#waiting for someone to ask so she can brush them off with an evasive non-answer pretending she doesnt know exactly what hes doing

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

i need to write more he/him 13

#yesterday i was writing fic and idk what happened but in the middle of a sentence i was like 'she' and i went 'uhh???' #like it was so immediately clearly wrong and jarring #i never have that with 13 even in the he/him fic i wrote it took a couple of sentences to get into it #i should check what the sentence was theres probably some gender bias for me to dig out there #anyway i need to find an idea for this #maybe i'll do he/she 13 where the fam isnt entirely sure what to do and the doctor wont explain anything so #everyone is just doing whatever and 13 is giggling to herself thinking of what he said to bill on the roof #waiting for someone to ask so she can brush them off with an evasive non-answer pretending she doesnt know exactly what hes doing #get more genderfucky by having her dress up in period clothes and everyone in the past (and future) is #using hints from his clothes except those gendered hints arent always the same as ppl from the 21st century would take either so #it just confuses everything more

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Happy Together : 2

Small World

Character(s): (deceptively) dark!Steve

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. It goes without (and with) saying that this is 18+.

Series Synopsis: The reader is stood up while awaiting a blind date, instead finding herself keeping company with the restaurant’s famous owner; Steve Rogers. After that night, she tries to forget her humiliation but she just can’t shake one thing about that night: him.

Chapter Summary: The reader sees a familiar face.

Notes: For reference to setting, see the previous chapter. As for this one, I hope you have patience. Now, Witness kinda took a few chapters to get to the crux, but this one might take a little longer. ;) But I promise, it’s going to be some very fucked up Steve eventually. In advance, I thank everyone for following along and soon I will start adding to other WIPs one Witness is finished (maybe finally start that Medieval AU lol) <3

Thanks to everyone who reads and as always, I looked forward to hearing from you in the replies/reblogs/tags/asks. <3

You were annoyed that you had wasted time at that restaurant waiting on yet another unreliable and selfish man. You could’ve used the hour finishing your latest commission but instead you spent your Saturday morning on the project. You usually tried to save that day for yourself. Self-employed, you made it a priority to work at least six days a week. You were paid well enough, quite successful as it was, but you liked the security of having a little extra under your belt. Besides, it always made you anxious to think that you could be actually doing something instead of lazing around on your couch watching Netflix.

Plus, you needed the distraction from your self-pity. The humiliation lingered for a few days after and even your work couldn’t erase it entirely. Why hadn’t he come? Was it an innocent case of forgetfulness? Or maybe he had changed his mind after seeing you. Tandi had exchanged your information via Facebook and he had seen your photo the same as you had his. Perhaps he hadn’t been as pleased at the prospect. Ugh, you didn’t even know him. Just forget it!

It was Wednesday and the disappointment was still a speck at the edge of your mind. It was sunny for once, a light jacket over your blouse and jeans as you basked in the warming spring air. You walked merrily to the park, happy to be outside, refreshed almost. You found a place on one of the bench, the melody of birds and interspersed voices of people filling the flowery air. You pulled your tablet and pen from your leather tote and opened up your program, working on the outline of the geometric logo you had started the night before.

Every now and then you looked up from your work and admired the serenity nestled amidst the chaotic city. You crossed your legs, resting your tablet against your knee and continued to draw, the sunlight hugging you. A blur moved across the top of your vision and paused, looming closer and you slowly looked up. The tablet nearly slid off your knee as you spotted the man approaching you. It couldn’t be.

“Hey, it’s you,” Steve greeted, his perfect smile shining brighter than the sky. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name the other night.”

“Um, Y/N,” You answer, shading your eyes from the sun beaming over his shoulder, “You remember me?”

“A face like yours is easy to remember,” He replied coyly, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Yeah, I uh...know,” You admitted shyly, “Thanks again…”

“Oh, it was nothing,” He waved away the gratuity, “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead,” You shrugged, steadying your tablet across your knee.

“Are you drawing something?” He asked, your tablet half-dimmed as it threatened to lock.

“Yeah. Working actually,” You explained, clicking the sleep button and shifting the screen against your thigh. “I’m a graphic artist.”

“Ah,” He nodded, “Makes sense. It must be fun. Doing something creative like that.”

“It can be,” You answered, “I…” You paused, his eyes never leaving yours. He was so intent on you, as if no one else was in the park. How had he picked you out among the crowd? Half of New York had probably been in his restaurant. You shook away the overly paranoid questions and continued. “Depends on the job, really. I mostly just do corporate logos and designs. Can’t really get paid for what I want to draw.”

“Well, what do you like to draw?” He stretched his arm over the back of the bench, you almost didn’t notice as it slid behind you. You were sure it was just a casual gesture, a habit he didn’t give much thought to, but it felt entirely too intimate.

“Life, I guess. People, animals, trees. I just like to create scenes, not just...symbols,” You said, nervously twirling the pen between your fingers. “I prefer to paint, really.”

“Oh, yeah? Do have any of them on that thing?” He pointed to the tablet, “Anything you’re willing to show me?” You blinked as his tone caught you off-guard. He was talking about your art and yet it seemed like he meant something more. You could’ve sworn his eyes had strayed from your face for just a second. God, you were crazy. After being stood up and nearly two years by yourself, you were growing delusional.

“I might, I, um...one second,” You unlocked your tablet and saved your work. You opened your gallery and flipped through your files, settling on a quick sketch you had done of a sparrow that had built a nest outside your building. “It’s just a drawing, but, um, here.”

