing, the place you’re going through is gonna want a piece of the pie. Enjoy that. 

Ingramspark has a calculator for that actually, its p cool

You can stick the price in the barcode 

Idk if that relevant but that’s a thing you can do?

uhh…..I’m pretty sure I’m forgetting something….

You might want to get an author website set up? 

You should probably have that before now but if youre doing this Chaos Style (™) like I did then you probably want it up before you publish so you can put it on the book somewhere. 

People you need to hire: 

Editor

Cover Designer

Possibly a formatting person if you decide fuck that shit

 Which. Understandable

Shit you need to get a handle on

Formatting

 If you decide fuck yourself

 Which. Understandable

Copyright

Price

ISBN 

OH yeah. 

Marketing Junk 

You honeslty need to have a handle on this shit Waaaaaaayyyy the fuck in the future. If you’re only thinking about it like...now its probably not great. 

The Chaos Method is not generally a good approach

See: Ascendant’s release was essentially a flop and even tho people who read the book love the book I’m still struggling to get people to read the book

Psst read the book its great I promise

Your book release is like. The Biggest Chance for marketing shit 

Get on top of that junk

Giveaways

Posts about it 

Just

Everything all the time everywhere

You definitely need a schedule for this 

Like seriously

Make a plan. 

That’s pretty much it I think. I mean...look in other places too because like I said earlier, its been months since I did this and when I did do it it was the Chaos Method of me just going “I’m gonna publish now” and Doing That. 

Get a plan, believe in yourself. Get a publishing mentor

Someone who’s done this shit before and can give you some encouragement and direction. 

It probably shouldn’t be me but I guess if you need help I’m game to do what I can. 

Also be prepared to like. Crash, mentally, So Hard. Its terrible. See my older post for all the shitty shit about publishing this way.

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

Also, we’re still mostly setting up the story. Sorry about that, but it’s important. I want to get to the fluff as soon as possible.

***

Chapter 2

Scarlett watched as the young woman in front of her checked her cuffs. “Uncomfortable?”

The woman -Katia -looked at her. “Does anyone feel comfortable in cuffs?” She asked.

Heavy Duty started opening his mouth, but one look from Scarlett made him change his mind.

“So… Want to tell me what is going on?” Scarlett asked.

Katia sighed. “The long version or the short one?”

Scarlett and Heavy Duty exchanged looks, then the man answered, “Let’s see how long it’s the long one.”

Katia started explaining to them about the Agent Program, Litvenko and a human hunt for her. She explained how the program started and ended, how she found out that Litvenko was her father and how 47 had saved her instead of killing her.

“That’s quite the story.” Scarlett offered by the end of it.

“It is.” Katia agreed.

“I’ve never heard about this Agency.” Heavy Duty pointed out.

“That’s the point of being a covert agency.” Katia informed him. “And I’m almost sure your General knows about us.”

Heavy Duty glared at her. “We’ll check that. The man? His name’s 47?”

“It’s the only name they ever gave him.”

***

General Hawk sighed. “That’s quite the tale, Agent. I’m not sure I believe in it, though.”

“You can check it.” 47 offered.

“We do know about what happened in Singapore and we’re aware that the Syndicate was involved. Your involvement, however, is uncertain.”

“That’s my specialty.” 47 pointed out.

Duke glared at him. “You think you’re so funny.”

“Actually, no. I’m not programmed to be funny.”

Duke turned to Hawks. “Is he for real?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Hawks sighed. “What they did to those kids… It was truly horrible.”

“Is that why you have a barcode on your head?” Duke asked.

“Yes. It was given to me when I was born. The number came when I became an agent.”

Duke frowned. “Have you ever known another life?”

“No.”

“How about the girl?” Hawks asked.

“The only thing Katia’s ever known was loneliness, running from a place to the next one.” 47 paused for a bit. “I would like for her to have a chance at something different.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to feel things.” Hawks commented.

“In the last days, I’ve learned I can do a lot of different things.” He gave the general a long look. “Including asking for help.”

The general sighed. “Wait here.”

***

“What do you think, General?” Duke asked as the team regrouped.

The general nodded towards Cover Girl. “He isn’t lying about the events as far as we can check them.” She informed Duke. “The bodies, the firefights, the Embassy…”

“What exactly we can’t check?” Scarlett wanted to know.

“Basically? His motivation.” Cover Girl explained. “As far as we know, he did what he was ordered to. There’s nothing that proves he’s gone rogue as he claims.”

“So now what?” Duke wanted to know.

“If he’s telling the truth, this is a great opportunity.” Hawks said. “You heard what he said about the ICA and I’ve always wanted to end them.”

“How come we’ve never heard about this guys?” Rip wanted to know.

“They’re really good at cleaning after themselves.” Hawks explained. “I only found out about them when that one tried to kill me.” He nodded his head to the monitor showing 47. “I always wondered why he didn’t kill me. He didn’t seem the type to monologue and waste the opportunity to finish the job. After he left I made my mission to find out about his agency.”

“And you, deadly and silent?” Rip turned to Snake Eyes. “Where do you know him from?”

It didn’t surprise anyone when Snake Eyes didn’t reply.

“A couple of years ago we came across him again by accident.” Cover Girl was the one to explain. “We were at the same place, at the same time, but for different reasons.”

“Did you kick his ass?” Duke wanted to know.

Snake Eyes crossed his arms, but General Hawks chuckled. “Let’s say it wasn’t a conclusive match.”

Rip’s eyes rounded. “He kicked your ass? Man… Savage.”

“Are we going to trust them?” Scarlett asked, interested in going back to the main point.

“Not exactly. We’ll see what they can tell us.” Hawks decided. “But you’ll keep our eyes on them. I have something to ask you two.” He focused on Scarlett and Snake Eyes. “I know this won’t be ideal to you, but it’s temporary.”

Oh great...

[butterflydreaming-writes-fic]

*sweats* I'm excited to offer a gift fic for @imthatpeculiarone in this round of the Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Reunion. 

Title: This Wheel's on Fire 

Word Count: 3,419 

Fluff, Rated Gen

An old Lincoln Continental with faded paint nearly hits Baby in the supermarket parking lot. Dean slams the brakes. His untasted coffee takes a dive, and Dean is quickly slapping take-out napkins from the glove box stash even as he slides into an open parking spot. He takes a minute of the limited time he has for this errand to get himself calmed down.

His temper flares up again when he sees that he’s parked next to the gold Continental. He doesn’t have time to move the Impala to another spot, so he slides over the bench seat. The Fiat on that side is crookedly parked but still leaves enough space for Dean to open the door more than four inches.

Phone in hand,  he scrolls through Jody’s text messages for the list. While he was driving to the store, she’s added more. He grabs a shopping cart on the way in, notes where the freezer with the ice is, and speeds up an aisle toward the bakery section, where he almost collides with a guy striding through the T-intersection.

“Shit! By bad,” Dean says, stopping short of running the startled man down.

The man squints. His blue eyes burn brighter. “That would be the second time today,” he accuses.

“What?” Dean asks.

The man rolls his eyes. “I don’t have time for this,” he gripes as he beelines for another section of the store.

Dean doesn’t have time either. The cake is ready when he gets to the bakery counter, but they’ve written “Congratulations Kelsy” instead of “Kelly.” To fix it, Dean would have to wait for the only person on staff with the rare skill of being able to write with decorator gel to get back from a break of unknown duration. He takes the cake as-is and a tube of Cake Mate. He rattles through the aisles for the rest of the supplies, eyes the coffee cart, but opts to get in the shortest of the long checkout lines instead.

The cranky guy gets in line behind him.

Their eyes meet and lock. For a second it looks like the guy might yield and move to another line, but as Dean is starting to unload his items onto the belt, the guys interrupts.

“Can I go ahead of you? I only have three things.”

“Sorry, buddy,” Dean says. “I’m on a clock.”

“I’m not your buddy,” Blue Eyes snipes. He eyes Dean’s purchases, expression a mix of irritation and confusion.

“Man, what is your issue with me?” Dean protests. “Look, I haven’t had my coffee yet, so maybe I’m missing something. But I’ve gotta finish shopping and be gone in sixty seconds, OK? There’s a pregnant lady waiting for her cake and baby shower games. I’ll be out of your life in five minutes.”

The man’s face suddenly brightens. “You’re going to a baby shower.” The brilliance of his smile is like white sparks. Dean feels his body respond to the warmth of that smile even though the sudden transformation from pissy to friendly throws him.

The checker has started scanning Dean’s purchases. He gives her the sticker with the barcode for the cake. “And six bags of ice,” he tells her.

Blue Eyes asks, “Is the party for your partner?”

That startles a laugh out of Dean. “No,” he answers, a drawn out negation. “My friend is hosting. The mom-to-be is from her church.” He adds, “I’m not seeing anyone currently.” He gives the guys his own friendly smile.

Dean’s lure lands, because the man extends a hand. “I’m Cas. By the way.”

“Dean.” They shake hands. Cas has a strong grip. In the fleeting skin to skin contact notes the slight callous and Cas’s long fingers. He has good hands.

“It's a happy occasion.” Cas sets down his purchases: a guinea pig plushie, pack of gold gift wrapping tissue, and a glossy white bag decorated with rainbows and unicorns. A tween must be having a birthday. 

Dean reaches for his wallet to pay. It’s not in his pocket. “Crap.” This grocery store isn’t set up to take pay apps.

Cas catches on. “Dean, I’ve got this,” he says. “It’s just,” he gestures at the bags, “diapers and candy bars.” 

“It’s a lot,” Dean objects. “I’ll Venmo you the money right now.”

“I don’t know Venmo,” Cas says. He tells the cashier, “I’ll pay for mine with his.” To Dean he says, “Let’s exchange phone numbers and we can settle up later when we’re not holding up a checkout line.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asks.

“I believe in trusting people.” Cas nearly bumps Dean’s hip putting his card into the payment terminal. When the path is clear, Dean pushes the shopping cart past the checkstand, but for a long moment Cas and Dean are crowded into each other’s personal space. 

“You said you haven’t had coffee yet. Can I buy you a cup?” Cas points to the coffee cart. “I know you’re short on time, but we can get each other’s contact info while they make our drinks.”

They both order drip coffee, black. The barista doesn’t have any brewed, and offers a choice between Americanos or a five minute wait.

“We can blame our delay on traffic,” Cas suggests.

