#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.

[saetiate]

a shooting star in his hand - sae x f!reader fluff, first meeting, cafe meet cute

He's been in line for 15 minutes.

Granted, it's not really anyone's fault. You, standing in front of him, have said your order with polite clarity, a gentle smile on your face directed to the barista in front of you that has "TRAINEE" on a metal plate. There's a woman behind her showing her how to steam the milk, telling her to put the bagel in the oven.

Learning takes time. Sae, too, knows this. Most people don't wake up with abilities built into them, not like his brother did the first time they played football together. Sae didn't. He held the ball at his feet almost as soon as he could walk. He let it eclipse his life, rotated around it like the earth does to the sun, until he knew it to perfection, to both creation and destruction.

But he'd appreciate if learning didn't happen when he was the only other person in line on his way to the stadium.

"Sorry about that." You're looking at him. Talking to him, he processes a little too slowly this morning.

He takes in your body language clinically, the way you're tapping your fingertips over the back of your phone case, your tilted head and nervous smile.

The fireburn of irritation behind his eyes falls immediately, like a weight dropped, and the calm lake of his usual demeanor returns. "It's fine."

That's the reassurance he's supposed to give, right? You turn to peer over the counter, and a keychain dangles from the zipper of your bag.

"Blue Lock?" He says it before he can stop himself, more shock than anything else.

"Hm? Oh!" You hold the keychain delicately in your palm, the glean of it catching the light the same way your smile does. "Yeah! One of the guys who was in it lives in my building. He was holding this whole box of merch for the anniversary a couple months ago? He handed me one in the elevator."

"You watch?" You're beaming up at him, but you seem more nervous about your food than you do talking to him. He's trying to see if…

"Oh, nah. I don't really watch sports. Do you?"

So that explains the lack of recognition. "I play."

"Oh! Football? Oh, that's hella cool." Words flow casually for you, an easygoing melody. "I always wanted to get into sports when I was a kid."

The cashier hands you your order with a bow of her head and an apology, and the payment barcode flashes on the screen. Before your bank app can even load up —

There's a beep, and you look up at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. "Wha- That was my order!"

"I know." He doesn't even spare you a glance, looking directly at the cashier to list off his drink with a monotone cadence.

"Okay, wait, at least let me-" Your bag slides open over your shoulder, a shuffling that he inevitably interrupts.

"No need." It's tart, said with a finality that has you giving a resigned sigh.

"Well, thank you. Genuinely." There's a shift to your bag again in the corner of his eye that he refuses to acknowledge. "If you're not going to take my money, at least take this."

Maybe it's confusion or curiosity that has him finally turning to you, a closing distance that you cross between you both that he has every opportunity to move away from. He doesn't. Instead, he looks down to find there's a card in his hand, a sticky note on top with a number and a name.

"My personal number, if you're single. And my business card, in case you'd like that kind of favor instead." There's that sing-song voice of yours, gentle as the wind, more pleasant than he'd like to admit. "A nice gesture deserves one in return, no? Not sure if it'll come up, but if you ever need someone in this industry, I can be your girl."

Your voice wavers, he notices. Shakes but doesn't stutter. He meets your eyes, gazing up at him with something between both nervousness and surety, or maybe more like bravery despite fear. A vulnerability he never dares to share himself. But on you, somehow, he admires it. Finds it daring — to stand in a moment on shaky legs without a pre-calculated estimation of how it would go.

His girl. Something about it feels like a flicker of fire in his gut, the lap of a flame brushing against the bottom of his heart.

He pockets the note with a nod, grabbing his drink with one hand and rushing out the door with another.

(He calls, that night. With a restaurant in mind and a reservation in place. Sae doesn't believe in serendipity, in fate, in the idea that the universe would grant a prize to him in particular.

Maybe it's just pure luck, falling into place in his life. A shooting star he manages to catch in his hand.)

author's note: thank you for reading and supporting me as always :)) a lil secret message here that i'll be opening requests via a valentines event tomorrow!! in precisely 16 hours from this being posted ahaha so if u like my writing please keep a look out for that!!

[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.

[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.

* * *

[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)]

<< previous chapter | next chapter >>

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.”

<< previous chapter | next chapter >>

[masked-mallards]

Masked Mallards, the Multiverse, and Everything else

Chapter 4 The Investigation of John Duck

A couple of Hours Earlier….

It was silent in the car as Elmo drove. He looked to the passenger seat, Negaduck seemed bored and lost in thought. They were no longer in their normal uniforms, didn’t want to stick out like a sore thumb. Negaduck was in a sporting an unbuttoned expensive coat over a red dress shirt and a loose black tie and pair of torn black jeans. What really caught Megavolt's attention was the pin he wore on the collar of his jacket. It depicted a white rabbit with a frown on its face. He thought Negaduck hated the lagomorphs, then again Negaduck told him that this was his disguise. He never really had a life outside of his criminal activity.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that he looked like Drake’s slightly younger brother, but Drake had no siblings. Negaduck had said at one point that the Negaverse was 4 years behind Primeverse.  Oddly enough, Drake dressed that way before Gosalyn came into the picture. Megavolt looked in the rearview mirror. Gosalyn's eyes were still red from her fight she had with father as she looked through her school notes for her homework.

“So, squirt,” He started trying to break the silence. "Any chance you get to dissect a frog today?" Gosalyn continued to thumb through her notes. "No, the school won't let me, not after last time." She murmured. Negaduck snickered. Sputterspark ignored him and spoke again. "Look, kid, your dad just wants what is best for you, that's all." She looked up from what was she was doing. "That's what everyone says, he just wants Quiverquack out of the way so he can feed his ego." She responded.

Megavolt laughed for the first time since the night day before. “That does sound like Drake, but he was way worse during high school and his first few years as Darkwing Duck. He fought with our professors, got sent to the office for starting fights with other students who picked on any of his friends, which was mostly me. Remind you of anyone?” he asked, fully aware of the frequent phone calls Drake got from the school.