You handed over the tablet and he tilted it so he could see the screen, his brows lifting as his eyes ran over the lines and shadows done in monochrome, splashes of auburn here and there to give a hint of life to the sketch. “Wow, that’s really good.” He looked up, holding the tablet out to you, “You’re very talented.”

“Thanks,” You looked away shyly, “Really, it’s just a sketch. I’ve seen way better.”

“No, no, what you do is amazing. You shouldn’t compare yourself to others,” He smiled as you took the tablet, your fingers brushing his by accident. “You’re you and that makes it more than a sketch. It’s art.”

You allowed yourself a small smile. “Thank you,” You locked your tablet again and set it on your lap, resting your pen beside it.

“Well,” He slowly pulled his arm out from behind you, his warmth releasing you as he stood. “I’ll leave you to it. I’d hate to keep you from you work.” He checked his watch as he spoke, “And I’ve got to get to the restaurant for dinner service.” He looked back to you, his blue eyes searching you, considering you closely as he measured his next words, “You should definitely come back some time. You know, no date required.”

“Yeah, uh, sure,” You nodded evasively. You didn’t really want to admit that you couldn’t go back not because you were dateless but because you had bills. “It was, uh, surprising to run into you.”

“You, too,” He grinned, his golden brows twitching, “The special tonight is salmon. You should give it a try….have a good one.”

He turned away, strolling across the park and onto the street. You drew your brows together as you saw a silver car pull up and he got inside. Why would he be walking through the park if he had a town car? You shook your head and readjusted your tablet across your knee. Maybe he had just gotten out to stretch. You doubted he had gone out of his way to bug you.

-------------

You balanced the mugs, careful not to spill any of the foam as you walked between tables and found your seat by the window. Tandi was sat with her phone out, grinning at the screen like an idiot. You set her latte in front of her and cupped your own warm mug as you sat down. She finished typing and relinquished her phone on the table. She looked up at you, starry-eyed over her latest fling. Well, they’d been seeing each other for a couple months so maybe it was getting serious.

“I’m real sorry about Danny,” She said. She had arrived as you were waiting in line, grabbing a seat as you bided your time in the queue. Your mouth twitched and you looked away. The heat still rose in your cheeks whenever you thought of the painful hour spent in the restaurant. It had been more than a week.

“It’s not your fault,” You grumbled, “It was just embarrassing...I can’t believe I sat there that long. It was like everyone was staring at me.”

“I’m sure they weren’t, but it was a dick thing to do. I’ve blocked him on Snap, Facebook, and Twitter.” She smirked, “So yeah, fuck him.”

“Ha, thanks,” You scoffed, raising your mug to sip from it, the foam cooling the espresso. Your eyes wandered out the window as you leaned back in your chair.

“You know, not all guys are like that, Y/N,” She trilled, “Carson’s a nice guy and he has lots of friends.”

“I don’t want to date any of your boyfriend’s bros,” You protested, watching the passerbys through the glass. “Carson’s nice but not my type and I can’t imagine his friends are of a different cut.”

“Well, you should at least consider someone. Anyone!” She said dramatically, but before you could chuckle it caught in your throat. You swore you recognized that blonde head across the street. You couldn’t say for sure as it quickly ducked into the suit shop and you blinked as the mug in your hand wobbled. You steadied your grip and turned back to Tandi. Right, you were going crazy.

“I will. One day. But I’m fine right now. Work’s good and steady and I feel pretty good. I can do what I want when I want...Living with Mike was difficult and I didn’t even realize how much I hated it til he was gone.” You stopped yourself before you could get too emotional. “I know it’s been a long time, but I’m working on it, a little at a time.”

“I know…” She reached over and touched the back of your hand, “I just want you to be happy; healthy.”

You smiled. A genuine smile. Not the one you put on for strangers or when you were anxious. A real one and it felt good. You took another gulp and waited for Tandi to begin her usual train of gossip. She always had the messiest stories about her workplace; she was an actor and had garnered many a theatre job, enough at least to keep her studio apartment. Once she began, it was hard to stop her and your latte was drained by the time she finished.

Her phone shook the table. She flipped it over and checked the notification, her face shone. “Carson’s back from his trip,” She almost sang. You stared at her and sighed as her eyes rounded brightly.

“Go on,” You relented, “You’re free to go. I won’t keep you. Just call me when you get a chance...if you get a chance.”

“Thank you,” She stood so quickly she hit the table with her hip. She pulled on her thin trench, pulling taught the belt around her thin waist. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know. That’s why I’m letting you go,” You crossed your arm, “Just let me know you’ve arrived safely. You know I’m paranoid.”

“Sure, sure,” She leaned down to give you half-hug, “I’ll see you.”

“See you,” You patted her lower back in return, “Bye.”

You watched her go, content at least with the hour shared with her. You couldn’t expect her to put her life on hold because you had. You weren’t bitter but you mulled her words. Just because one jerk had stood you up didn’t mean they all would. Maybe not today or tomorrow or the next day, but you’d be ready to start again one day. For now, you wanted to pop into the used bookstore just across the street. You always found something interesting there.

You stepped out into the cool spring afternoon, the evening looming as a hint of rain floated in the air. You ran across the street and hopped up onto the curb, your focus solely on the book shop. You entered with a ring, the small bell above the door announcing your entrance. The storekeeper was sat at a desk stacked with book, the daily newspaper held aloft like a shield. You headed for the back shelves where vintage magazines were kept in old filing crates. You liked to use them for inspiration.

As you picked out decades-old issues, the bell jingled again but you didn’t pay much heed to the arrival of another. You continued to thumb through the magazines until you had half a dozen, content that they would last you a while. You stood and looked along the shelf, walking parallel to it slowly as you read the titles of ancient odes and medieval limericks. You stopped to pull out a collection of Wordsworth, the spine thin and worn, easily falling open in your hand.