They opt for the wait.

“OK, give me your number,” Dean says after they take a table in the tiny dining area. “If you want I can bring you cash after I drop off the party stuff.”

The cart is too big, so Dean takes out the bags and sets them on the table, leaving the cart parked out of the way. He’ll need it when he gets the ice on the way out. They start out chatting about movies and end up in an oddly intense discussion about social justice and the existence of a benevolent God in the minutes until the barista calls out that their coffees are ready.

Dean takes the lid off and slugs the coffee. He can’t help the sound that comes out of him, even though it is borderline inappropriate for a grocery store. “That’s scalding,” he says, eyes watering, “but so good.” Cas is smiling at him. “My friend woke me up with the shopping emergency,” Dean explains. He gestures to his coffee-splattered clothes. “And then some dick in a crappy Continental makes a illegal left on the way in here — “

“Excuse me ,” Cas interrupts with flashpoint ire. “That turn was both legal and clear , and if your boat hadn’t been taking up two lanes we would not have had that near miss!”

Dean takes a long swallow of hot coffee before he gets in a fight over Baby’s honor. He takes a mental half-step back as he realizes that Cas was the driver earlier. Dean has a bad temper, he knows it, and he’s learned to be better about it than he was in his twenties. Cas had saved his bacon with the money thing, and he had done it in spite of thinking Dean was in the wrong.

“Look. Thanks for the help,” he says. He’s sincere but somehow it comes out sounding aggressive. “I mean it. Thanks.” Without saying anything more, he grabs his bags and stalks out. He makes it all the way to Baby before he realizes. He gets the shopping bags in the trunk and goes back for the forgotten ice.

Cas is walking directly toward him. For a solid three strides across the asphalt it is a game of chicken. They stare daggers at each other, oblivious to any traffic around. Nearly simultaneously, they both realize that Cas is walking to his car, which is parked right next to the Impala, and Dean is walking back into the grocery store. They pass each other; the absence of acknowledgement is an acknowledgement in itself.

Dean makes it back into the store, loads up a shopping cart with the ice Cas paid for, and pushes the rattling cart out the door and across the lot to his car. The Continental is still in its spot. Cas hasn’t left yet; he is sitting in the driver seat. Dean can’t get into his driver’s seat until Cas leaves, so he loads the ice into the trunk slowly. He finishes his coffee.

When Cas still hasn’t left, Dean walks around the Lincoln’s large ass end and raps a knuckle on the back window to get Cas’s attention. He waits for Cas to roll down the window a few inches, before pitching his voice to him. “I can’t get in my car until you pull out,” he tells him.

“Your shopping cart is in the way. I’ve been waiting until it’s safe,” Cas informs him.

Dean just shakes his head and walks away, dragging his cart to the corral at the end of the parking row. He lobs his empty paper cup into the same trash can he dropped the mess from his spilled coffee into. He watches Cas back out of the space, smooth and easy, the engine of the Continental bumbling like a contented bee as he drives away. Dean jogs back to the Impala and slides into the driver seat before a car can take the newly empty spot, not that anything would fill the space like that late ‘70s Lincoln Continental Mark V. 

He gets a weird feeling looking at the empty space. It feels like a missed opportunity. He wishes he’d kept his mouth shut about the left turn. How many times had someone cut him off in traffic or made a bad lane change, and how many of those times mattered after? None. He and Cas had been having a good conversation, connecting.

Dean tunes the radio to the classic rock station, relaxes with the comfortable and familiar, and heads out. Kelly’s address is less than five minutes away, but too many of the residential streets dead end, and by the time he finds the right path through, it’s been a quarter hour. there is space for him in the driveway, though, and he pulls in so that he can unload the ice bags. He tosses one on his shoulder and knocks on the unfamiliar door.

* * *

“I should have handled that better,” Cas says to the stuffed animal, his last minute gift for Kelly’s baby-on-the-way. Her house is close by and he knows the way, so he finds himself thinking about Dean, feelings a mix of irritation and deep attraction. Dean, who he will probably never see again.

Because he knows that quite a few guests will be attending her party, he parks the Lincoln around the block to leave space along the street in front of her home. Kelly Kline-Rooney and her husband Jefferson have a newly remodeled, two-story Craftsman home with a large yard and back garden. Cas drew the plans for the remodel, and over some difficulty with the contractor, he and Kelly became friends.

He’s arrived early to help with set up, but Jody, the organizer — who he meets for the first time — shoos him out of the kitchen, so he gets to spend the time with Kelly. “How are you,” he asks her, “and how’s the baby?”

“I’m good,” she says, “we’re both good.” She heaves a little sigh and fidgets in her armchair. “Actually, I’m a little wound up. I haven’t finished painting the mural in the nursery, and all of a sudden I feel like there won’t be enough time to get anything finished before my baby gets here.” She smooths a hand over her belly. Her expression changes and she gasps, “Oh! Give me your hand.” She takes him by the wrist and pulls his hand toward her baby bump.

He feels her baby kick, all that life, gearing up to meet the world. Cas has to admit, because Kelly has enthusiastically roped him into the experience of her pregnancy, he has become more interested in the idea of having children. It has broadened his outlook.

“Kelly,” he finds himself saying, “I met someone today.”

Her eyes sparkle with interest. “It’s not even ten o’clock yet!” she laughs.

“I met him at the grocery store,” Cas says, shrugging. He smiles, thinking about Dean. His smile breaks as he recalls how it played out. “Unfortunately,” he confesses, “we didn’t part on good terms.”

“Cas,” Kelly mourns. “What happened? Tell me all about it?”

“This beautiful man,” he starts, thinking of Dean, his deep voice and the way he spoke with conviction and certainty. The way he made direct eye contact. The sexy freckles and the shape of his lips.

“Yes?” Kelly prompts when Cas gets lost in thought.

He laughs. “He is… very attractive,” Cas emphasizes. “You know I’m not overly focused on appearances, but Dean.” He shakes his head and looks heavenward. His eyes fall to his hands. He picks at his fingernails. “We almost got into a car accident, and that’s what we ended up fighting about. But before that, we got coffee together and talked, and we exchanged numbers.”

“Well that’s good!” Kelly encourages. “Something sparked between you. You can call him and smooth things out.”

“I wasn’t in the wrong,” Cas grumps.

“No, sweetie. I’m not saying you have to apologize or anything. But you can talk. You only just met. Sometimes first meetings don’t go all that well because of sparks.” She gives him a robust pat on the knee. “I’m rooting for you.” Inching forward in her chair to get up, she sighs, “I miss drinks with booze in them. How about we get some fancy lemonade and pretend it’s rosé?”

“I’ll get it,” Cas says so that Kelly doesn’t have to rise. He enters the kitchen with a hello for Jodi and gets introduced to Patience a moment before she leaves to answer the front door. Cas can hear her greeting the newcomer, and he stops mid-pour when he hears the deep timbre that answers. He finishes pouring Kelly’s sparkling pink lemonade before he musters the question for Jodi, “Is that Dean?”

“You know each other?” Jodi responds with cheerful curiosity.

Patience comes back in, holding up a grocery bag. “Dean came through. I’m going to help him bring in the bags of ice — “

“I can help with that,” Cas interrupts.

“Would you? Thanks!”

The look on Dean’s face when he sees Cas is… not what Cas expected. Dean’s eyes light up, and there is a genuine wonder in his surprise.

  * * *

Missouri’s granddaughter, Patience Turner, waves for Dean to come inside. “Hi Dean! Jody’s in the kitchen.”

“Hiya, Patience. Where can I put the ice? I’ve got five more bags like this.”

“There’s a big cooler out on the barbecue patio,” she says. “Through the living room. I’ll get you some help unloading the car.”

The living room already has a dozen people in it. Dean exchanges salutations with the people he knows and exudes charm at the rest. He shakes out the bag of ice into the cooler, which looks big enough, and scopes out the landing spot for the cake. There is a long table already stocked with plates and plastic cutlery; it has some gifts on it that will need to be moved to join the pile of gifts on the coffee table. Dean registers that one is a white gift bag with unicorns and rainbows on it, stuffed with gold tissue.

Patience is in the entry with Cas.

For a solid beat, Dean doesn’t know what to think, because something in his chest turns over like a big engine revving up. Once the wheels of his mind get going, he still continues standing there like an idiot. “Hey, Cas,” he says.

“Hello, Dean.”

Cas turns and goes out the door. When they reach the Impala, they are alone together, and it is awkward. It is definitely awkward. Cas stands by the trunk, expectantly.

“Here, let me get that,” Dean says. As he unlocks and lifts the heavy lid of the trunk, they are standing too close again. Dean should mind that Cas’s keeps getting into his personal space, but he doesn’t. He wants to get closer. This level of attraction makes him stupid, and he feels the urge to make an offhand comment to sabotage himself.

But then Cas says, “I’m sorry we parted on a bad note.”

“Yeah, um,” Dean answers, “me too.” He knows it’s not enough, not when he’s gotten a second chance. “I mean, I’m sorry, too.” It’s hard to believe it can be that simple, but Cas’s face lights up with hope, so maybe it is. 

“Between the two of us, I’m sure we can get all of this in one trip,” Cas says, and now they have to get moving. Apparently, he is also a pro at self-sabotage. It’s weirdly comforting.

They don’t get much of a chance to talk alone after that. Dean fixes the writing on Kelly’s cake and catches up with Jody, while Cas makes party talk with the people he knows. They chat, but not alone, not until Dean is volunteered to fire up the barbecue and Cas escapes outside with him.

It’s a gas barbecue, and clean. There isn’t much to do while it heats up. “How do you like your burger?” Dean asks, because food is an easy topic.

Cas shrugs. “Well done?”

Dean shakes his head. “A good cut of grass-fed beef, medium rare — that’s a burger to sink your teeth into. Juicy, fresh.”

“I don’t eat much red meat anymore,” Cas says. “I sneak a trip to White Castle once in a rare while.”

“White Castle? You’ve gotta let me make you a real burger, Cas.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Trust the Meat Man,” Dean says, pointing both thumbs back at himself.

Cas squints at him. “You’re very confident in your opinions,” he says.

Dean’s not sure how to take that. “Shouldn’t I be?”

“There’s more than one side to things,” Cas answers.

“A right side and a wrong side?” Dean teases.