Gosalyn blushed but smile. ‘So, what changed?” she asked. Elmo smiled back. “The day he changed; was the day you came to live with him. He bought a house in the suburbs, a thing he swore he’d never do, he loved the city too much. Drake even swallowed his pride and got a stable job with me at Quackerwerks, until they closed down when the robots tried to take over.” They pulled in to the school parking lot. “He may not be perfect like me,’ he said jokingly.” But he does care about you, more than you’ll ever know.”. Gosalyn got out of the car and turned to her chauffeur.

“Thanks, Uncle Elmo," Gosalyn said as she swung her bag over her shoulders. "I needed that." Then she ran up the school steps and disappeared through the double doors. He turned his head to Negaduck, who had a smug toothy grin.” What so funny?’ he asked amused duck. “Oh, nothing,” Negaduck said with a pause trying not to laugh. “Uncle Elmo," he said in the sweetest tone he could muster. “Not a word of this to Bushroot and Liquidator!” Sputterspark said red in the face. “I've my own ego to maintain!”. Negaduck roared with laughter, as they spud off to the warehouse.

  St. Canard Bridge

Launchpad sat up from his chair and rubbed his eyes. He had been studying over Darkwing's case files for a couple of hours and cross-referenced then with Negaduck's ledger. Nothing came close as to the description of the clone. Nor, a way for it to have crossed dimensions without getting on the Magica's train. Due to the clone's age, Negaduck suggested that he was from an alternate future. He got from the chair and paced around. He stopped in his tracks.

After the Darkwing invasion, he and Scrooge McDuck had had a little disagree. McDuck had believed if Darkwing Duck were to continue as he is, he should reveal his identity to the world, be held accountable for his actions, and aid in bring the Darkwing doppelgängers to justice. Launchpad had defended his friend, by stating that Darkwing was not going to get involved in politics again after the Inkblot tried to corrupt him and that most of the clones were under the influence of foul magic from Magica, an enemy Scrooge McDuck was all too familiar with.  

Scrooge made it clear that was that the some that weren’t under her magic was what concerned him. He and his number one inventor Gyro Gearloose were already working on a way to make it possible to travel to different dimensions and timelines and had already begun to work on a prototype-like device. This was worth mentioning to D.W. once they met up again. Launchpad made his way to the elevator and took it down. Maybe Bushroot was having better luck than he was.

He entered the infirmary, the old Darkwing was on a hospital bed nailed to the floor and hooked up to various machines designed to keep him alive and monitor his progress. He was shackled by arms and ankles and had not wakened up. “If only he was this peace when he's awake.” A voice came from behind him. Launchpad turned to address it. "On that, we can agree" he responded. Bushroot came down a ramp in a wheelchair, his body had regrown expect for his legs.

It would be a little while longer before they would grow back. Until then he was wheelchair-bound. "How is he?" Launchpad asked. "He'll live," Bushroot answered, then proceed to make his way to sleeping mallard. "Come with me, I want to show you something,' He said. 'There may be more to the patient than we realized.”. Bushroot pulled out a notepad that he had been scribbling on. “What did ya learn doc?”

“The patient is around 50 years old, which puts him 20 years in the future of our own time.” Bushroot started. “Secondly, we brought him here for medical attention, yet when I was ready to operate on him, his bruises were gone, and the bleeding had stopped. Over the last two hours his stab wounds, given to him by Negaduck via broken shotgun, had cleared up with little medical interference, and bones that would have taken months to mend, have almost healed. There is also this.”

He put down the notebook he was reading from. Smack. Bushroot struck the clone across the face. "Normally," Bushroot said, waving his hand to hush Launchpad who was going to speak against the "doctor’s” treatment of the prisoner. "If a person has been knocked out cold, they would have awakened by now, or be awakened by an outside force or noise. However, as you can see…" Bushroot directed Launchpad to the still comatose duck. "So, what's your point," Launchpad asked trying piece it together.

" Last night, before the truce, Negaduck interrogated him in his way, via brutal beating." The plant scientist recalled. "He had escaped and forced open the door. I was surprised to see the tenacious mallard, in serious need of morphine, able to walk, much less able wield a weapon.” Bushroot grew quiet as remember to sounds that came from that room. “He escaped, but when we did find him this morning, his injuries were healed as if they were never there.” He continued. “The patient must have had time to sleep since then. My theory is, that he exhibits some sort of healing factor when sleeping or in a comatose state, whether or not it is connected to his inability to be made alert, I'm not sure." Bushroot wheeled around the bed near the clone’s head. “This may be why.”

During his time at the University, Reginald Bushroot was paving his way through the field of botany. He was trying to eliminate world hunger by finding a way to make animals photosynthesize like plants. Before he had tested his finding on himself, resulting in the plant duck he is today, he tested on plants and lab rats provided by the University of St. Canard. Each one had a barcode on them. Bushroot rolled the head of the John Duck to the side.

On the back nap of his neck was a barcode much like the ones he had used. “He was a victim of duck experimentation.,” Bushroot explained. Bushroot looked to Launchpad, the larger duck looked pained. Bushroot could also feel sympathy for the clone. It was a violently driven induvial, who tried to evade capture twice and had refused Darkwing’s help when he injured. Bushroot shook his head, the clone was their enemy, had killed Quackerjack in cold blood, and was hell-bent on killing Megavolt and anyone who got in his way. He couldn't afford to pity it.

  The Warehouse

  Negaduck and Megavolt appeared across the street from the warehouse. They had hidden the car at a nearby Hippo Burger, the same one Megavolt had visited last night. The Warehouse was deserted, not a single cop or reporter in sight. Negaduck had flipped through the radio after they had dropped off Gosalyn. The story was dead, not on a single station. He'd almost feel insulted if weren't considering the circumstances. "Looks like my counterpart made good on his end of the bargain,” he said. “Let’s not get shown up.”. He looked to Megavolt, who wasn’t paying attention. The rat was carrying a bouquet of brightly colored flowers he had "bought" from a local street vendor.

They entered through the broken window that the clone made when he had attacked. Negaduck landed on his feet like a cat, while as Megavolt landed on his stomach clumsily. The place was a mess of broken glass, bullet shells, and caution tape. Negaduck looked to the overturned table. Quackerjack was gone, all that was left was a white outline. The feeling came back strong, but after spending some time with Megavolt, he believed he finally placed it. “Remorse." He thought to himself. Did his time in this disgusting reality make him soft? The last thing he did to the clown was snap his arm two and failed to keep him out of harm’s way.