“Excuse me,” The voice interrupted you before you could finish reading the title of the first poem. It was oddly familiar. Your lashes fluttered in disbelief, “You dropped…” Steve’s voice died and he chuckled as you turned to him slowly, “You again.”

“Uh-huh,” You mumbled warily. It had been him on the street retreating into the suit shop. That would prove he had been in the area for more than an hour but why? He held no wares from his visit to the tailor’s. Another coincidence? Surely, you weren’t that special.

“As I was saying, you dropped this,” He held up the white pen you used with your tablet. It had likely slipped out as you knelt at the crates.

“Thanks,” You accepted it and tucked it snuggly in the side pocket.

“What’s that you got there?” He asked, nodding at the book in your hand.

“Nothing,” You closed it and placed it back on the shelf. “I was just wasting time.”

“Oh yeah?” He smiled, resting his hand on the shelf as he leaned on it casually. “I just kinda stumbled in. Saw this copy of Dante’s Inferno,” He held up the painted cover which depicted an eerie cave spiralling ever downward, “My mother used to keep a copy but I never read it. Thought maybe I could give it a try.”

“Cool,” You hugged the magazines to you chest. Something about him being there at that exact moment was off. The unease was stronger than it had been at the park; his spontaneous visit had been more believable then. You tried to smile. You were being dumb. And what were you even afraid of? He used to be an Avenger. He was good guy. “I was actually just about to head--”

A clap of thunder shrouded your next words. You looked past the bookshelves as the light rain you had failed to notice through the window began to pour down in sheets. Your distress must have been plain as your lips parted slightly.

“Do you need a ride?” He asked, shaking you from your despair. You looked back to him and tried to think of something. Anything.

“I’ll catch a cab,” You shrugged him off, trying to seem unperturbed. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Don’t waste your money. You can share my town car. He’s just outside. I’m sure you don’t live too far out of the way.” He smirked, his hand shifting along the shelf as he edged closer. You almost didn’t notice the subtle movement.

“Really, I can’t. You’ve already done enough. I really should, um, go.” You back away only to find the corner at your back.

“I won’t let you say no,” He asserted, “Come on. Just a car ride. That’s it. I mean, do you really wanna stand out in this and hail a cab?”

You stared up at him as you considered the invitation. Why were you so reluctant? He had done nothing to earn your distrust. If anything, he had only done you favours. But why? Oh, shut up brain, he wasn’t Mike. Or Danny. He actually seemed like a decent human being so why were you being so dumb?

“Okay,” You relented, “Sure. Why not.”

****

tags:  @ruff-m3rc @alexakeyloveloki @lanabanana-86 @sathlens @jessieray98 @kellyn1604 @ahideousthinginside @ironlady1993 @kloe-iel @grayxswan @iheartsebastianstan @myboyfriendgiriboy @tanelle83 @patzammit @phoenix21love @they-call-me-le @iheartsebastianstan

#happy together #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers #fic #steve rogers fic #au #series #mcu #marvel #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve #dark steve #dark steve rogers

[nekojitachan]

The Ghost in You ch3

Andrew POV scene (this is about halfway done, so maybe another week?)

very vague reference to Andrew’s past

*******

Knowing Josten’s preference for arriving early, Andrew reached the coffee house half before he’d told the man to meet him there, determined to arrive first for once. He ordered a large double mocha and a slice of chocolate cake then picked a table in the far back, away from the other customers with his back to the wall, and exchanged a few texts with Aaron and Nicky while he waited.

As expected, there had been some ‘excitement’ at work over… whatever the hell had happened in the one room with Dan and the new kid. The official story was faulty wiring and another nuclear meltdown on behalf of the kid, and if she was at anyplace other than Palmetto Services she’d probably be on her way out the door, doped to the gills as she was labeled too mentally unstable to go into foster care.

But she was at Palmetto Services, and it took more than sparking lights and flying chairs for them to abandon a kid in need. Dan was more determined than ever to reach her, and Andrew to figure out the truth behind one ‘Neil Josten’.

Especially since all the weird shit seemed to have started after Neil had arrived at Palmetto Services.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear – one Neil Josten walked through the door, dressed in worn, faded black jeans, running sneakers, and a large, navy blue peacoat which all but swallowed him up. He glanced around once he stepped inside the coffee shop, dark eyes darting about until he noticed Andrew in the back, then went to order something. While Andrew watched, he swore that some teenager too busy looking at his phone was shoved back a good two feet when he nearly walked into Neil’s back while he waited in line.

For someone who never was on his phone at work (that Andrew had seen) and refused to give out his number or personal information so his coworkers could message or contact him on various social media, Andrew was surprised when Josten used his phone to pay for his drink, then watched how he waited for the employee to set the drink down before he picked it up once it was ready. Hmm, did someone have a phobia? Andrew thought about all the times he’d seen Josten and couldn’t recall him willingly touching anyone.

Which made it interesting when someone tried to move their chair back from a table when Josten headed toward the back, where Andrew sat, only for that invisible… whatever around the young man to shove the woman back toward the table. Josten didn’t react, merely continued on his way and set his beverage down on the table then shrugged off his coat before he sat opposite of Andrew, appearing unconcerned at having his back to everyone.

“Minyard.”

Andrew pushed the empty plate aside and leaned back in his chair despite the slight twinge it provoked in his bruised ribs. “You have a thing for being early?”