“Dean.” Cas gives him an eye roll and a look, a real cut the crap look that delights Dean. He knows he likes arguing with someone who can hold his ground.

“You’re easy to get riled up, y’know that?”

“Am I.” Cas’s tone is flirty.

“Or maybe it’s just easy for me to get your wheels burning,” Dean flirts back.

“How, by disparaging my car?” Cas asks.

Dean blinks. “Your car?”

“You called it ‘crappy’.” He does the air quotes. “It’s not. There’s a lot to love about an old car. As I would think you would know, since you have one yourself.”

“Did you just compare my Impala to your land yacht? How does a guy like you even have a car like that?”

“I like it,” Cas defends.

“It’s still not a Chevy,” Dean says.

“I have never understood the Ford - Chevrolet rivalry,” Cas comments. “They’re not sports teams. It’s bizarre.” He’s serious.

“OK, OK,” Dean responds. “I’m not trying to be an asshole,” he says. He adds on, “It just comes easy to me.”

“So we should just kiss and make up?” Cas asks, making eye contact.

Dean licks his lips. Damn, if that isn’t an invitation.

They both glance at the sliding glass doors and the potential audience inside. “Ah, the garden shed,” Cas starts. “There might be some needed equipment.”

“Yeah, barbecue stuff or,” Dean agrees.

As soon as they are inside the painted shed, they are in each other’s personal space again. There is nothing accidental about the kiss that follows. Cas’s hands grip Dean at the hip. Dean puts his hands on Cas’s jaw. He holds his head and kisses him deeply, eager to feel him. He gets Cas’s lower lip between his own and gently lingers as they explore each other’s mouths.

They make out for as long as they think they can get away with. But the barbecue is unattended, and they know someone will wonder where they’ve disappeared to if they are gone too long.

Dean makes the moment they have last as long as he can. “I guess we should get back,” he murmurs, nuzzling at Cas’s neck.

“Mmh,” Cas makes a noise that could be agreement.

“What are you doing after the party?” Dean asks.

“Probably helping clean up,” answers Cas.

“Funny, me too. What about tomorrow?”

“Well, tomorrow I have to run some errands after work. Grocery store shopping.” Cas’s eyes are twinkling.

“Oh. I see. How about I do the shopping, and cook you a nice dinner? My place?”

“You’re on, Meat Man,” Cas agrees.

* * *

[all1e23]

Astrophile [Pt.2]

Chapter: Meteorite 

Summary: Bucky takes Ori to the bookstore and meets the girl that has won his little comet’s heart before they go to weekly family dinner. 

Warnings:  So much fluff you may explode. 

A/N: This chapter would not have happened without my beta @lokissoul That’s not a joke. I  was about to lose my mind writing this chapter. She’s a saint. I know this probably isn’t going to go the way everyone thinks, but send me love anyway??? I’m needy, okay?! 

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed! Thanks!**

Bucky has a tight but gentle hold on Orion’s hand as she skips along beside him. It’s finally Saturday, and for the first time in months, Bucky has the day off to spend with his best girl. Of course, they spent their morning the way they spend every Saturday morning, with waffles from Junior’s Bakery. They have been getting waffles at Junior’s for as long as Orion can remember and it’s one of the few things she won’t share with anyone else. No matter how much Uncle Steve begs, it’s just between her and her daddy.

And, yeah, Bucky rubs that in Steve’s more than he should. Bucky’s in no way perfect, and he knows that.

This Saturday is no different from Saturdays in the past except for the little girl bouncing up and down next to him, barely able to contain her excitement over visiting a bookstore. He doesn’t get to see her this excited very often and certainly not over some silly little shop. Orion’s always been interested in books and loves any chance to learn something new, but she’s never this excited.

Bucky has a feeling it has something to do with a specific bookstore owner.

“Why do you like this bookshop so much, comet?” Bucky asks, giving her hand a gentle squeeze to try to gain her attention. Orion stops skipping and begins to match Bucky’s pace, looking up at him; she shrugs as she tries to brush her curls out of her eyes, but they just bounce right back.

“Miss. Y/n always gives me books, daddy. She lets me pick out as many as I want and then I can read them without even buying them. She doesn’t say I have to read them at home. She isn’t mean like some grown-ups. She’s really, really nice.”

Bucky nods as they walk along in silence and Orion goes back to skipping, unable to keep her little legs calm from all the enthusiasm bubbling up. After a few jumps over sidewalk cracks, she looks back up at Bucky. 

“And, one time she got us pizza.”

He chuckles and scoops her up so he can place a kiss on her cheek.

“You are a little too much like me, baby doll.” 

Orion grins and wraps her arms around his neck giving him a tight squeeze. “Is that the shop?” Bucky nods towards an old brick building with wood trim that was painted a dark blue and covered in hand-painted gold stars. ‘Aquila Books’ is painted above the door in a similar gold to match the stars.  Orion wiggles out of Bucky’s arms and she bolts inside, ignoring Bucky’s protests to wait for him. It’s not like anything will happen in the tiny bookstore! He could hear Orion telling him so the moment she is back by his side, It's small, daddy! Nowhere to hide!

“Miss. Y/n! Miss. Y/n! Miss. Y/n!” 

Orion runs around the counter and slams into Y/n’s legs, hugging them as tightly as she can. Y/n has to grip the counter to stay standing after the unexpected impact, but she has a huge smile on her face when she looks down at the little girl.

“Ori, sweet girl! I wasn’t expecting you in today. I thought Aunt Nattie and Uncle Clint had something they were doing today?” She wonders aloud, beaming down at the little girl as she brushes her curls out of her eyes.

“I brought my daddy!” Orion squeals loudly. 

“He has the whole day with me, and we are doing whatever I want, and I said I wanted to come see you! I want to show him all the books I like, and we can get some to read together, and I told him about my name book and, and -”

“Ori,” A deep voice rumbles from behind the counter, filled with humor but still has a gentle dad-like authority. 

“Deep breath, comet.”

Y/n looks up to find a tall- no, make that a tall, very built man standing on the other side of the counter. If she didn’t already know, he was a fireman she would have assumed he was a secret assassin or superhero. There’s a soft smile on his face, and despite his size, he doesn’t look intimidating in the least. The crinkle by his pale blue eyes makes her heart beat a little faster, though, she’s unsure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“I take it you are dad?” Y/n asks, grinning at him.

Bucky chuckles and rests his elbows on the counter leaning over to see his daughter still clinging to Y/n’s legs as she strokes a hand through Orion’s hair. It’s strange for him to see Orion so attached to someone outside their little makeshift family.

“Yeah, that little koala is all mine.” He replies with a soft gaze towards his daughter. “I’m Bucky by the way.”

“Y/n L/n.” 

She smiles at him and gently boops Orion on her nose meeting the little girl’s eyes. “I think if you go into my office, there may be a few books on my desk that I was saving for you.”

Orion’s eyes light up, and she takes off before Bucky has a chance to stand back up.

“I’ll just wait here I guess,” Bucky shouts after Orion, and they hear a little ‘kay’ from the back office. Y/n chuckles and goes back to unloading the boxes of books she was working on before they came in.

“Thank you for what you did the other day.” 

Y/n looks at him, brows furrowed in confusion, waiting for him to explain what he is talking about.

“Her name and the books,” Bucky clarifies. “I’ve been trying to get her to like her name since she learned how to say it. It doesn’t help that the girls in her class make fun of her. I didn’t think bullies started when they could barely read. It’s just–Thank you. It means a lot.”

Y/n smiles and shakes her head as if she did what anyone would do. It’s no big that she closed down her shop for half a day, lost money on all the books she has given to Orion and spent hours comforting someone else’s daughter. To Y/n it truly wasn’t. She would do it for Orion any day of the week. 

“I don’t mind at all,” Y/n assures him. “She’s the sweetest little girl. I love it when she comes in with Nat. It’s nice to know the younger generations are still reading.”

Bucky watches as she types away on the old computer, in what looks to be an MS-DOS system, and begins to scan new books into the system. It takes a few tries before the ancient device accepts the barcode and she can move on to the next one.

“Okay. I gotta ask.” Bucky says, breaking the silence. “You seem too nice to be friends with Nat. What’s going on there?”

Y/n snorts and leans her hip against the counter as she continues to scan books into what Bucky is convinced is the first computer ever invented. “I met her when I was out on this terrible date. The guy was awful. Just terrible and I guess Nat was there on a date with Clint. Anyway, the guy tried to get handsy. He tried the whole reach over the shoulder one too many times and Nat saved me.”

“Broke his arm?” Bucky winces, already knowing the answer. He’s heard this story from Natasha, but he had no idea Y/n’s the woman that Natasha saved that day.

“What?!” Y/n screeches at the thought of something like that happening. “No! She made Clint come over and pretend to be my brother. Why in God’s name would you think she broke his arm?”

Bucky’s laughing so hard he’s buckled over the counter, trying to catch his breath and control his laughter. He takes a few deep breaths to get his laughing fit under control, he looks up at her and says with a smirk, “I can guarantee she broke his arm later that night.”

“I would hope not. He’s a moron but doesn’t need a broken arm.” Y/n grins at the amusement he finds in this whole situation and shakes her head. “Ori said you like ‘space stuff’?” She asks, steering the conversation far away from her love life. It’s not really something she wants to talk about. 

“I am a little obsessed. Or so Nat says. Are you reading anything good right now?”

He blows out a breath and tucks his hair behind his ears, eyes wide as he tries to remember the last time he even had a minute to read. Five or so years ago sounds about right. “I don’t really have a second to read anymore, but I love anything about Mars. Anything non-fiction. That book you gave Ori about the constellations was perfect. We read a bit this morning.”

Y/n’s whole face lights up and something in Bucky’s chest stirs in a way he doesn’t like. Or, maybe he does? It’s not a feeling he’s used to and he’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing yet.

“Good. I’m glad.”

Orion comes running out of the office holding up a stack of three books in her arms, and she points to the sticky note on top, showing Bucky it says Ori in a loopy script with a heart next to it.

“See, daddy?” She taunts good-naturedly. “I told you she loves me.”

“Who wouldn’t love you, comet?” Bucky grins at the blush that pops up on her chubby cheeks.

“Daddddy,” She whines. 

“Sorry.” He clears his throat and tries to wipe the grin off his face. “I’ll keep the cute stuff for home. Are you ready to go? You said you wanted to hit the zoo and we still have to ride into Manhattan.” Orion shakes her head and grabs his hand, tugging as hard as she can to get him to follow her. 