Megavolt made his way to the chalk outline. He stared at it somberly, his eyes were wide and red, but he was not about to cry in front of Negaduck. He placed the flowers near the overturned table. Silence filled the room. Negaduck grabbed his right arm with his left hand and shifted uncomfortably. He scowled. He was not about to let empathy, find its way to his corrupted soul, or ruin his reputation as a psychopath. “Once you’re done with your soapbox,” he said impatiently. “let’s get our gear and ditch this place.”. The electric rodent glared at the rude duck, yet this kind of behavior is what expected of him.

Negaduck scanned the area. There was nothing worthy of note, the police must have been thorough. It was a go thing the Fearsome 5 had stored backup gear in another part of the facility. The duck and the rat weaved their way through the maze of large empty containers, hallways, and stairs until they reach their destination. No one spoke. Negaduck stopped in his tracks forcing Megavolt to bump into him. The iron to their make shifted operational area had blown clear of its hinges, and left mangled on the ground. The pair entered the exposed room.

Everything was in disrepair. Negaduck's Dobermans were making a racket as they yanked against the chains that held them to a pole, Bushroot's lab had been destroyed, glass bottles and paper was everywhere. A trashcan fire was dying out, it was filled with notes, blueprints, etc., or what was left of them. Quackerjack's and Megavolt's equipment were smashed by a sledgehammer, which lay nearby. The mess, however, was organized and was sorted into piles of metal, glass, and plastic.

There was a warped piece of metal in the middle of the room. The piece of art was melted and tied in knots, but it was still a little recognizable. It was Megavolt’s Tron Splitter “What happened in here?” Megavolt blurted. Negaduck waved his hand at the dogs and they fell silent. He examined the trash fire. A crumpled paper that survived the blaze. He picked it up and brushed the ash off. Part of it had been burned off, but for the most part, readable.

 ---------- log.

Prime-verse: 2100 hours

Tron Splitter: destroyed

Eye of Quackzalcoatl: location unknown

Megavolt: at large

--------------lt: at large

Nega-Sc-----: at large

----------------: at large

 A green flash of movement came from under Bushroot's lab and wrapped itself around Megavolt's leg. “Spike!”. The pint-sized flytrap had been there the whole night. Megavolt pried him off his leg. It hissed at the sight of Negaduck, which Negaduck hissed back. Negaduck had gone about and beyond to make Spike hate him. From trying to make him into a salad, to "accidentally" setting his roots on fire. There was no particular reason Negaduck fought with the plant, he had no hatred toward Spike. It was just something he wanted to do. It was just the way things were. Negaduck gave himself a mental sigh of relief. Spike was a reminder that he was Negaduck, the biggest asshole in the freakin world. Nothing was going to change that.

The carnivorous plant slithered up and nestled Megavolt’s arms.” What happened boy?” Megavolt asked the plant. Spike’s vine-like arm pointed to a far wall on the other side of the room. Buckets of paint scattered the floor. On the wall was a symbol. It was a red circle outline with a purple stroke. A maroon duck head with one red eye and one blue. A slash of orange paint divided it in half diagonally. “Looks like the geezer clone, made a pitstop here before he attacked us.” Negaduck said, amused that the Darkwing clone took the time to paint this symbol. The clone, like his goody-two-shoes counterpart, shared the same attention-seeking ego.

He looked at the remains of the note he had found. “The fool also left a list of targets and items of interest.” he continued as he shoved the note into Megavolt’s hand. “Killing you is only part of his plan. He had succeeded in his first task in destroying your toy.” Negaduck point to the mangled tron splitter in the center of the room. “He’s also is looking for Eye of Quackzalcoatl, a magical artifact. Unfortunately, the rest of the list has been burned away, so we can’t learn much else.” Negaduck tucked the note into his coat. “Didn’t Drak-Darkwing already destroy the Eye?’ Megavolt asked. “Yeah, but the clone didn’t get the memo.” Negaduck answered.

Negaduck released his Dobermans. They bolted outside the door and disappeared down the hall, their barks echoing throughout the building then faded into silence. "Aw, look at them go," Negaduck said sounding like a proud parent. "I hope they bite pedestrians and maul a few children before they get shot down.”. Spike’s vines tightened around Megavolt’s arms and torso as he held him. The flytrap felt safer that way. “you, never gave them their shots, did you?” Megavolt said a little afraid for anyone that met those monsters. “Never even took them to see a vet.” Negaduck retorted. The trio salvaged what they could then headed back to the Mallard Residence.

  Mallard residence.

4:30 p.m.

  Gosalyn opened the door to her house. The only one there was the Liquidator. He was slumped on the couch in a sitting position, head tilted back and passed out. The wall was fixed and had a fresh coat of paint. “I thought he said he didn’t sleep?” she said aloud quietly. “No, but the mutt seems to like it as a pass time.” A deadpan voice came from behind her. She turned around to see the evil duck enter the house followed by Megavolt trying to free his arms from Spike. Negaduck stared at the child. The last time she saw him, he led a hostile takeover the St. Canard Penitentiary and turned it into his personal playground.

Negaduck eyed the broken device on the table. Gosalyn had shattered it when she had shot it with an arrow. She had a knack for causing chaos everywhere she went, such raw talent was wasted in the service of Darkwing Duck, who wouldn’t even let her fight. “I still stand by what I said at the penitentiary, you’ve always been a bad seed.” Negaduck said in a serious tone, as he put a burnt note on the table with the rest of the clone’s belongings. “You could reach your true potential if you came to work for me, and not have to be held back by your Dipwing father.” Gosalyn tossed her schoolbag the floor in anger and marched up to the Mallard twice her size.

“Thanks, but no thanks. In fact, you can take your offer and- “. She colorfully told where he could stick his proposal, causing Megavolt to put himself between the two if Negaduck tried to do anything, but to their astonishment, Negaduck smirked and shrugged. "My offer still stands." He said coolly. Negaduck turned his attention to table cover in the various item obtained from the clone. Gosalyn watch as Megavolt hurried after his leader. She could not understand why any of his men followed him at all. He treats them horribly, and the majority of them could easily tear him to shreds. The dog on the couch murmured something inaudible. “Was he dreaming?” she thought herself.