“I was taught that it’s rude to be late,” Josten said as he wrapped his hands around his drink; he wore an overlarge dark grey sweatshirt with thumbhole sleeves, which only left the uppermost tips of his fingers exposed. “As is basically extorting them to talk to you.”

Andrew clicked his tongue together and fought the urge for a cigarette since the place was non-smoking. “Somehow I feel that’s a jab at me, but I distinctly remember us making a deal – a truth for a truth. So start talking.”

“Here. You want to talk here.” Neil’s fake brown eyes glanced around while his long, elegant fingers (well, the tips at least) tapped against the cup of what looked to be tea, judging from the printed label on it. “Brilliant.”

“Yes,” Andrew said as he switched to German. “Let’s begin with you telling me what the hell that thing was, yesterday, and don’t try to say that it’s bad wiring. I saw a chair hover in the air, and that’s not the first time weird shit has happened around the girl.”

Josten nibbled on his full bottom lip for a couple of seconds then shivered; Andrew sensed the air grow cold around them and the plate moved an inch before Josten shook his head. “It might be a bit difficult to believe.”

He didn’t seem surprised that Andrew knew German, but then again, Andrew was related to Nicky. It also spoke of Josten being highly adaptable, which was something that Andrew would have to remember for the future. “I’ve a very open mind.”

Josten scoffed at that as he brushed back the hair falling onto his face, which drew Andrew’s attention to the fact that his left cheek was swollen and red, as if he’d been smacked recently.

He hadn’t been injured when he left work yesterday.

“Open enough to believe in the supernatural?”

The question distracted Andrew from Neil’s face and made him think of the cross hanging heavy and warm around his neck before he opened his mouth and say that was ridiculous. Instead, he had a sip of his cooling coffee and remembered Renee telling him to take a ‘leap of faith’, remembered what had happened yesterday and the week before out in the parking lot. “So what is it? Superpowers or unnatural beings?” he asked instead.

It was quiet again while Josten’s gaze grew vacant for about a minute, then he shivered. “Yesterday… yesterday was what you’d call a poltergeist,” he explained as he stared at his drink as if afraid to look anywhere else.

“So a ghost.”

“No, not a ghost,” Neil snapped as he gazed at Andrew once more; for some reason Andrew took that as a victory of sorts. “Not exactly. That’s like saying a tiger is a housecat or a samurai sword is a utensil, it’s a grave misclassification.”

“And why is that?” Andrew asked, intrigued despite himself by… intrigued despite himself.

“Because… because a ghost can be harmless, can be an unfocused remnant. Not always, but sometimes, especially if their death was non-violent. Their powers also vary, it’s why you have some stories where all they do is appear now and then to people, or maybe you have things move around. Poltergeists?” Neil shivered again and paused to sip his tea. “They’re the basis of the more violent stories, of when people are hurt and things destroyed because they’re created out of violence and trauma. And if they’re attached to someone from their previous life? Then they’ll destroy whoever gets between them and that person or who they see as a threat to the person.”

Andrew wished he could have a cigarette while he thought about everything Josten had just said right then, and about what hadn’t been said. “This poltergeist is ‘attached’ to Amelia and protecting her.” Josten gave a slight nod. “It’s her brother, right? She keeps mentioning her brother’s name.”

“I believe so, which means that there’s a blood bond between them and makes it even more powerful.” Josten sighed before he had another sip of tea.

“How do you know all of this?” Andrew asked, then did some sighing of his own when Josten gave him a razor-sharp smile lacking in warmth.

“Ah-ah, I gave you quite the answer right there, so now it’s my turn.” Josten went to lay his left palm on the table but stopped the motion just short for some reason and wrapped his hand around the paper cup again. “You don’t seem to know anything about ghosts, yet something’s different about you this past week.” He studied Andrew for several seconds, his gaze intent, then let out a slight huff. “You’re wearing a ward, who gave it to you and why?”

Technically that was two questions, but Josten had been rather loquacious for once in regards to explaining about poltergeists so Andrew would let it go that time. Right then, he was curious as to how the young man had picked up on the necklace and why he was so interested in it… and hated how all his questions for Josten kept piling up. “A friend gave it to me.” When Josten regarded him with open disdain for that evasive answer, Andrew huffed. “You may have heard of Renee Walker, Reynolds’ girlfriend who’s off being a do-gooder right now. For some reason she felt that I needed a bit of faith and gave me the thing. I’d no idea that it’s a ward or whatever.” He moved slowly not only because of his ribs but to keep from spooking Neil. “What a coincidence that it’s kept something from slamming into me, ever since I put it on, hmm? My turn again. You have a poltergeist of your own or what?”

He kept his attention focused on Neil’s too-handsome face and noticed when the figurative walls went up, when those fake brown eyes hardened (was that a faint line of blue at the center?), the slight twitch to the sharp jawline – and how the table jumped a little.

“Not… not a poltergeist,” Neil admitted as if the words were forced out of him and the table thumped again. “But someone who watches over me.”

The admission surprised Andrew, who hadn’t thought that Neil would tell him the truth… but he supposed there wasn’t much else he could do, considering what had happened in the past couple of weeks. “What, you have your own Casper the not-so friendly ghost keeping you company? Who knocks people around when they get too close to you?” That was… that was insane, yet Andrew felt an odd sort of envy at the thought – what would his life had been like if he had something like that watching over him? What difference would it have made with Drake and the others? He felt a surge of bitterness for a couple of seconds before he forced the thought away, well aware that there was no changing the past.