“Come on, daddy. You have to see my chair!”

“Your chair?” Bucky asks, looking at Y/n with a raised brow. She simply chuckles and points to the far corner where the large windows are. A huge red leather high back chair was there with a ton of squishy pillows piled up on the seat.

There are a few smaller chairs and stools placed through the small space, but Orion’s chair is by far the biggest and most comfortable spot in the whole place, and Orion had claimed it the very first time Natasha had brought her in. It’s been hers ever since. While Orion is dragging her dad around the store Y/n takes the chance to gather up a few books for the two of them to take home.

“Okay, I think we are ready.” 

Y/n looks up at the sound of Bucky’s voice and smiles, handing over a bag full of books. Bucky takes the bad from her hands and he frowns.

“What’s this?”

“Just some books I thought you might like and some you could read to Ori.” She shrugs as he looks into the bag. ‘There’s ‘Packing for Mars’ that I think she will really like and no collection is complete without ‘The Magic School Bus Lost In The Solar System’. I also put ‘The Astronauts Handbook’ in there because she likes that sort of thing. All about lists and making sure she’s ready to blast off.”

Bucky looks back up to meet her eyes even though she’s still rambling and avoiding meeting his gaze. Y/n’s a little worried she had gone too far so she keeps her eyes on the bag. He didn’t know her in the slightest, and here she is just inserting herself in his life, in his daughter’s life. 

“I also added a few grown-up books. I thought you would like ‘The Martian’.” She adds, finally looking up to find him smiling warmly at her.

He stares for a moment too long, and Orion starts to tug on his shirt because she’s ready to get her books and get to the zoo. He quickly shakes his head and smiles at Y/n. 

“What - what do I owe you?” Bucky asks, digging out his wallet.

“Nothing. I don’t take payment from Ori. She’s my favorite customer.” She waves him off and winks at Orion.

“Nu-huh,” Bucky argues. “This is like a hundred bucks worth of books. I can’t just take ‘em.”

It was clear how much he didn’t like taking the handout, the guilt in his voice made her heartache. It was maybe seventy bucks worth of books, and the amount of bragging Ori does about the shop (according to Natasha) she’s bound to make it up with recommendations. Even if she didn’t, Y/n didn’t mind so much. Anything for Orion. The guilt on Bucky’s face was still there and growing by every silent second. Natasha wasn’t kidding when she said he was a good man and good men deserve a break. Especially ones that put their lives on hold to raise their daughter all on their own.

“Okay, you can pay me back by taking time for yourself and actually reading the books I put in that bag.” She grins at him, slipping her hands in her back pockets avoiding the money he is trying to give her. 

“Your money’s no good here. I’ll just sneak it back into one of Ori’s books or give her double books when she comes in with Nat next week. You can’t beat me at this.”

Bucky slips his wallet into his pockets and sighs as he bends down to pick up Orion, slinging her up onto his shoulders. He slides the plastic bag on his arm, and Orion rests her chin on top of her dad’s head, her little hands curling in his hair. “I guess I can let you win this one time. Next time I’m paying.”

Y/n chuckles and holds up her hands in surrender. “See you this week Ori. Have fun with your dad.” 

She winks at her and Orion busts into giggles at some inside joke he wasn’t privy to.

“What was that all about?” Bucky asks as he dips down just enough she won’t bump her head on the way out the door.

“Nothing, daddy.” She says, waving to Y/n through the front windows of the shop. “It’s between girlfriends. Just me and Miss. Y/n.”

He chuckles and gives her legs a squeeze. “All right, comet. Let’s get a move on. The zoo is waiting!”

——

“Uncle Stevie!!” Orion shouts through her Uncle’s brownstone, her little feet thudding rapidly as she runs through the hallway and into the kitchen. She jumps up on the tall blond that had already crouched down the second he heard his niece’s squeals. He wraps his arms around her and stands up to his full height still holding her, squeezing her as tightly as he can without hurting her.

“Oh, man peanut. I’ve missed you buckets and buckets full.” He kisses her temple and both her cheeks. “You been hiding from me? What gives? I thought I was your favorite uncle?”

“Nope! Wrong again man. I’m her favorite uncle.” Sam calls through the kitchen window where he is outside grilling with Clint and Nat, but there is no way Sam is going to let that slide! Steve is not her favorite uncle.

“Well…” Orion mumbles, giving Steve an apologetic smile. “Uncle Sammy gives me ice cream lots.”

“Ha! Told you!” Sam shouts back.

Steve looks at Orion and sticks out his bottom lip. “I thought we had a bond? I get traded for ice cream! I’m crushed.”

She rolls her eyes and leans over, whispering in Steve’s ear. “You’re my favorite, but you can’t say it out loud. Uncle Sammy and Uncle Clint will cry .” Steve chuckles and plops her down on the kitchen island, setting her plastic bag next to her.

“Our secret, peanut,” Steve promises.

Bucky wanders into the kitchen and grabs a beer from the cooler that’s propped open on the ground next to the dark oak kitchen island. “You’ve got to stop running away from me, comet. Second time today you took off running and didn’t wait for me. Here it’s one thing, but at the bookstore, you can’t do that.”

“Bookstore?” Steve asks, brow raised at Bucky. “Hey, by the way.”

Bucky snorts at the less than meaningful greeting from his oldest friend and pats his shoulder. “Hey, punk. We went to that little bookstore that Nat always takes Ori to. I told her she could do whatever she wanted today since I had the day off and that’s what she picked–”

“–Oh! Look at my books Uncle Stevie!” Orion squeals, cutting her dad off. Steve grins at Bucky who is now glaring at Natasha as she walked in carrying a plate of burgers and grilled chicken.

“She’s rude like that because of you,” Bucky tells Nat.

“Me? I don’t think so.” She says sweetly. “I teach my baby niece manners. Unlike some of her uncles.”

Orion lays all five of her new books out on the counter and looks at her uncles and aunt. “These are all my books! Miss. Y/n gave them all to me and she gave daddy some books, too.”

“You got a girl giving you books?” Sam asks, sliding up next to Bucky with Clint following close behind. 

“Why am I just hearing you got a girl?”

“You’ve met my girl.” He nods to Ori still sitting on the counter and snuggled up against Steve’s chest. “She’s my only girl.”

“What did you think about Y/n?” Natasha asks, grinning widely. “She’s sweet isn’t she?”

Natasha’s interest piqued now that she knows Y/n was in the store when they went by this afternoon. Bucky takes a sip of his beer and shrugs at the question. Why would what he thinks about her matter at all?

“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t really pay much attention. I’m glad she’s sweet on Ori though. Comet adores her, and that’s all I care about. Plus, she helped her with those girls that were bullying her over her name without cutting their pigtails.” 

He sets Natasha with a pointed look, and she smirks, shrugging her shoulder.

“No one hurts my girl,” Natasha says evenly. “Isn’t that right Ori baby?���

Yep!” Orion beams at her aunt, snuggling further into Steve’s arms. “Aunt Nattie doesn’t joke daddy. No one messes with her family and gets away with it.” 

Bucky and Steve both set a rather unamused look upon the redhead.

“You didn’t really answer me.” Natasha ignores the glares from both men, setting her attention back on the matter at hand. “What did you think of her? Pretty?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty. I told you, I wasn’t really paying much attention.” Bucky laughs as Natasha’s shoulders slump. “Sorry to disappoint you. Oh! You ever gonna tell her you broke that guy’s arm?”

That got a grin out of Natasha, but she shook her head. “She’s too sweet to know all the gory details, James.”

“Why don’t you bring her by for dinner one time?” Steve suggests, and Orion’s whole face lights up. “Yes! Aunt Nattie! Yes! Ask Miss.Y/n to come over and have pizza!”

“I don’t know Ori baby.” She mutters and looks over at Bucky, arching her brow. “Are you okay with her coming to family dinner next week? It’s at your place?”

Bucky frowns and shakes his head looking around at the goofy grin on everyone’s face. “Why would I care? She’s your friend, and Ori likes her. She can come over anytime she wants. Come on, comet. Let’s get ya cleaned up before we eat.” 

He sets his beer down and holds his arms out for her to jump into them, which she does happily. Clint wraps his arms around his wife’s waist and places a kiss on her cheek, but her attention is on Bucky walking out of the room. The sink in the hall bathroom flips on, and Clint rests his chin on her shoulder whispering in her ear, “You’ve got that look on your face. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Natasha confesses sourly. “I thought Bucky and Y/n would have hit it off is all. They have so much in common, and Ori loves her. They seemed like a perfect match. I figured…” 

She shrugs and looks over her shoulder at her husband.

“I know how much you hate it when you’re wrong, but I gotta call this one babe.” The glare he is getting from the petite redhead in his arms makes him grin, he places a kiss on the tip of her nose as a silent apology. 

“I think you might have been off on this one. Doesn’t seem like she made an impression on Bucky at all.”

“Looks that way,” She mutters quietly, watching Bucky carrying Orion back into the room by her ankles and passing her off to Steve. Maybe Natasha is wrong. Perhaps he really doesn’t want to date anyone, and maybe, they aren’t as compatible as she thinks. Bucky glances towards the kitchen and his gaze land on the books on the counter and back up only to find Natasha watching him. He clears his throat and quickly looks away making her frown quickly fade. 

No.

There is something there.

They are both too stubborn to see it.

Previous // Next 

[consulting-celiac-in-the-tardis]

31+ Totally Free Resources For Living with Celiac Disease

New blog post! I LOVE finding new resources that help people living with celiac disease...and I LOVE those resources even more when they're free! Going gluten free after a celiac disease diagnosis can be expensive since you often need to re-stock your pantry with gluten free foods and have medical bills to pay.

So I thought I'd round up 31+ resources that are totally FREE and can help anyone living with celiac disease! If you've recently received a celiac diagnosis, I hope this list provides you with valuable tools to make your transition to a gluten free diet even easier. And if you've lived with celiac disease for years, I hope this list helps you discover some new gluten free resources to take advantage of!

31+ TOTALLY FREE RESOURCES TO HELP ANYONE LIVING WITH CELIAC DISEASE:

1. Eat Out using Find Me Gluten Free. 

This app makes life SO much easier when you want to eat out but need to adhere to a gluten free diet. You can enter an address or use your current location and find reviews and menus of nearby restaurants with gluten free options.