Negaduck picked up the trench coat. It was made of dark purple leather and the inside was lined with a yellow-orange fabric in its inside. The coat had no pockets and was rather plain, yet the otherworldly Darkwing was able to pull an arsenal from it. The night he captured him at the warehouse captured the first time, they had confiscated his weapons and armor, leaving him only with his clothes and his trench coat. He was able to procure two knives, tear gas, and a chainsaw. His eye flickered.

Negaduck recalled the time he had been reduced to atoms by Megavolt’s tron splitter. He had become an ink-like substance, that imposed his chaotic personality on anyone who touched it. Magica de Spell conducted experiments on it, which eventually led to Negaduck to returning body and soul. One of the experiments was giving an unstable ballplayer, a trench coat that had been tainted by the ink. “One-shot.” Negaduck thought.

Carmichael Q. Anthony was once a rising star in the sport of baseball as a pitcher. However, his fame caused him to down spiral. He developed a severe case O.C.D and felt compelled to never make the same pitch twice. It got to the point where he threw everything but the ball. The monkey was eventually suspended after throwing a puppy at the batter. De Spell gifted him a coat that acted as an endless supply of things to throw, some of which were deadly. From that point on, Anthony did her bidding under the influence of the ink, and gain a reputation under the name One-Shot.

Negaduck held the coat lengthwise and put his hand it, disappearing into the fabric. "I wonder," he said aloud. He searched around the fabric, until his hand wrapped around a metal handle. He pulled out a large claymore, it was way larger coat itself. Megavolt jumped at the sight of it. “So that’s how he did it,” said Negaduck mildly impressed. “He must have nicked this beauty off of One-Shot and used it as his personal arsenal”. Megavolt gave him a confused look. “I thought Darkwing burned it because of its dark magic.” He stated. Negaduck put the trench coat back on the table and tossed the sword aside. “True,” Negaduck responded. “We have to remember, that the geezer clone came from another dimension. He might have got it from another unfortunate baseball-playing monkey."

Megavolt turned his attention to the shattered device. "That is one mystery solve, but what about this," he said directing Negaduck's attention. Negaduck stared at the pile of loose wire and broken grey and green metal. He hadn't the foggiest idea of what to make of it. The John Duck lost its mind after Gosalyn shot it. Gosalyn made her way over to the table, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Hey, I think these wires go together.” Said Megavolt as he reached to put them together. “Uncle Elmo,” Gosalyn said sounding a little worried. “We don’t know what that thing does, we probably shouldn’t- “. It was too late. The small device sparked to life and the green metal began to glow.

Boom. The device of the leaped off the table with energy. Blue lighting came bursting out of it, items in the house were flung around with a violent force as it did so. The lightning formed a distorted circle above. Negaduck recognized immediately what it was, he had seen one since he got cut off from the Negaverse. It was a warp hole. The clone was carrying around technology that could rival S.H.U.S.H. It explained how the clone was able to follow the train undetected; he was jumping through warp holes.

The warp hole was growing unstable, it pulsed and cracked as it began to suck in everything in its proximity. Gosalyn was swept off her and was pulled toward the portal. To everyone's surprise, including his own, Negaduck grabbed the child and tucked her his arm. He used the other to hold on the couch, so he would get pulled in. “Sparky!” Negaduck roared. “Turn it off!!”. Megavolt, who was hugging the table leg, reached for the device to force it to shut done but instead knocked to further down the table by accident. "You idiot!" Negaduck roared in a rage.

A large icy mallet smashed the unstable device. It cracked and popped before it went dead. Smoke rose from under the Liquidator's hammer-like hand and the warp hole vanished. The disturbance had woken him up, the living area was a mess again, he was sure Darkwing was going blame him for it. The front door opened. Drake mallard enter, having had shed his purple uniform and spoke before he saw the living room. “Consider yourselves of the hook,” he said in a tired voice. “So please, for the sake of peace, don’t-“ his eyes fell on the scene that was once was his living room.

It was like a tornado had struck, walls were torn, furniture and appliances toppled over. Megavolt, and apparently Spike, were holding on the table leg as it were the safest place to be. Gosalyn was tucked protectively in Negaduck's arm, and Liquidator was on the table, his hand formed into a mallet. A part of the attic floor finally gave way and crashed on what was left of the coffee table. “Do I want to know who or what caused this?” Darkwing asked as calmly as he could.

The Liquidator reduced his hand to normal size to reveal the broken device, and then the lot of them pointed at Megavolt, who was still hugging the table. Darkwing took a moment to compose himself.” I got a call from Launchpad; the clone has woken up.” He said as he snatched Gosalyn from Negaduck and glowered at him. “Let’s see if he is more willing to talk now.”

 Later…

 “No, I am not wearing it.” Negaduck said stubbornly when Darkwing handed him the blindfold. “I will not allow myself to guided like a blind man, by you especially." Negaduck and Darkwing have already gotten in back into their uniforms. 'It's bad enough you know where I live, the last thing I need is for you to learn where I work." Darkwing argued. They had been at it for the last 30 minutes. Gosalyn sat next to the Liquidator on the couch, both were growing impatient with the bickering doppelgängers. Megavolt and Liquidator had already agreed to be blindfolded, it didn't matter to them much, though it would be nice to know where Darkwing's hideout in the future. Megavolt and Spike had already left with Launchpad, who had come by to pick the evidence they had gathered.

"Look," Darkwing yelled, starting to lose his patience with his yellow clan double. "The only way for us to continue the case is to question the clone himself. We had to take him to the tower for treatment, thanks to you, and we are not going to risk removing him from there. So, you either put on the blindfold and go with us, or you can stay here, frankly, I'm hoping for the ladder." Negaduck went silent for a moment, then he snatched the blindfold out of Darkwing's hand and placed himself on the couch next to Liquidator, defeated.