Nei- Josten, dammit, gave a slight shrug as he once more took to staring at the cup of tea held between his hands, which he carefully removed the lid from the cup and set aside but didn’t sip from right away. “Says the man who came to a coffee shop armed with knives.” Josten glanced up again, and that time the darkness in his eyes wasn’t from the ugly contacts. “Your armbands are showing, and something tells me that they’re not a fashion statement, not with all the times I’ve caught you reaching for something on your forearms.” When Andrew went still at being called out like that, a hint of a smile hovered on Josten’s lips. “My choice of protection is just a bit more… unconventional and easier to get past metal detectors.”

So the man was observant, that was… yet another annoying thing to note down. There was also the fact that Josten could easily recognized armbands (and weapons hidden inside them) and needed a damn ghost to look after his ass, which only made him that much more intriguing. “And why would you need a ghost to look after you?”

The sharp smile made its return. “You already asked a question,” Josten reminded him.

“So I did.” Rare anger sparked inside of Andrew at being blocked like that and made him tap his fingers against the table while Josten sipped his black tea. “Well?”

Josten inclined his head a little and set the tea aside, then took to playing with the ends of his sleeves; he tugged them further over his fingers until they were all but hidden. “What do you plan to do now that you know about the poltergeist?”

Andrew clicked his tongue as he regretted not getting a second cup of mocha since it would help with the coldness surrounding the table. “Deal with it somehow.” He couldn’t risk it harming Bee again, or his brother and cousin let alone any of the children who came to Palmetto Services. “It’s too much of a danger.”

“Yes,” Josten agreed as his gaze grew unfocused for a couple of seconds. “As long as Amelia is there, it will lash out at anything it considers a threat to her, which will be most adults.” Then he stared at Andrew once more. “And me? What about me?”

Was someone worried about their own private Casper? “You seem to know an awful lot about this ghost stuff,” Andrew countered as he resisted the urge to tug on the cross which hung around his neck (as he mentally cursed out Renee for choosing such a bad time to go on sabbatical). “Do you know how to get rid of them?”

“And if I do?” Josten hedged, his expression perfectly blank.

What a shame, it seemed that despite their little game of ‘truth for truth’, Josten didn’t have much trust in Andrew. “You help me get rid of thing and keep your little Casper on a tighter leash, and I won’t say anything about your invisible friend.”

“You won’t say anything about me being involved in this or do anything about my ‘invisible friend’,” Josten countered as his eyes narrowed and the table ‘thumped’ again while there was a blast of cold air.

Andrew almost made a comment about Josten obviously being concerned about the kids if he was wasting time bartering like that… but he picked up on the tension in the young man’s shoulders and recalled how he’d been doing something in the room yesterday to fend off the poltergeist until Andrew had disrupted his concentration. Which implied that his concern was keeping Casper around as much as possible, along with the fact that he was involved in ghosts.

The first Andrew didn’t understand (well, other than people might not appreciate knowing that bad shit happened to them because of Josten’s ‘invisible friend’), but he supposed no one wanted to be known as the freak who saw dead people, or whatever. “Fine, it’s a deal,” he agreed.

He wouldn’t say anything… but Renee would be back soon enough, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t need to bring up Casper, not if she knew enough to give him the cross.

Josten regarded him with open suspicion for several seconds before he nodded. “I’m sure you’ll honor your word.” That was just a little amount of sarcasm there.

“Such a lack of trust,” Andrew chided, then clicked his tongue. “You’re the one who has Casper there try to shove a person’s ribs through their spine if they get to close yet I’m untrustworthy?”

“I told you that I was fine and you didn’t listen to me,” Josten argued. “But all right, let’s shake on it, okay?” he offered as he held out his right hand after he tugged his sleeve back enough to expose his fingers.

Andrew wasn’t big on touching people, but if it helped to speed things along…. He held out his hand and swore he felt some sort of tingle, almost like a pleasant pulse of warmth, when their skin touched; Josten’s fingers twitched against his and those false brown eyes grew vacant once again, the pupils shrunk to pinpoints (it was a ring of pale blue) before he drew in a deep, shuddering breath and pulled his hand free.

“All good now?” Andrew asked in English as Josten hastily tugged the sleeve back over his fingers.

“Yes.” The British accent was back in Josten’s voice as he wrapped his arms around his chest, as the cold grew stronger for a moment. “I think that’s enough for today.” The American accent slowly crept back into his voice, which made Andrew wonder which one was real since they both sounded authentic.

“Wait.” Andrew stood up but didn’t reach for Josten, mindful of what had happened the last time he’d done such a thing (even if he wore the cross). “What about the poltergeist?”

“I need to prepare a few things, it’s going to take a little time,” Josten said as he pushed away from the table without touching anything. He gave Andrew a curt nod as he grabbed his coat before he turned away, the cold leaving with him.

Andrew watched as some woman busy talking on her phone got pushed out of his way toward the door, which appeared to open right before he touched it, and couldn’t help but wonder just why one Neil Josten had such an attentive and over-protective ghost watching over him. Was it a deceased family member? The thought made him scoff, but perhaps. Or a childhood friend? A lover, perhaps? Josten certainly was attractive as hell, and Casper intent on keeping everyone away from the young man.

That possibility made Andrew frown as he stood in line for another mocha to help warm him up on his way home; was Josten haunted by a possessive, abusive lover? There’d been the swollen cheek that day and the scratch the previous week, not to mention how Josten kept to himself except for talking to Moreau.

Renee really needed to get her ass back to Columbia soon.

*******

#nekojitachan fic #ghost in you fic #andrew minyard #neil josten #neil sees ghosts #andrew's already falling

[otheroutlandertales]

Anonymous said:  What if Jamie had feelings for his best friend John, but was afraid to act on them in fear of messing everything up? What if his friend Claire encouraged him to make a move?