2. Save Money. 

Ibotta is a money-saving app that lets you submit photographs of your receipts and get a small amount of cash back on certain products. Tons of stores participate in Ibotta, ranging from Walmart to Home Depot to Safeway, so you can get money back on more than just groceries. The cash-back products also change monthly, and I often see cash-back deals on gluten free brands like Bob's Red Mill and Enjoy Life Foods. If you want to give Ibotta a try, sign up using my referral code "qiarlqs" or by clicking this link -> Save Money With Ibotta, and you can earn a $10 welcome bonus.

3. When You Need a Laugh.

If you've yet to discover Gluten Free Street Gang on Instagram, change that ASAP. This Instagram profile always makes me laugh and hits home about many aspects of a gluten free diet.

4. Find New Gluten Free Foods.

Celiac and the Beast is a renowned gluten free blogger in the industry for MANY reasons...but I especially love that she regularly shares some of the latest and greatest gluten free products to hit the market.

5. Get a BS-Free Perspective on Celiac Life.

Gluten Dude and all of his posts always say it like it is, whether he's calling out someone for harming the celiac community or offering advice to one of his many emailers.

6. Learn More About Celiac Disease and Eating Gluten Free.

MI Gluten Free Gal is another one of my favorite gluten free bloggers because not only does she share delicious recipes, but she also regularly shares graphics and posts on important topics for the celiac community, such as how to get a proper celiac disease diagnosis.

7. Cook Gluten Free Like a Pro.

There are plenty of amazing gluten free bloggers sharing equally amazing gluten free recipes, but a few of my favorite resources include:

Vegetarian Mamma

Mama Knows Gluten Free

My Gluten-Free Kitchen

8. Make New Friends

Spokin is another phone app allows you to look for gluten free (and allergy friendly) restaurants nearby, but it also gives users access to product reviews, allergy friendly travel guides and educational articles. Spokin is a social networking app to some extent, too, as you can follow other people after you’ve set up your own account

9. Find Back-To-School Tips.

Are you the parent of a child with celiac disease or do you have celiac disease and you're going to school? Then check out this extensive list of back-to-school resources from the National Celiac Association. And if you're a college student with celiac disease (or you're about to head to college), I highly recommend my thorough post about being gluten free in college!

10. Grocery Shop Like a Master.

One of the most popular gluten free apps on iTunes is The Gluten Free Scanner, which lets you scan a product’s barcode and receive a quick report on whether it’s gluten free or not.

I personally prefer scanning product labels myself because I know technology - just like people - can make mistakes. As a result, I’d encourage you to read a product’s ingredient labels yourself even if The Gluten Free Scanner says the product is gluten free. However, especially if you’re newly diagnosed and still wondering, "What is gluten anyway?", this free scanner could make shopping for gluten free products a lot quicker, easier and less stressful.

11. Stay Up-To-Date.

Beyond Celiac is another awesome celiac disease organization that provides plenty of gluten free recipes, tips on living with celiac disease and news updates.

12. Access Gluten Free Food in a Time of Need.

The Food Equality Initiative is a new organization to me, but I love their mission of making gluten free food (and food free from other allergens) more accessible to everyone. They also provide access to a gluten free food pantry to those in need.

13. Connect with Fellow Gluten Free Teens.

Generation GF is an AMAZING program that provides a variety of resources to gluten free kids and teens, including educational resources, local support groups and virtual chats that allow gluten free teens to connect even if they don't live in the same area.

The Gluten Free Intolerance Group is also who hosts the GF Teen Summit!

14. Get Safety Alerts.

The Gluten-Free Certification Organization (GFCO) provide independent verification of gluten free products, and their symbol indicates that a product meets the strictest of gluten free standards. But I also love that they regularly release safety alerts on gluten free products.

15. Meet Up with Other Gluten Free Folks.

Search for the local gluten-free community in your area, or start a group of your own, on Meetup.com.

16. Learn about Research on a Cure for Celiac Disease.

The University of Chicago Celiac Disease Center is on a mission to find a cure for celiac disease, and you can learn more about their work here.

17. Avoid the Top 10 Allergens.

Allergy Eats is another phone app that is very similar to Find Me Gluten Free except you can search for restaurants free of any of the top 10 allergens instead of just gluten. People can leave ratings and reviews, which, at least in my experience, makes eating out gluten free or allergy friendly a lot easier (and less scary) since you don't feel like you're making as "blind" of a restaurant choice.

18. Read Honest, Helpful Advice.

The information you can find on Reddit's gluten free channel - /r/GlutenFree - isn't always accurate or appropriate for all readers. However, you can find plenty of honest, helpful advice.

19. Download Gluten Free Restaurant Cards.

Make traveling a little easier with gluten free restaurant cards you can download in different languages.

20. Find the Best Gluten Free Products.

As regular readers know, I share gluten free product reviews pretty often on my blog and social media channels. But if you're looking for the best gluten free products to buy when you're just going gluten free, this post should definitely be on your reading list!

21. Kick Back with a Magazine.

It's amazing how many gluten-free-related magazines there are available nowadays. If you're looking for some reading material, you might look into:

Allergic Living

Delight Gluten Free

GFF Magazine

Gluten-Free Living

Gluten Free & More (formerly Living Without)

Simply Gluten Free

22. Save Money on Taxes.

Did you know you can receive tax deductions for gluten free food if you have celiac disease? Learn more here!

23. My blog and all my social media channels :)

As always, I'm here to offer as much support and education as I can. I may not always respond right away, but for the quickest response, DM me on Instagram.

My Goal With Sharing These Resources on Living With Celiac Disease 

Depending on where you are in your celiac journey, you may be familiar with many of the gluten free resources on this list. But I hope even one of these links helps you feel less alone with celiac disease, less frustrated with a gluten free diet or more hopeful in how enjoyable living with celiac disease can be! Are there any other resources you would add to this list? Let me know in the comments! via Blogger https://ift.tt/35e79WS

[redstarwriting]

For A Reason

Stephen Strange x Platonic!Reader

Request: “Can you do one where the reader lost her dad @ 14, she's now 17, she's been living alone.She was closest with her dad because her mom left them. Stephen Strange runs into her and she peaks his interest, he convinces her to let him take her in. She starts to get attached to him and sees him as a father figure.She then forces herself to turn cold, she doesn't want to loose him like her dad.He notices and confronts her about it. She starts crying and explaining and he comforts her. Lots of fluff😊”

Word Count: 2,037

Genre: Fluff | Platonic

Warnings: Crying, Death, Guns, Sad past

A/N: This one took a while because I had work and a few other things I had to do, but here it is! I love Stephen Strange and honestly I could write about him all the time. I’m so excited for Doctor Strange 2 and it won’t even come out until like next year lol I’m a mess. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this one! Tomorrow is my mom’s birthday so I may or may not post. Enjoy!

───────────────────────────────────

Living alone in New York at seventeen years old wasn’t an easy feat. Lucky for you, you’ve been doing that since you were only fourteen. It was difficult at times considering it was only you, a literal child, squatting in and out of abandoned buildings. However, being a child on the run made you very street smart. You could pick-pocket like nobody’s business and you were surprisingly good at holding your own against people who tried to threaten you. You also learned how to get an all new identity, which was essential for where you’re at now. In reality, you’re seventeen. On paper, you’re nineteen. Your age didn’t really matter, but it threw people off on who you really were. You needed that for… personal reasons. So funny enough, you weren’t known as (Y/N) (L/N) to your landlord or anyone else you meet. Your name now is Serenity Andrews. You definitely prefer your real name, but a fake name was needed.

All your sneaking around is a way for you to make money on the outside of your job, which is a librarian. Your real job is actually where you learned everything you know since you dropped out of school after everything in your life went to shit. Since you helped people rent books, no one batted an eye when you would read books that could only be classified as textbooks. You were actually pretty smart even though you were technically a dropout. Not on paper though. Your “secret identity” graduated from a school in Nevada. Anyways, you don’t go to work for another hour, so you decided to go to Times Square and make some extra money. Unknown to you, there’s a man who can see everything you’re doing.

He observes you as you effortlessly pickpocket people, and needless to say he finds you intriguing. You don’t see him watching you, or even following you to your place of work. You go inside the library, saying hi to the other workers before getting behind the librarian desk and grabbing a random educational book. You quickly become lost in it, and don’t even notice someone coming up to the counter. “Excuse me, miss,” you hear a deep voice say, and it startles you. You look up to see a thirty-six-year-old man holding a book, looking at you expectantly. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you say, immediately closing your book and grabbing his. You go to scan the barcode but realize there isn’t one. “Are you looking to donate a book to the library today?”

“No.” You look at him with an eyebrow raised. “This isn’t a book that belongs to this library.”

“I know. I think you could learn something from reading it.”

You scoff, opening the book to see it talking about something… different. Something, dare you say, magical. “You a con artist?” You close the book, pushing it across the counter and back to him. “No, but you are, ‘Serenity Andrews.’ I saw what you were doing in Times Square today.” Shit.

“Ah-hah… yeah, well I have no response to that other than please don’t tell the police… please?”

“I won’t tell the police because I see promise in you.” He pushes the book back towards you. “You see promise in me? What does that even mean?”

“Well, (Y/N), I think you’d excel in the mystic arts. I see potential in you.”

“How did you know my real name?”

“I know a lot. If I’ve peaked your interest like you’ve peaked mine, come to the address.” You tilt your head a bit when the book suddenly opens. You jump and look down at it in surprise, but when you look back up, the man isn’t there anymore. “Address? What address is he even talking about?” you mumble to yourself, closing the book and putting it in your bag. When you shove it in, a piece of paper falls out of it and onto the floor. You pick it up. Scrawled on it is an address. “177A Bleecker Street…” you mumble to yourself before shoving the paper in your pocket.

Against your better judgement, you found yourself standing outside of 177A Bleecker Street at six in the afternoon on a Tuesday night. “I’m being ridiculous,” you say to yourself, raising your hand to knock. Before your hand even makes contact with the wood, you’re transported to a new area. You stumble, nearly falling into the very expensive looking objects surrounding you. “Shit!”

“Ah, yes. That’s usually how most people feel after I transport them,” you hear a familiar voice. You look up and see none other than the man who visited you at the library today. Except this time, he was wearing a cape. “Is that a cape? Who the hell are you and what is this place?”