Gosalyn watched her father rub his eyes. He seemed tired, more than usual. According to the Liquidator, he was the last one to get back to the house today. It had been a while since he went to S.H.U.S.H. on his own, and not because of J. Gander. Hooter summoned him for a job. Gosalyn turner her gaze to the Aquatic dog next to her. His eyes have been locked on Darkwing since he got here.

"Gosalyn," Darkwing said grabbing her attention. She faced her father; they had not spoken since this morning. "I want you to know, that what you did this morning was incredibly dangerous, he could have killed you and you are very lucky." His arms were crossed and he was waving his finger at her, it was an indication of an impending lecture. Gosalyn braced for the yelling. "Young lady….," He began. "That was the bravest and selfless thing I have ever seen, and I have never been so proud of you.".

Gosalyn opened her eyes, her father smiled warmly at her. Out of relief of gaining his approval, the red-haired girl jumped off the couch, and into her father's arms who hugged her back. "Now, don't get me wrong, you're still grounded till your 30!" he said in a fake stern tone. He handed her bow, he had confiscated it from her this morning, with its quiver full of arrows. "You can have this back, but you only if you're going to use it from a distance, as it was intended to be used. Right?” his tone turning serious. The little daredevil looked him dead in the eye. "You can count on me!" she said with determination, yet both father and daughter knew she made no promises.

"Aww…" the Liquidator said forgetting that he for a moment that he was ever angry with Darkwing. Negaduck pointed his finger to his mouth and made a gagging noise. There were times when the Liquidator swore Negaduck had the maturity of a 14-year-old boy. The pair ignored the peanut gallery on their couch. Nothing going to ruin the moment. Negaduck sat up and spoke so only his hound could hear.

“Truce states that we can’t harm the geezer clone and he is going to jail.” He stated. “But I beg a differ. That duck is going to die tonight, he has escaped death by my hand one too many times, I am not going to sit here and let him breathe for another day.” Negaduck was shaking slightly, he hated not leaving a job unfinished and transgressors unpunished. “When He has given what we want as far as answers, I gonna kill him,” he said in hostel tone. “However, Dorkwing is probably aware of my intentions and will be keeping a very close watch on me. “

If I can’t get near him, I want you to put him down. Darkwing can defend the geezer from me and the others, but not from you." The liquidator nodded in agreement. He may not always do so, but the clone still had to answer for the attack at the warehouse. Besides the hound never disobeyed an order from Negaduck and always came through. There were times, though he won't admit it, Negaduck considered the Liquidator to be his right hand. It has always been this way since the formation of the Fearsome 5. Since that day……...

  /-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

  All he could see was him as his body sank to the bottom of the vat of contaminated water. Budd's body hit the bottom of the vial container of his own making. Darkwing was just standing there, just staring at him. The Masked Mallard disappeared from the water's edge and left the hound to his fate. Budd Flood watched the last of his oxygen leave him as it bubbled up to the surface, and he waited for oblivion. However, it wasn't the end of the hound. He found himself alive, somehow, but his body filled the container of his would-be grave.  

After a while, a liquid hand reached out of the vat. Flood pulled his aquatic body out of the vat and fell forming a puddle. “This is my life now.” He thought. Darkwing has no doubt had reported him to the police about his sabotage of competing water company. He was ruined, not to mention was no longer made of flesh. It was his fault, and he was going to make him pay. It took 3 days, but the determined hound learned to control his newfound power. He was no longer Budd Flood; he was the Liquidator.

  -----several weeks later.

  The Liquidator’s head plowed out of the water, and he rested his upper body on a ledge above the water. He was somewhere in the sewers of St. Canard. Darkwing had beaten him again, no matter how much stronger Liquidator was compared the duck. It infuriated him. "Sounds like you’re up shit creek…. Literally” a foul voice said a few feet away. Liquidator looked up to see a mallard. If it weren’t for his canine instinct, he would have thought it was Darkwing coming down to taunt him. However, this guy wore a yellow-orange version of the Masked Mallard’s uniform and his face was full of malice.

Negaduck knelt to the dog's eye level smirking a toothy grin. The liquidator snarled like a dog backed in a corner, he didn't know who this Darkwing look-alike was, but he sensed danger from his presence. "What's the matter?" the duck asked. 'Do l remind you of the one who did this to you? Did Darkwing beat you with a simple kitchen sponge?". The Liquidator extended his body and pinned Negaduck against a brick wall. Half his body was still in the water. "Who are you?" Liquidator demanded. "Names, Negaduck," he said. "I might look like the Purple Blunder, but besides that, we are nothing alike, morally anyway”. The Liquidator glowered at Negaduck, there was something not right. “What do you want?” the hound asked.

Negaduck was still smirking, not caring for the danger he was in. "You're, not the only one with a bone to pick with Darkwing Duck," he spoke in a calm tone. "What if I told you, I was putting together a team of like-minded individuals, who want nothing more to lay waste to St. Canard, robbing banks, burning down a building, etc., and kill Darkwing to boot." Liquidator loosened his grip but didn't let go. He was a crooked businessman, but he drew the line at terrorism. Negaduck continued. "I've heard reports of a monster in the waters of St. Canard. How he came to be." He laughed. "Yet is defeated by a clad purple duck, despite his power in hydrokinesis.". The liquidator growled. "Get to the point." The hound said, he hated long-winded pitches when someone was trying to sell him something.

"I offer you an opportunity," Negaduck answered. "Your power alone can only get you so far, it needs a guiding hand. I can provide that, especially against Darkwing Duck. All that I ask is that join me in my crew of misfits.". The Liquidator released his hold on duck and reformed to stand on the ledge. "I don't need your help to kill the Masked Mallard," Liquidator barked. "Oh really?" Negaduck responded sarcastically." How many times have you ended down here, because he forced you down a pipe? How many more times are you going to have to sit someone's yard, collecting pigeon shit, because he turned you into a statue? How long will it take for you to realize, that you can't beat him, at least not on your own." The Liquidator's body began to boil in rage.