This will be a continuing story. Once we get the story established after a few chapters, feel free to send in some prompts for it.

In Orbit - Part 1

by @futurelounging

“Can I ask you a…-”

“...a…?”

“Whatsit called...right, a question.”

“Oh, aye. Answering questions from drunk Claire is my favorite game.”

Claire sloppily licked her lips and winked at Jamie, not her sexiest look. “Have you... ever been… in love?”

It should have felt easy and silly, like everything else between them. Instead his skin flushed and heated. Would diving under the table be acceptable? His cat, Adso, would retreat into the depths of Jamie’s closet, burrowing under his old university sweatshirts whenever he brought out the cat carrier, a sure signal that a trip to the vet was imminent. There was only an empty glass before him. No sweatshirts for burrowing. “Maybe?”

She shook her head slowly. “Your honor, I object. The defendant’s non-committal, evasive, and frankly, chickenshit answer is, I contend, wholly disingenuous. Sustained!” She downed the rest of her drink and locked eyes with him.

“Claire.” He meant it as a warning, but it sounded more like a plea as he said it, his voice cracking. God, he was a mess.

“I can see it, plain as day, Jamie.”

“I canna risk losing my best friend. I just…” His throat constricted. Every night for the last three months he’d been playing this out in his head. How had things changed? There was always an attraction, but neither was available when they first met so it was shelved, another of life’s mis-timings. Then the break-up three months ago sent everything into a tailspin. The desire he thought he’d left in the past came roaring back and he suddenly found himself nervous to be in the same room.

“Jamie, don’t you see? Don’t you know how amazing it is to fall in love with your best friend? Are you worried you might enjoy yourself too much? All that happiness just a little too perfect for the story you’ve written?”

“I’m terrified.”

“I know. I’m terrified every day.”

He reached his hand across the table and cupped her cheek, warm and a little sticky from an errant shot of whisky earlier in the night. She leaned into his hand and smiled. “It canna go on like this, I ken that,” he admitted solemnly.

“John looks at you the same way you look at him. Like you hung the moon. And you’re both spinning around, slipping in and out of each other’s orbits, wondering why you keep feeling that pull.”

The Glasgow evening had turned damp and still, a heavy fog clinging to the stones underfoot. Claire hung drowsily on Jamie’s arm as he deposited her on the steps of her flat. “Promise me ye’ll not throw up in yer sleep? Drink lots of water and take some Ibuprofen?”

“Yes, sweet worrying man. And you promise me you’ll go to John and trust him with your heart?”

“No promises, Sassenach.”

She sighed and kissed his cheek, mouthing “go” to him as she turned up the stairs.

Jamie spun on his heels and headed toward his place. The streetlights glowed in the mist and he imagined each one a little checkpoint as he passed. His heart grew lighter with each step and without realizing it, he found himself at the door to John’s building. Someone had wedged a rock in the interior door, as was often the case, so he slipped through and ascended the two floors.

He didn’t let himself hesitate at the door, knocking sharply three times. “Hey, I just really wanted to see ye… I was just thinking about us… I was wonderin’ if ye thought we might be more…” The lines played through his mind as he waited. And waited. He knocked again, quietly speaking against the door. “John, it’s Jamie.” The minutes ticked by and he felt his heart clench. His stomach rolled, nauseous with shame.

What are ye thinkin? He’s out wi’ someone. No’ waitin’ alone in his flat for ye to show up and sweep him off his feet like some goddamned movie.

The mist turned to rain during his walk home and he was shivering by the time he closed the door behind him. Adso arched and rubbed against his leg and quickly thought the better of it after feeling the water-soaked jeans. Jamie peeled his clothes off and threw on an old t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. And, just as he’d advised Claire, filled his water bottle and popped a few Ibuprofen to save him in the morning.

Jamie pushed an extra pillow under his head and settled in for the night. Adso took his usual spot, pressed against Jamie’s hip. He unlocked his phone and turned off the light and stared helplessly at the background of his homescreen. He and John, posing ridiculously atop a mountain. The phone fell from his grasp and he squeezed his eyes shut, trapping the tears. Why was this so hard?

Jamie had left his flat focused, at peace with the failure of the night before. He had too much work to do in any case. Two new conservation project kickoff meetings in one day would eat up any free time.

It had been a decidedly terrible idea to let Claire talk him into drinks last night. She had a way of cajoling him into imbibing excessively on work nights. Perhaps if she didn’t have such a ridiculous schedule at the hospital, he wouldn’t feel compelled to take her up on her every request.

He passed the day with three coffees (one too many), twisting back and forth in conference room chairs, a laptop with a flickering screen that drove him mad, and a panicked coworker who had somehow lost a substantial donation check for their general fund.

By mid-afternoon his eyelids began to droop, and his thoughts turned inward. He hadn’t texted John. Hadn’t heard from him either, which was a bit unusual. They rarely went a day without a few obnoxious texts. John sent teasing barbs. Jamie sent awkward selfies. He didn’t have it in him to manage a selfie today.

His thumb hovered over the phone’s keyboard for a moment, uncertain of what to say.

Sleeping one off today?

Three dots immediately appeared on the screen, but no response arrived. Two minutes passed, and Jamie began to feel uneasy. He’d try once more. Suddenly his phone screen lit up with John’s contact avatar.

Christ, a phone call. That’s not good.

“John, hey.”

Silence greeted him, interrupted by John’s shaky breath.

“John, are ye okay?”

John cleared his throat and answered, “I’m, uh, I’m at the hospital in Sheffield. My…”

Jamie’s body tensed as John’s voice broke. “What happened, John?”