“No, it’s a cloak. I, am Doctor Stephen Strange and you are inside the Sanctum Sanctorum.”

“The Sandman Scrotum? What two words did you just make up?”

“You sound a lot like Tony Stark,” he says, semi glaring at you. “You know Tony Stark?” Your jaw is basically on the floor considering this man knows Iron Man and you steal for a living. “Yes. Sadly. This isn’t a Sandman Scrotum. If you wanted to see a Sandman Scrotum I would have taken you to Spider-Man, he and Sandman have a great relationship. This,” he says, motioning around him with his hands, “is the Sanctum Sanctorum.”

“Yeah, I’m still not sure what that means.”

“This is where I’m going to teach you everything I know. And we begin now.”

From that moment on you were bombarded nonstop with books, spells, and training. Your life on the outside world basically just vanished, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you had a home. You knew about every nook and cranny in the Sanctum, and often time Stephen would find you in an isolated corner, studying up on something. You were unbearable to him at first, constantly making quips and smartass comments, but he grew to appreciate them. He would just respond with his own headassery, and you two would go back and forth for hours. Wong hated it, but he also loved it because of how amusing it was. He once made the comment that you two acted like a daughter and a father because you two were basically glued at the hip. You two had formed a very close bond, and you definitely did look up to him as a father figure. But that scared you.

After about six months, you started becoming distant. You would barely speak to him only talking if you had a question on something. When he would fire a comment at you, you would just shrug it off and act like he never said anything. You would eat your dinner anywhere else than where he was. It was odd. You were acting strange. Eventually, he had enough. He wanted his not really a daughter but kind of a daughter because even though you aren’t his own flesh and blood you act exactly like him and it’s a bit uncanny but pretty awesome because finally someone who can put up with him back. So, while you were curled up in a corner, reading a book as you usually did, you suddenly felt the all too familiar feeling of being teleported. You glance up from your book to see Doctor Strange looking back at you. “Any reason you’re disrupting my reading?”

“You’ve been acting different lately.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, come on (Y/N). Don’t act like I haven’t noticed. You’ve been avoiding me! And it’s not like that time you avoided me because I wouldn’t let you eat a pint of ice cream for dinner which, by the way, is still a stupid idea. Do you have any idea how disgusting you would feel afterwards? I don’t want to get into it right now, back to the situation at hand,” he shakes his head, leaning forward to talk to you better, “It’s been actual avoiding me. You go out of your way to not see me. I noticed. And I want to know why.” You just stare at him, not saying anything. It feels like an hour passes of you two being in a fierce staring battle before he sighs. “I just want to know what’s wrong, (Y/N). I know Wong said it as a joke, but I really do care for you like you’re my daughter.” That pushed you over the edge.

You immediately start crying, and Stephen just looks at you with wide eyes, unsure of what to do.  Lucky for him, his cloak is a huge softy, so it immediately unwraps from his shoulders and goes over to you. It envelops your whole body, frantically trying to wipe your tears away for you. You somewhat giggle, and then Stephen’s voice rings out. “Okay, now you need to tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“…I don’t want to lose you like I lost my dad.” He goes quiet, and you sigh. The tears don’t stop, but you begin telling him your story. You tell him about how your mother left when you were a baby. It was only you and your father for the next multiple years of your life. You and your father were ridiculously close being you two were the only person the other had. Then one day, it all just stopped. You two were living in your two-bedroom apartment. You were busy doing homework in your room when you heard a crash and some yelling. Then you heard a loud bang. You quickly ran and hid in your closet, terrified of the noises you just heard. You only came out when you heard the voices of the criminals who broke into your home fade away. You carefully opened your door, peeking out only to see your dad on the ground. You ran over to him when you saw the bullet wound. You knew it was already too late when you saw him.

“So that’s why I was on the run. I didn’t have any other family and I was scared. I just left. I changed my hair and met some people who could change who I was. I didn’t want the cops to find out that I survived, they thought the robbers kidnapped me. From that day on, I didn’t have anyone. No family at all. And then you came along and ruined my loner dynamic and now I’m scared because if I lose the person I look up to the most again, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to recover,” you sob, and he immediately hugs you. “(Y/N), you’re not going to lose me,” he tells you in a soft voice and you nod, finally giving in. “You being so distant scared me. I thought I did something wrong. It’s funny how you can feel such a strong bond with someone in such a fast time, but it’s like you really are my daughter. When I look at you, I see everything I wanted you to become. It’s actually impressive. I’m just so proud of the person you’ve become, and I know in the future I’ll only be even more proud.”

“While that made me feel better, it makes me feel weird hearing you be all soft. I imagine this is what Cloak would sound like if it could talk,” you say, sniffling. Stephen chuckles, looking at you as you pull away from the cute little embrace you two just had. “I’m sorry for being a dad, but I had to tell you that I was proud of you since I am.”

“Yeah, well next time tell me that I don’t suck as much as you thought I would, that sounds more normal to me.” He laughs, ruffling your hair and you roll your eyes. You had a rough past, and you definitely missed your dad. No matter what happened, nobody could replace him. But Stephen came pretty close. And although you sometimes wonder what your life would be like if you didn’t lose your dad all those years ago, you love your life now. Like Stephen always says. Everything happens for a reason.

[bellsybuilds]

[Part 2 of the Truck Stops and Tribulations series (link)]

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The way home - chapter 2 (T rating and warnings will change)

Din Djarin, Paz Viz(s)la, Baby Yoda, Jack “Agent Whiskey” Daniels, Agent Ginger Ale (modern AU, all human, road trips, found family, family reunions)

---

Din just wants to keep this kid safe, but the effort is taking him cross-country and he's loathe to admit he can't do it alone. Paz is the trucker who rescues them one night, and is strangely happy to keep on helping them. Jack is the estranged, obnoxious brother Din likes to pretend he doesn't have, but beggars can't be choosers.

And Poppy is the up-and-coming drug mogul who will make them all reconsider their life choices.

Set pre-Kingsman: the Golden Circle.

Din expects a medical wing. A sterile clinic, at least. What he gets instead is a conference room.

He frowns at his brother, but Jack has been on the phone since meeting them at the boundary of Statesman’s grounds and waving them to follow through the side door of the imposing oaken gate.

It’s not that he distrusts his brother. He can hear Jack negotiating with someone for medical equipment and murmuring about discretion.

No, it’s Statesman itself.

The air of this organisation has always set him on edge: the estate is thickly steeped in a disingenuous veneer of Southern charm, glossy and flawless as the dark wood polish of every surface now gleaming back at them. Din can see how this place has clawed a foothold in his brother from the way Jack walks and talks. Even the way he smiles, mouth curving crooked when he doesn’t think others are watching but it’s snide, superior, and calculating.

Careful, Jack. Your colours are showing.

Jack didn’t always pass so easily as a Southern-born and bred son.

The chill of a memory slows Din in his step-- cold damp of a concrete bunker, gun heavy in hand.

“Only one of you can be chosen,” the voice had crackled with static over the speaker. “And only you three can decide who that will be.”

He closes his eyes, shivering hard. The memory slips like a damp shroud from his shoulders, bundled and thrown to the darker corners of his mind; too well-used over the years.

At least in the air force, they were upfront about who they were and what they were doing. Being an agent for Statesman would have required more subterfuge than Din was prepared to deal with. By contrast, Jack had embraced the opportunity to remake himself.

Once the conference room door clicks shut behind them, the child squirms on his back in its carrier, whining softly.

“Okay,” he hushes, swinging the pack off.

Jack has led them to a reception building that looks designed to receive visiting sponsors and exec reps. Din’s hackles rise. How is this supposed to help them and the kid?

A broad table dominates the conference room, leather chairs flanking its long sides. The moment Din sets the kid down on its polished surface, the little one rolls onto his belly, pulls up on stubby legs, eyes bright with mischief, and takes off running.

Din flinches, tense. “Catch him--!”

At the table's other end, Jack glances down from the call on his cell and offers a cautionary hand. He nods, tone distracted with the person on the other end of the line. “Yeah, I took them to meeting room three.”

The kid barrels into Jack's waiting arm with a happy squeal at the table’s edge.

Din huffs in relief.

Jack wheels him about and the kid sets off in a beeline back to Din, soft sneakers smacking the wood. Din receives him with a weary oomph-- not because the little one’s impact even registers (the kid is so small it’s like catching a bean bag), but when he sways with an exaggerated wince--

The kid gurgles with laughter, simple, unbridled joy. Small hands tug on the ends of his jacket. He looks up and up into Din’s face with an exhilarated giggle, smile impossibly wide, and Din is abruptly stung by the notion of a world where that smile is gone or the kid doesn’t instinctively run into his arms at the sight of him.

Blinking, his vision swims with an overlay of the child’s face slack with fear, eyes wide in confusion. Heavy doors closing on the sight.

Din’s chest tightens, rejecting the notion. Swallowing tightly, he pinches one of those round, dimpled cheeks and allows himself to smile. It’s going to be okay.

But wasn’t the kid whining from exhaustion a few short minutes ago? Maybe it was just the prospect of freedom. This is the most they let the child run in the last week. They haven’t enjoyed the luxury of too many truck stops or long walks.

Paz hovers by the closed door, large hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, mouth pursed in a tense line. Their eyes meet. Paz draws in a slow, heavy breath, and Din nods at the look in his eye. Hopefully this was the right choice.

Hopefully they can rest soon.

A careful knock raps on the door.

Jack hangs up his call, nodding at Paz to let them through. “That’s Ginger.”

The woman they find waiting on the other side of the door looks more like a doctor than a secret agent.

“Oh,” she breathes, eyes comically wide at the sight of Paz damn near filling the doorframe with his shoulders alone. She stumbles a half step back, hand rising to her throat. “J-Jack?”

Paz scans the length of her white lab coat and frowns at the steel clipboard clutched in her arms. “And what are you supposed to be?”

“Hell. Teach your guy some manners, Din.” Jack breezes past him and waves Paz back from the woman all but cowering on the threshold. “Quit hulking and admit my colleague, Vizla. Speed and discretion are of the essence. For the kid’s sake.”

The woman, Ginger, looks at Jack with alarm. “Kid?”

She is so petite Paz could likely blow her over with a growl. Din watches him study her with the same critical appraisal Jack had endured, searching for threats and opportunities, forming a summary in his mind. Din wonders if they arrive at a similar conclusion: scientist. Analyst, maybe. Unlikely to be a field agent.