“And what makes you think you can help me? What’s in it for you?” the hound demanded. He was from a world of commerce and dirty business, there was always a catch. Negaduck didn’t flinch a muscle as the Liquidator released him and flooded around him. “Simple really,” Negaduck said his smirk disappearing leaving his face without expression.” I want to make my goody-two-shoes clone suffer, then when I am bored with him, I’ll kill him.” Negaduck paused for a moment. “He is everything I hate in the world, then some. His mere existents makes my blood boil." Negaduck turned his attention to the hound. "However," he said as if he was forcing himself to talk. "I can't do it alone, just like you. So, I am assembling a team of people to raise hell on St. Canard, who has a personal vendetta against Darkwing Duck, and I require a hound."  

The Liquidator's body began cool off from its high temperature, and steam rose with a hiss. Once the steam dissipated, a normal size dog appeared in a watery form. The liquidator stood in front of the Mallard, easily towering him. "Do we have a deal?" Negaduck asked sticking his hand out. Ignoring every instinct that shouted at him to refuse the duck's offer, to stay behind the line he drew for himself, he shook the hand of a devil. He followed Negaduck into the darkness of the sewer and started his new life as a member of the soon to be Fearsome 5.

  Later that same day…...

  Negaduck pushed open an iron door. "Welcome to your new quarters." Negaduck said as he entered the building. He had explained that it was once a factory but was shut down because it failed inspection. It mostly made and sold candy. "Don't make yourself at home Mutty Water, we might move out soon if I can't the smell of chocolate out of the walls." Negaduck had come up with a list of insulting nicknames for the hound as they traveled to the factory. Liquidator wonder if the foul duck did this to everyone he met. No matter. The Liquidator didn't come along with him to be his friend. It was his new mission to kill Darkwing duck, even if it meant being loyal to a psychopath.

Something scurried across the floor and planted itself in front of Negaduck. It was a mutated venus flytrap about a couple of feet tall. It growled aggressively at Negaduck. Negaduck glowered at the bold house plant, then kicked square across the room. The plant hit a cabinet and bounced on to the floor. It pulled itself up whimpering. Negaduck continued on his way without a care. With one final hiss at Negaduck, it retreated down the hall. The Liquidator followed it out of curiosity. The flytrap led him to a small room with no windows and cover in plants. Due to the lack of sunlight, they were undernourished and turning brown, yet everything was in bloom.  

A hand reached out from under a nearby desk and grabbed his ankle. The sudden motion almost gave him a heart attack. "Is he out there?" asked a timid voice from under the table. The hound looked under the desk, and saw what he could only assume was the owner of the flytrap. It was duck/plant hybrid, cowering under the desk. Negaduck had said that he had already recruited someone else, who had suffered at Darkwing's hand. A botanist by the name of Bushroot. He like the Liquidator had gone under an untraversable mutation. Bushroot was in a fetal position, he had angered Negaduck that morning and was hiding from his chainsaw. The hound knelt so he was partly under the desk. He now had another mission in life, other than ridding of Darkwing. "No," the liquidator said calmly and reach out his paw. "But I am."

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

Negaduck and the Liquidator finally had been blindfolded. Gosalyn took the Liquidator and guided him to one of the chairs and sat him in one. She proceeded to sit in the next chair over and pressed the button on the mouse statue. They disappeared into the floor. Negaduck and Darkwing followed suit. His house was now empty, the only evidence that something was there was a destroyed ceiling and broken furniture.

Chapter 5

https://masked-mallards.tumblr.com/post/190704477979/masked-mallards-the-multiverse-and-everything

Chapter 3

https://masked-mallards.tumblr.com/post/190654237374/masked-mallards-the-multiverse-and-everything

Chapter1

https://masked-mallards.tumblr.com/post/190578269234/masked-mallards-the-multiverse-and-everything

[ashintheairlikesnow]

First Day: Chris Moves Into College

An Anon asked for kind of a mirror image of the Oliver & Chris piece I did yesterday, and I had the idea immediately and intended to post it before *gestures vaguely* but I finally finished it, so here you go, Anon!

CW: A few vague references to conditioning, torture, abuse, and ableism. But honestly this is actually pretty happy!

Tagging Chris’s crew:  @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @astrobly , @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions

“He’s, he’s, he’s he’s not going to like me,” Chris mutters, shifting a pile of books on the little desk, debating hiding them somewhere else, in the box he has for storage maybe. 

They’ve lofted up his bed in the time they’ve been here, putting his desk underneath it, and Chris knows that everything looks normal, perfectly normal and like it’s supposed to because he’s been studying pictures of dorm rooms for weeks to get ready for this, but it still feels… feels like there’s some big sign that reads CHRIS USED TO BE PROPERTY that he can’t see but everyone else will.

Like it’s pinned to his back, a KICK ME sign for the whole world. 

Or a FUCK ME sign-

“He’ll like you just fine,” Jake says, raising an eyebrow as he goes up slightly on his toes to slide Chris’s pillow up onto the bed. “Chris, everybody likes you. And stop making that face.”

“Not, not everybody,” Chris mumbles, hunching his shoulders. He’s got his stuff, for his hands and his energy, hidden away inside his desk drawer. He’s wearing a shirt that’s his size, just a normal black t-shirt and normal black pants and normal shoes and he looks like everyone else, he’s even seen a couple other people on campus with blue hair and where do they buy their hair dye, he wonders, maybe he should ask, that might be a way to make friends-

Jake’s hand, warm and dry as always, slides up to cup his face, and Chris raises his eyes to look at the older man, pressing his lips together nervously. “What if they-... if they, they find out, Jake?”

The inside of Chris’s left wrist itches, even though there’s nothing there anymore. He and Antoni got their barcodes removed together, holding hands through the process, the first time Chris saw the burns on Antoni’s arms laid bare to him. But it doesn’t matter - even though the barcode is gone, the knowledge that it was there remains, and you can see how the skin is paler and a little shinier there if you know how to look.

There are people here, he thinks, who might know how to look.

“Then we’ll handle it,” Jake says, softly. Chris puts his hand up over Jake’s, presses his own slightly clammy palm against the warm skin and roughened knuckles, looking up at him through pale copper-colored eyelashes. “Got it, Chris? You and me, always. We’ll figure out whatever happens and we’ll get past it and you’ll be fine. You’re awesome. They’re going to like you, I promise.”