“My father, uh he, he was on the M1 and I don’t really know what happened. He didn’t… didn’t make it, so I’m here. But he didn’t make it, Jamie.”

Tears stung Jamie’s eyes as he heard his friend’s voice shatter. He’d lost his own father during his first year of college, and had hidden away from everyone, unable to face that kind of misery. He had slowly worked through it, eventually confiding in Claire, solidifying their friendship into something stronger than usual. 

The pain John was feeling echoed in his own chest and he choked on his words. “God, John. I’m so sorry. I’ll come down tonight if ye’d like. I want to. Can I bring ye anything?”

John took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I need my suit for the funeral if you wouldn’t mind. I’ll be at my par-... at my mother’s house.”

Jamie drifted through John’s apartment, surprising himself with just how well he knew where everything would be. He zipped John’s suit into the bag with his own, chest to back. He texted his friend Rupert with instructions for Adso and sent another quick one to Claire, though she was likely just starting her shift.

The train lulled him to sleep, pressing dreams behind his eyes. John hiked ahead of him, playfully jumping over small rocks and standing atop small boulders triumphantly. But any time Jamie neared him, he leapt ahead, just out of a reach.

John’s mother, Benedicta, met him at the door, watching for him in the tall front windows. It was late, and the streets were still. Her face was slack, weary from tears. “It’s so good of you to come, Jamie. You’re a very dear friend to John.”

Her frame was so thin and weak in his arms; he felt as if he was holding her up. “I am so sorry.”

She gathered herself, ever regal, and motioned for him to join John upstairs.

The guest room door was ajar, and he could see John through the opening, slumped forward on the bed, staring at the Persian rug under his bare feet, the lamplight shadowing his face. His head tilted up slightly at Jamie’s appearance, and he took him in slowly, pulling his mind from the dark recesses.

“Jamie. You’re here.”

“John.”

Jamie dropped the bags inside the door and stood before John, his hand extended for him to take hold should he wish. John reached out and wrapped his fingers around Jamie’s and pulled himself up. He made no move, but Jamie pulled him against his chest and held him. Slowly John’s arms moved up his back, grasping the fabric of Jamie’s shirt around his shoulders. He then quietly fell apart.

In the morning they woke in a cloud of each other’s warmth, chest to back, Jamie’s hand cradled against John’s heart. Slowly John turned to his back and glanced over at Jamie’s sleepy face, a crooked smile pushed against the pillow, his hair standing on end. “Thank you.”

They drifted quietly through the house that day, John arranging flowers people delivered, Jamie cooking meals for no one, John stopping short of his mother’s bedroom so as not to see his father’s slippers peeking out from the edge of the bed.

Benedicta held her emotions tightly against her chest, quivering under the surface, but never falling apart. “We need to get one of your father’s suits for the service. He needs a suit.”

Jamie rose from the table and held his hand to John’s shoulder to still him. “I’ll get it.”

John’s older brother Hal, spoke solemnly and reverently at the funeral, and John followed suit, his voice steady. He’d turned the words into symbols, turned their meaning to dust and brushed it into a bin. This moment was not for him or his sorrow. It was his father’s moment and he’d have hated it. There was no right way to have a funeral.

Jamie’s eyes held him carefully, John’s body an eggshell with hairline cracks. The tiniest pressure would drain him.

Before they left, John’s mother gave him his father’s pocket watch and his palm gripped it until it left grooves in his skin.

They spoke of Jamie’s new projects on the train ride home. They counted bird species and bought candy bars they’d not had since they were children. They found a newspaper with an unfinished crossword puzzle and pressed their temples together as they completed it. They spoke into each other’s ears of transportation funding and whether or not they could achieve a home-cooked curry to rival their favorite curry house (doubtful). When they neared the city and the words slowed to intermittent observations, John’s hand found Jamie’s and their warm palms pressed another truth between them.

It is not always the urgent demands of romantic pursuit that pull two souls into one orbit. Sometimes it is the broken cries of grief or the heart’s anxious whispers looking for a sympathetic soul to share the simplest of life’s moments. They had circled around one another for so long, memorizing one another's quirks and foibles, preferences and proclivities. When it was time to finally turn together, toward one another sharing the same trajectory, Jamie and John felt as though they'd finally found the path toward home.

Continue to Part 2

#outlander fanfiction #otheroutlandertales #mod fulo #pair: jamie x john #ch: jamie #ch: john #ch: claire #modern au #category: mm #queerlander #in orbit #oot #*

[beca-mitchell]

like a stranger to impress

summary: Beca meets Chloe’s parents, formally. Well, as formal as possible, all things considered. Pre-PP3.

Angst-o-meter: high. You’ve been warned.

Song lyrics are from “Cain” by EXES.

word count: 2986

chapters: 1/1

Beca has never quite perfected her handshake. She spent more time in her youth fixated on her laptop and the way her fingers could fly across her keys in order to create music. She could feel the ebbs of anger and pain leave her body - even if it was temporary - with every measure and downbeat.

Growing up, Beca wants to avoid pain as much as she can, but it’s only because she recognizes that pain is only ever followed by the harsh reality and consequence of her own actions.

It’s why the pain she feels when her father leaves is so jarring because all she thinks is that she did something completely unforgivable. Something so heinous that the idea of unconditional love no longer exists in her world.

So, she never quite perfects her handshake because there aren’t many people that she needs to interact with closely anyway. She’s content with just her music, her laptop, and herself. And even then, she’s not sure that this particular trifecta is one hundred percent reliable.