“You didn’t say anything about a kid,” Ginger mutters at Jack, shoulders tense.

As if perking up at the subject of discussion, the kid coos in Din’s arms, legs kicking with delight. All that tired energy and nowhere to go. Din winces gently and narrowly avoids a tiny, flailing fist to the chin.

Ginger finally sees them. The moment her gaze settles on the toddler, her dark eyes grow large and round. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “O-oh.” Her voice has fallen soft. Her eyes lift to Din and she visibly startles. “Oh!” She squints, staring at him hard. “Wait.” She gapes at Jack, then Din, and to Jack again. A slim hand points at Din in accusation. “A brother? A twin brother? How did I not know this?”

Din catches the meaningful look Paz turns on him. It feels kind of judgy. Din spreads his hands in question.

What?

“You two really don’t talk about each other,” the tall man muses under his breath.

Din shrugs, head cocked. What was the big deal? Hadn’t they ever seen twins before?

Jack, meanwhile, is sweeping an arm out to usher Ginger quickly inside. “Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, honey. So much more to learn.” He grins, wide and shameless. Jack always thought he was so charming.

It’s testament to how well this woman must know him that her eyes roll hard with a thin groan, tugging a silver steel trolley after her. Paz pushes the glossy, oaken doors shut behind her.

“Just tell me you didn’t get his personality either. I can only deal with one of him,” Ginger says.

It takes a moment for Din to realise she’s addressing him. “Oh. I, uh… no, he’s….” He shakes himself out of the fog and inclines his head. “I’m Din.”

Ginger returns the gesture, a perfunctory smile finding her lips and disappearing just as swiftly. “Din Daniels?”

“Djarin,” he corrects. “Just call me ‘Din’.”

He’s not sure what it is about that statement that lights up her face with soft relief, but at least she doesn’t question why they don’t share a surname. Din is tired of telling the story. “Agent Ginger Ale. Call me ‘Ginger’. At your service.”

“Daniels says you all have experience with blood trackers,” Paz says.

Ginger twists around and regards the man studying the tools on her cart. She throws a hand out as though to ward off any risk of him touching her instruments. “And you are?” She looks less intimidated now; more bemused.

“Vizla,” he says, meeting her eye briefly. “Paz Vizla. I’m with him.”

Ginger follows his nod back to Din. “I see. Your bodyguard?”

“His ride,” Paz supplies, rounding her to get a better look at the tools.

On the cart’s other side, Jack snorts a laugh under his breath. For a moment, Din wonders why. When it clicks, he wishes it hadn’t. His brother will never grow up.

“Is that a temperature scanner?” Paz points at a device that looks like a barcode reader beside a series of electronic tablets and other items Din doesn’t recognise. Medical care was never his strong suit.

Ginger nods and they follow when she brings the cart to the end of the conference table. “Among other things. I understand someone is being traced, and... you want to get it out.”

“The kid,” Din gestures with him tucked against his chest, balanced in the curve of his elbow. The kid cranes back to peer at his face with a quizzical sound, a small hand reaching for the thin stubble on his chin. “They put a tracker in his blood. Not something just anyone can remove.”

Ginger glances between him and the child, gaze soft. “Who’s tracking him?”

“No one good,” Din says, eyeing the trolley critically. “Anything on there really up for the job?”

Ginger looks to Jack as though for permission. Whatever she’s seeking doesn’t come and she sighs, treating Din with a careful smile, almost apologetic. “That sounds… complicated.”

Hands deep in the pockets of his thick blue jacket, Jack closes the distance with that slow strut of his, expression thoughtful. The kid hums under the hypnotic brush of Jack’s fingers over his brow, back and forth. The kid’s large, dark eyes blink, eyelids growing heavy.

Din will need to learn that trick.

“Yeah.” Jack holds Ginger’s eye, an entire conversation passing between them. “It might be.”

Din waits for one of them to share. He doesn’t like the idea that Jack could be withholding anything where the child’s concerned.

“We’ll try our best.” Ginger offers a slender, gloved hand for the little one. “All right, Baby, let’s take a look at you.”

“Din.” Jack nods for him to follow to the room’s end, lifting a tablet from Ginger’s trolley. “Let’s make sure you’re not being tracked.”

“We’re not,” he says.

Jack stops and holds his gaze, eyes narrowing. “How do you know?”

“I’m sure,” Din asserts. “Just the kid.”

“All right.” Jack neither sounds nor looks convinced, but he doesn’t press the point, glancing at his tablet in hand with that condescending air that always made Din’s blood boil within a second. “Let’s check your devices then.”

Statesman has access to resources they don't. It would be foolish not to take advantage.

Huffing with a glance over his shoulder, Din catches Paz’s eye. He gestures to the kid. “Could you…. ?”

Paz nods, arms unweaving to take the child. The kid looks absolutely miniscule when it tucks into his elbow, head pillowing on his chest. The little one’s sleepy, curious expression lights up with dopey joy at the familiar face he now finds above him.

Paz smiles back, warm and amused.

“Din.”

He blinks, coming back to himself.

At the head of the table, Jack raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“Actually--” They all look to him, waiting. Din nods at Paz. “Yours, too. We should check.”

He sympathises with Paz’s uncertain frown, but eventually the man digs into his back pocket with his free hand and slaps the phone into Din’s waiting palm.

"I'd appreciate you not going where you don't need to," Paz says.

When Din reaches Jack at the room’s other end, his brother plugs Paz’s in first. A new dialogue pops up on the tablet before them and Din watches the file names and system messages stream past.

“I already checked. It’s clean,” Din says.

Jack hums in that sing-song patronising way of his; what other tune would he know? “Never hurt to be thorough.”

A heartbreaking cry splits the air, freezing Din’s blood in his veins. He whirls, looking for the source of danger. He finds only Ginger glancing helplessly between Paz and the little one desperately scrambling to curl into a tight ball, all but clawing at Paz in his attempt to climb under his jacket and the shelter of his arm.

Paz yelps, adjusting to save the child from dropping out of his hold.

"I haven't even touched him yet!" Ginger protests, expression contrite. "Oh, I'm sorry, baby... I don't like needles, either. But it's not that bad. I promise."

Despite the squirming protests, Paz shuffles the little one higher in his arms. The kid whimpers, shaking, hiding his face in his thick shoulder.

Din almost goes to him.

“Here. Let me,” Paz says, and Din stares as Ginger hands him the cannula.

Paz hums a strange, nonsense song, his touch dancing over the kid's exposed arms and legs to lightly poke and pinch with the cannula's blunt end, reducing the device to a toy, just another part in his game. He sways on the spot in a soothing rhythm. As they watch, the kid's whimpers fade to soft sniffles. His round face eventually surfaces from Paz’s shoulder, pout severe. Paz bops him on the forehead, then his nose. The kid’s face scrunches in a helpless giggle. He squirms, laughing, when Paz tickles his belly.

Paz has that look on his face: the one that makes his features soften and glow and, honestly, Din can relate. There’s nothing like being the sole focus of that child's smile.

With his distraction, Ginger successfully slides the cannula into the child’s arm held immobile and starts withdrawing blood samples for her tests.

Paz has done this before.

"So, what are you doing keeping a married man from his family?"

Din frowns at his brother, unsure he heard him right. What is Jack talking about?

"I saw his wedding ring," Jack keeps his voice low and even. A conspiratorial smirk curls his mouth. "Finally come down off your high horse?"

Din blinks, bewildered. Off his--?

"You slept with him yet?"

A disgusted bleat of offence escapes Din's throat before he can throttle it. His jaw clenches. "It's not like that."

Why is his brother so punchable? Not everyone tries to prove their prowess by seducing someone away from their partner.

Jack shrugs, appraising the big man holding the squirming kid still for Ginger's examination. "I mean, if you're not moving in on that--"

"You know, you don't have to fuck with every person you meet," Din rolls his eyes. "What about that medic of yours? You slept with her, too?"

Jack pulls an affronted face, shaking his head. "Ginger? She's ground support." A thoughtful look lights his eye and he catches Din with a suggestive leer. He leans in, elbowing his arm. "Might be just your type!"

Din all but shoves him off. His brother is infuriating. But this is not the time nor the place. No matter how bad a situation, Jack could always make it worse.

"Not everyone's looking for that," he snarls, snatching his phone back once he sees the progress bar of the scan complete.

Not everyone needs constant companionship. Jack would probably die if he didn't have staff to harass and someone new to warm his bed every week.

The two things weren't always mutually exclusive, either. Jack thrives on controlled chaos, but to Din from the outside, the whole thing is a stressful HR nightmare waiting to implode. He doesn't want any part of his brother's circus. He's known since they were quite young that they want different things in life.

Maybe one day Jack will accept that Din doesn't want or need a companion. Some people aren't meant for relationships.

They're just different, he and his brother.

Jack snickers and shakes his head. "Spiky as always, Din'ika."

Din glares at him, but despite his best efforts, his brother's words linger. Din has seen the wedding ring, too. And he has wondered who waits for Paz. Where is home. He's wondered why Paz hasn't agreed to offload Din and the kid at the next available opportunity so he can go back to them.

They have traveled together for a week. Din never sees him call anyone.

Din may not believe in relationships for himself, but he won't be the reason someone compromises their own.

It's occurred to him that maybe not all is well for Paz on the home front. Maybe Din and the kid are a convenient diversion for a time. And while Din isn't going to break up a home, he won't tell a stranger how to live their life, either.

They're grown men. They're all free to make their own mistakes.

///

“I’ll need some time to get the results,” Ginger had apologised, writing on small, white labels and carefully wrapping them round the vials before treating the kid with a gentle smile. “You did so well, sweetheart.”

The little one just pouted at her from the cradle of Paz’s elbow, the bright white cotton ball taped down over the needle site comically large in proportion to the arm it was bound to.

Jack glanced between Din and Paz, nodding. “All right. Might as well get you two settled for the night. Follow me.”

Once shown to their rooms, Jack had promised to come back after a few quick words with Ginger, so Din is surprised when he answers the knock at his door and finds Paz instead.

With hands in his pockets, ear bent like he'd been listening for the latch, Paz meets Din's eyes and smiles, rocking on his heels.

"Hey." Din frowns, searching him for a hint of his intentions.