“But, but, but if he doesn’t-”

“Then we’ll get you a new room or something.” Jake smiles at him, and Chris smiles back almost automatically, although he feels the nervous weight in his stomach lighten, just a little, at the certainty in Jake’s expression. “You got this, man. I know it’s scary, being on your own, and being a little older than the other freshmen, but… you’ve lived through worse, right?”

Chris thinks of different hands on his face, a colder smile, and nods, slowly. “... yes.”

“You’ve got this, man.” Jake smiles, and pulls Chris in for a tight hug, arms around him. Chris melts into the solidity and warmth of the center of his whole world, letting Jake’s smell - a mix of clean laundry and his cologne, warm and bright as the man himself - envelop him and soothe all his senses.

There’s a noise, kind of a sniff, and Chris blinks his eyes back open as he realizes what the sound is. “Jake, are you-... are you, you, you you okay?”

Jake doesn’t let him go, not right away, and there’s a faint tremble in his arms you might miss if you weren’t as perfectly, thoroughly tuned to the tension in other bodies as Chris is. “I’m fine,” He says, and his voice is a little thick with feeling, slightly strained. “I’m fine, Chris. I just-... shit. I didn’t think I was going to lose my shit over this, but-”

“It’s only an hour by, by by bus,” Chris says, pitching his voice low. “Right?”

“Right.” Jake sniffs one more time, reaching up with one hand to wipe at his eyes, rubbing at them like there’s just dust there. Chris’s heart twists, in a way that’s torn somewhere between good and bad. “You take the Red on the Fifth line, ride that to Billingsley, get off there and then you wait for the Blue Seven and that’ll take you to the stop like three blocks from home. I know, I know, I just-...” He sighs, resting his chin on Chris’s head, and Chris goes up on his tiptoes to push against the gentle, soothing pressure. His fingers tap along Jake’s sides, easy and effortless, just as they’ve been for a long time, now. “Gonna miss you at night.”

“Yeah. Miss, um, miss, miss miss you too, Jake,” Chris whispers. “If, if, if it storms, Jake, um, Jake, can I, can I-”

“Just call me,” Jake says, and presses a kiss to the top of Chris’s blue hair, to the hint of strawberry roots showing through. “I’ll pick up.”

Chris closes his eyes against the warmth that threatens to melt everything inside him into the feeling of safe that doesn’t come with any strings attached, without tricks or traps or games that Chris still wakes up sure he can’t win.

“What if I don’t, um, if my words, are, are are are bad? Are too bad, and, and nobody wants to, to talk to me-”

“They will.” Jake pulls back, hands on either side of Chris’s face, looking right in his eyes “They will, Chris. Your words are fine. You are fine, just like this.”

“I, I don’t, I don’t know if I, um, if, if if if-”

“Trust yourself,” Jake says, gently, using his knuckles to tip Chris’s chin up. If Jake were anyone else, Chris might have thought he was about to kiss him. Because he’s Jake, Chris knows he isn’t, wouldn’t, won’t. And that, in Chris’s world, is the ultimate certainty, the safety he never knew before him. “Trust everything you’ve learned, and everything you already know. I’m… you’re gonna do great. Okay?”

Chris swallows, hard, past the lump in his throat and blinks past the heat in his eyes and nods, quickly. “Okay, Jake.” 

“Good. Let’s get your stuff finished getting unpacked and I’ll take you out for pizza, yeah?” Jake gives him a lopsided grin. “That’s what my mom did for me on my first day in the dorms, I’ll do it for you.”

Chris lets out a breath and nods, trying not to show on his face the thrill at the sense of doing a thing that normal families do. Like they’re real brothers, and not… not whatever it is they are, with Chris a runaway human pet trying to pretend at being a person and Jake the pet lib worker who, for whatever reason, picked Chris up and will never ever let him fall.

“Pizza place is called Quatro’s,” Jake says, moving away from him to unpack some more shirts and put them into the drawers of a small clothing dresser. “You’ll like it, the pizza is super deep dish, kind of a Chicago-style thing.”

Chris knows where Chicago is, but he doesn’t know what that means in relation to pizza. There’s a lot he still doesn’t know, that everyone else just picked up through life but his life was so small, and so narrow, and all his memories begin at what they’re pretty sure is seventeen years old.

Those early memories are foggy, drugged, full of exhausted cold and hands that never stopped and words that spat poison until he soaked it in, soaked it up, believed it all. It took so much longer to stop hearing the poison, most days, than it did for them to use it to build the pretty boy in the bed in the first place. 

Something about that doesn’t seem fair - but he doesn’t have to be the pretty boy any longer, and Chris decides to put that thought away, under the tracks he likes, down in the darkness with the thoughts he doesn’t.

“Quatro’s is pretty great, yeah,” says a voice in the doorway, and Chris jumps nearly a foot in the air and looks up.

“You must be Chris,” The boy says, gangly and long-limbed and taller than Chris - but isn’t everyone? - with brown hair clipped to fall over his forehead but buzzed shorter on the sides. He grins and gives a little wave with one hand, a box underneath one arm. He’s got on a band shirt for a band Chris has never heard of and blue jeans. “Nice to finally meet you. Cool hair, man.”

Chris suddenly feels every single strand of blue on the top of his head, caught low at the nape of his neck with a clip he found at a thrift store, like they’ve only just grown out of his head “Um. Thank… you,” He says, slowly, and pretends he doesn’t see the look Jake gives him at how carefully he picks his way through the words. “You’re… Dylan, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me. You can call me Dill, though, it was a stupid fucking joke and now I just-... it’s just my name, man. Is Chris short for something?”

“Um. Chris… Christopher,” Chris says, a little shyly. He doesn’t realize he’s just standing there until Dylan walks into the room, past him, to dump the box carelessly on his own unlofted bed shoved into the corner. “Do you have… parents, here?”

“Yeah, my mom’s downstairs with all my shit and my dad’s parking the car. What about you?” Dylan turns to look at him, and he’s kind of cute, Chris thinks, the way he thinks a lot of people are pretty cute. He shies from the feeling as soon as he has it - he’s never sure how much of tht is real and how much is someone inside him that knows better than to think anyone is anything else, because it’s not his place to decide what he wants or doesn’t want.

“Um, I just have Jake-... I just, um, this is, is is-is… I’m sorry, words don’t-don’t always, um, sometimes my brain, I just-” Chris feels the heat blistering his face, the embarrassment, and Jake lays a hand on his back, just over his shoulder blade. 

“He has kind of a stammer sometimes,” Jake says, quietly, but there’s a low hum of don’t fuck with him over this in the low rumble of his voice, and Chris loves it and hates it in equal measures. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Dylan shrugs, no big deal. “Take your time, man.” He starts digging through the box, pulls out a framed photo of himself and a bunch of other boys, all elbows and knees, hugging each other and laughing in front of the ocean.

Chris feels a spike of ugly, angry jealousy rip through him, the sensation like a wave that crashes into the edges of his skin from the inside out. He wants that, suddenly, he wants to have had that life so badly that it hurts, it burns inside his skin and he has to catch his breath and hold it before the fire inside him rages out of control.

It’s not fucking fair that he didn’t.

He wonders, with a sudden rush of awful lurching shame, if Dylan was ever part of a field trip to the governor’s mansion, joking and elbowing his friends and laughing while Chris peeked through the windows, knowing if he was caught looking there’d be hell to pay.

Was Dylan ever in the governor’s office with his class when Chris was hidden there in plain sight, a private little joke, the worst game - the one he hated most of all?

Was Dylan there when Chris was just Oliver Branch’s dirty fucking secret?

Jake must feel something, because he slides an arm around Chris’s shoulders, squeezing just a little with one hand over the ball of his shoulder, and leans in to whisper, “You okay?”

“We need, I, I I I I need to get to, need to go,” Chris whispers, his body burning, he can’t stand here like this, can’t be still, needs to get somewhere where he can move. 

“Got it.” Jake straightens up, gives Dylan a smile. “We’re going to go get that pizza now. Nice to meet you, Dylan. I’m Jake, I’m Chris’s older brother.”

“Oh, cool, I figured.”

Chris swallows. Some of the fire dies, is covered over in a more soothing warmth.

I figured. Like it’s obvious that they’re a family. Like all you have to do is look to know. 

Chris didn’t have what that boy had - he has hell inside his mind, when he thinks too long about it. He has days of stillness and worse kinds of motion, he has endless repetition and pain. He has pouring drinks with a cane brandished ready to tear his skin to shreds if he tried to refuse, he has learning to shine shoes and tie ties and press a suit to perfection and he has sitting still, so still, still for hours and hours and hours and hours and-

And he has this.

Jake’s arm around him, leading him easily towards the door, and the certainty of things that belong only to him now. Of choices he is allowed - encouraged - to make. There are people waiting for him at home, he thinks.

There are people who love him no matter the cost.

There were people who loved you before.

“Talk, um, talk to me,” Chris whispers, in the hallway. Jake drops his arm as they walk, and Chris sees other people moving in other boys and girls and people with their parents or siblings or both in tow, carrying boxes. They look at him and some of them smile or nod or tell him they like his hair and Chris finds himself walking just a little bit straighter towards the elevators. 

“About what?” Jake asks, glancing around, comfortable as can be. This is the same dorm Jake started out in. Different floor, but same building. It looks the same, to him.

“The… pizza? Just… anything.” Chris is rocking forward and back just slightly as he walks, just a little. No one notices. But the motion soothes him, calms his nerves, nonetheless. 

He waits until they’re in the elevator, alone, just the two of them, to tap. Tap on the walls, listening to the slightly hollow sound in response. Finger-twist-tap-tap-tap. 

Better.

“You know what I want to talk about?” Jake asks, leaning back, hands in the back pockets of his jeans. Chris turns to look at him, helplessly in love with Jake in ways that are entirely platonic. He loves the lines of his face, the way his jaw looks when he’s mad, the flash of his teeth when he smiles. He likes the blond hair that Jake keeps clipped short, and the strength in him, subtle under his clothes but evident in every motion. 

“What?”

Jake glances at him, and blue eyes glint as he smiles. It occurs to Chris that Jake is tearing up again, and the pause before he answers is the older man trying to hide it.

“I just-... think it’s pretty cool when people think we’re brothers before I even have to say it.”

Chris slides his arms around Jake, holding on tight, tucking his head just under Jake’s chin right where he really like it always belongs. 

“Yeah,” Chris says, softly. “Me, um, me, me-me-me, too. Um… Jake-”

“He’s going to love you,” Jake says, softly, but firmly. “They all are. You grew up a different way, Chris, and it sucked, but you’re amazing. You’re badass, and people are going to fucking love you here. And if they don’t, I’ll come beat ‘em up.”

“... you wouldn’t do that,” Chris mutters, but he’s grinning into the fabric of Jake’s shirt. 

“Nah, not really.” Jake huffs out a laugh, fingers brushing over Chris’s hair. “But… listen to me, Chris, because I mean it. Don’t try to be anybody else, okay? Just be Chris. They’re going to love Chris.”

“I, I made Chris,” He whispers. “I made him, um, myself.”

“Damn straight. And who you made yourself into is somebody worth loving. So let ‘em love you.” Jake sighs, and Chris pulls back as the elevator doors open, the two of them stepping out into the overwhelming crowd of noise as families pile into the elevator as soon as they step out of it, a mess of screaming little siblings and crying babies and mothers and fathers worn thin by this brave new world their children are stepping into on their own.

“But-but-but, um, but, what if, what if who I am, isn’t, um, isn’t-”

“Who you are,” Jake says, gripping Chris’s hand to pull him through the crowd out the double-doors, and into the fresh air, “is Christopher fucking Stanton. You’re my little brother, and you’re going to college, and you kick ass. That’s all you have to be, to be worth caring about, Chris… is you. Just you. C’mon. Let’s get to Quatro’s before all these other families get there first.”

Chris follows Jake out onto the sidewalk, out into the sun, smiling at an idea that once seemed stupid and absurd - that anyone would like the person he is without him having to be anyone else.