"Hey,” Paz’s voice is quiet and his body language is… hesitant? What is he nervous about? “Thought I'd offer to look the room down. If you want."

Din blinks at him. “Really?”

Does Paz think they’re less safe behind these walls with their automated security and stationed patrols? Less safe than in his truck?

The man shrugs and his large shoulders crowd as though apologising for all the space he’s occupying. He spares a glance down the short, carpeted hall, warm lanterns in the walls. "I know it's your brother's place. But just. After the last week." Paz looks the closest to sheepish Din has seen in their time together. "Habit, you know."

It’s true. Din has noticed his nightly ritual of pacing the length of the truck. Din assumed it was to check for wear or damage as much as anything suspicious.

He didn’t expect that habit to follow them onto Statesman grounds. He is not sure how to deal with Paz like this and he feels at a loss. But if Din invites him in, does it mean Din himself distrusts Statesman that much? More importantly, does he have so little faith in Jack to keep them safe?

Glancing back into the room, a mischievous giggle draws his eye to the kid wriggling down into the pillows on the bed.

Maybe Paz just wants to say good night to the kid.

“I--” Din stalls and the absurdity of the offer must be starting to sink in because Paz kicks his heel at the carpet, and Din watches a shutter close behind his eyes.

"If you wanted. But. It's stupid. Never mind. G’night, Din." He starts to back up. Something about the way he ducks his head goodbye makes Din falter.

He’s not sure how or why the next words leave his mouth: “You want to come in? Say good night to him?”

It’s like watching that shutter pull back when Paz smiles, bashful and pleased. He doesn’t need to be so embarrassed about wanting to say good night, Din thinks, stepping back to let him past. The kid just has this effect on people. At least, the ones not shooting at them.

The door clicks shut and he hears Paz call, “Hey, kiddo, ready for bed?” but when he turns back, Paz is running his hands the length of the windowsill and then finding it has little risk of breach because it lacks a means to open, anyway. It’s not that kind of guest quarters.

Paz’s expression turns pensive in the dark reflection of the glass and he presses his palm flat, studying his knuckles. Din thinks he has little reason to worry. If only he knew that glass was bulletproof, as it was through most of Statesman. Paz heads into the bathroom to inspect further anyway.

“So, why does a distillery for one of the country’s biggest brands have advanced medical technology?” he calls, voice echoing on tile.

Sighing, Din reclines on the bed, careful not to lean too heavily on the pillow nest. Ankles crossing at the knee, he pulls out his phone and starts scanning the news.

“There are some questions we shouldn’t ask,” he says.

“We? I think you know the answer or we wouldn’t be here.” Paz emerges from the bathroom and clicks the lights off. His tone is skeptical. “But if you don’t want to share. That’s up to you.”

Din just frowns at his phone. No, he doesn’t.

To his credit, Paz drops it. His curiosity must be satisfied because he instead leans over the bed and burrows deep into the pillows beside him. Din grunts, jostled by the movement, and doesn’t bother looking up when Paz emerges with an armful of squealing child, crowing triumphantly.

Din snorts under his breath as the kid shrieks with laughter, held high overhead before he’s brought down and Paz blows a loud raspberry into his stomach. Din stares at the far wall and suffers in silence.

“Okay!” Paz declares in that exaggerated commander voice that for some reason delights the kid. “Lights out, no snacks after midnight, and be good for Din.”

“It’s nine o’clock,” Din says, swiping through the all points bulletin feed on his phone.

“No snacks after nine!”

“Don’t get him excited. He was just getting sleepy again.”

“Understood. Want me to put him down?”

Din sighs, finally looking up to find Paz dangling the kid upside down by his ankles over the pillow. It’s a hold more fit for game than precious cargo, but both Paz and the kid are watching, waiting with matching grins, and the kid beams at him with its tufty thick afro sticking out every which way.

He shrugs and shakes his head in resignation. “Sure.”

As Paz settles the kid with its blankets and bottle, a thought occurs to Din. “Are we still on schedule for your job?”

When Paz had rescued them outside that diner, he’d been on his own way to make a delivery. They’d spent the last week routing circles through the states to keep the hunters off their tail, but Din’s guilt insisted Paz not derail his life for them. The man had done him a favour, and he had a job to keep. Coincidentally, leading them straight to Kentucky. Reaching out to Jack had seemed like the natural next step.

“Drop off’s less than two hours away and max delivery time isn’t for another few days. We got time.”

Din frowns, lowering his phone to consider Paz’s back, bent over the baby seat. “But--”

“We got time,” Paz says, firm but gentle.

Din inwardly huffs, grinding his jaw. It's not his problem.

Paz brings the kid and its makeshift cradle over. Bundled in a nest of blankets, he settles him securely on the bed beside Din and borders him with pillows. Least likely place to fall. Safe and close. “You got the rest?”

“Yeah, I'm on it,” Din says, already opening the music app on his phone. They both glance in at the kid when the rush of wind and storms fills the air and, with a heavy blink, the little one looks over at Din. A small, pudgy arm lifts and Din takes the tiny hand that reaches for him, rubbing gently. He feels a smile tug at his mouth and glances at the cotton ball still taped to the kid’s forearm, evidence of his bravery. “You did good today, kid.”

“Beh.” The little one hangs onto his fingers even as his eyelids grow heavy.

“Sleep now, kid,” Din reassures him.

You’re safe here.

Din has to give it up to Paz for this trick with the soundtrack of rain and storms. Bedtime had only been a concept before he found them.

“I hope these people can help him,” Paz says, once the kid’s head has drooped to his pillow and his eyes have slid shut.

“Yeah,” Din sighs, studying that round face softened in sleep. “Me, too.”

He lets the thunderstorm continue to play, it was always safest to continue at least half an hour to ensure the kid was well and truly asleep.

At the next boom of thunder, Din realises Paz hasn’t moved from his place by the bedside. Looking up from the baby seat, Din meets his eye only to find Paz already watching him, expression thoughtful.

He frowns at that look. “Was there something else?”

Paz blinks, as though coming back to himself. “No. No, place looks--” He glances round the room. “Good.”

He’s still standing there, unmoving.

Din glances to the door; Paz seems to need the hint. “Jack will be back any minute.”

And finally, Paz is motivated into action. “Yeah, I’ll-- I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Din.”

Din turns back to his phone and the bulletin feed. He doesn’t watch Paz go, he needs to make sure the authorities haven’t been given any reason to look for them either.

“Lock it behind you,” Din calls after him when the man is at the door.

He only looks up once he hears the click of the latch close. Alone at last. Grunting under his breath, he glances back at the sleeping child.

“Yeah, he’s a strange one.”

///

“Hey.”

Standing before the door to his own room, Paz stops, key card at the lock. He raises an eyebrow as Jack strolls to an easy halt, sound of his steps swallowed by the copper-tinted carpet. The cowboy points to his brother’s door.

“You just come from here?”

Something about his tone chafes.

Paz glances between the light wood and Jack’s disapproving frown. “That a problem?”

Jack’s arm drops and swings at his side like a pendulum weighed by his disappointment. He shakes his head.

Does he think Paz would care about his opinion? Because he doesn’t.

Paz turns to face him straight on, hands finding his hips, head cocked. “You got something you want to say, I prefer we talk straight.”

“And are you?”

“What?”

Jack throws a hand up, gesturing at the length of him. “Straight?”

Paz blinks at him in disbelief. Well that’s just fucking rude. “And here I thought you Southerners were renowned for your manners.”

“You heard right.” Jack’s smile is cheshire smug and just as sharp. His eyes burn dark beneath the brim of his hat. “But that’s my little brother you’re messing with. My last remaining family. I’d be well pleased to show you the limits of our hospitality, if I learn you so much as think about crossing him.”

Well, that’s a surprise. Wouldn’t it be nice if this turned out a genuine display of concern?

Paz’s mouth shrugs and he keys his door open. It beeps affirmatively, light flashing green, and he pushes it open, greeted by darkness on the other side.

“That’s funny,” he mutters and flicks on the lights.

“What did you say?” Jack says, voice rising.

Pausing in the doorway, Paz smirks at him, lazy and wide. “From what I heard... only one you should be protecting him from -- is you.”

He shuts the door on the satisfying sight of Jack’s face darkening with anger, and chuckles quietly to himself. Paz didn’t even start swinging.

His aunt would be so proud.

Paz stops up short, the warm mirth at Jack’s expense fizzling down to a hushed ember at the thought of her. His aunt.

Staring at the dark face of the cellphone in his hand, Paz sighs. Double checks the door is locked behind him before he makes the call. Sinking down on the impeccably made bed, Paz palms his knee and waits, swallowing moisture down his throat.

With each ring, his chest tightens further, hot and difficult. The fifth ring is interrupted mid-tone and his heart leaps to his throat.

“Yes,” she answers, calm and controlled, with all the weight of the authority that used to inspire him with so little effort. Her voice, projected through great halls, could make every head turn and hail a reverent silence. When she spoke, Paz did not only hear her but all the voices that had come before and infused her with their wisdom.

She still has that effect on him. But now, instead of drawing his shoulders back with pride, Paz sweats at a single word.

“It’s me,” he says, glancing to the shuttered windows.

It’s stupid. He already checked them. Swept this entire room twice for surveillance, surprised to actually find none. Statesman were unexpectedly trusting of their guests. Jack was apparently the exception.

“Yes,” his aunt’s tone is unaffected. “I know.”

Paz takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. “I’ve set the plant. They can start the trace now.”

“They have already begun.”

Of course. They would have been ready. They had been waiting far longer than Paz promised they would need to.

It hadn’t been easy to steer Din here.

“Good,” he says. “Let me know what you find.”

“And how are you? Still confident in your plan?”

His palm closes over his knee, kneading sweat into the worn denim. His eyes lift to the wall dividing his room from them - Din and that sweet kid on the other side.

Gaze dropping to his boots, his voice is steady. “I am. But I need a favour.”

She grunts in amusement. “Bold of you.”

He knows she’s right. He shouldn’t ask. He has no right to ask after the way he left. They are already doing him this favour, but they will also gain from his efforts. If everything goes as planned. Years of patience at last rewarded.

“Yes,” he says. “And maybe fortune will favour us once more.”

He can hear the smirk of approval in her voice, and it’s like the release of a vice around his chest when she agrees, “This is the way.”

“This is the way.”

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