In the room that we were almost lovers

Chloe jokes about Beca meeting her parents occasionally. It happens on and off while they’re at Barden - though Chloe mentions it more generally to their group at large. She mentions that her parents would love to house some Bellas for the summers if they’d like to travel to Portland with her. 

They never take her up on it and Chloe always goes home for a few weeks during the summer. Beca recalls that she tried not to miss her too much, which proved difficult as the years trickled on.

Closer to present time, Beca can isolate pockets of time where they’re lying in their shared Brooklyn bed - the bed they picked out together - and Chloe will tease Beca about getting handsy. In Beca’s defense, she had only been cuddling into Chloe for warmth.

“I mean,” Chloe drawls on those evenings and mornings, “there are rules about this kind of stuff, you know?”

Beca huffs, but the smell of Chloe’s perfume and the heady fabric softener maker her less prickly. “And what rules are those?”

“Should I bring you home to meet my parents? We’re moving pretty fast here.”

(Beca, since third year, has remembered to send Chloe’s parents a quick message, detailing that she’d love to meet them one day. They always send a huge box of snacks and non-perishable foods to the Bella house under Chloe’s direction. Beca is grateful.

For the snacks.

And Chloe, of course.)

To quip back, Beca musters up a quick pass of her lizard-cold feet against Chloe’s shins and grins a little at the yelp. It’s not her fault the heating is on the fritz again and Chloe’s all Beca has.

It’s pretty permanent, this feeling. Chloe is Beca’s everything for about six and a half years.

I could feel, I could feel you there

Beca has always loved Chloe in some capacity. It’s nothing new, the loving part. It’s easy to love Chloe. Beca figures anybody could make the same assessment. Even Lilly would probably raise her voice to tell somebody how much she adores Chloe.

The slow transition from loving Chloe to additionally being in love with Chloe built up over time - perhaps too long of a time period. Beca welcomes it tentatively because those first ebbs of love kind of sneak up on her one day.

It’s seeing Chloe in their tiny kitchen, somehow wide awake at 7:30 a.m. and she’s already singing. Alternating between singing and humming and making sure the pancakes she’s churning out are evenly sized.

On that particular Saturday morning, Beca forgets why she doesn’t normally wake up early on weekends because seeing Chloe engulfed in sunshine and radiance is somehow the only thing she ever wants to see on every Saturday from then onwards.

So, loving Chloe is easy, even if Aubrey would probably point out that Beca resisted it so heavily the first time she met Chloe.

Conversely, Beca thinks that being in love with Chloe is her personal hell. 

She tries not to think about the way Chloe’s hands flail when she’s excited. She tries not to think about the ridiculous short pyjama shorts Chloe wears to bed and the equally appealing button-up top she wears.

Beca tries to quell the unmistakable pride and sheer love she feels when Chloe dons her scrubs for a day at work. Or when Chloe hums while she prepares for her weekend volunteering at the soup kitchen. 

Beca pretends that nothing has changed even though every passing day is just another missed opportunity, and another day that Beca tortures herself with dreams and ideal scenarios that she never brings to fruition because she’s scared that she might lose Chloe.

Despite it all, Beca will never complain aloud about being in love with Chloe. She lets Fat Amy rib her for letting her gaze linger. She lets Aubrey snort and cackle when she calls asking what Chloe’s favourite soup to drink is when she’s sick. She lets Chloe stare at her curiously when Beca pecks her on the cheek on the way out of the apartment. She lets Chloe stare at her contemplatively.

But neither of them crack, which is reflective of their entire time at Barden, Beca supposes.

Loving Chloe is easy. Being in love with Chloe is even easier.

Being in love with Chloe is the hardest thing she’s ever done.

“I somehow think my parents would love teasing you,” Chloe tells her through a mouthful of chips. Beca does her best not to stare at the crumbs adorning Chloe’s face and fingers. Beca does her best not to point out that the only person with something worth teasing at the moment would be Chloe and her messy, childlike way of eating.

“Really?” Beca says instead. 

“Yes.” Chloe nods confidently. “You’re so...Beca.”

Beca loves these particular interactions. She selfishly hoards them and exaggerates her prickliness during these moments because Chloe’s eyes light up when she’s teasing Beca. She loves the way Chloe’s eyes catch whatever light passes through the room. She loves the way Chloe’s eyes are unforgivingly vibrant.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Beca mutters, turning back to her laptop. She’s been inspired recently by songs about being in love and songs about love in general.

Chloe laughs and brushes off her crumbs into the sink. She then wanders over to Beca and props her chin on top of her head, peaking over at her screen. “What are you working on?” she asks quietly.

“Just...something,” Beca answers evasively. “Some songs I heard on my Spotify recommendations.”

Chloe’s fingers dig into her shoulders before her arms drape over them lazily. “Anything good?” Chloe asks, genuinely curious and genuinely eager.

Beca huffs and tries to ignore the way her own heart pounds as she reaches up to touch Chloe’s hand. “I’ll forward them to you,” she promises, making a mental note of the playlist she’s going to send Chloe that night.

She’ll try not to be too obvious about her song selections.

Chloe hasn’t opened the email.

I could feel...

It’s dumb, really. Beca stares at her shaking hands because she’s about to meet Chloe’s parents for the first time. 

She can almost hear Chloe’s voice right in her ear, reminding her that it’s her mother with the strong handshake and her father who’s the hugger. Then she sees in her mind a wink that kind of suggests she’s lying and is just setting Beca up for failure.

She fumbles with the snap on her purse, letting it fall back against her thigh uselessly. She resists calling Chloe’s phone again just to hear her voicemail message.

(”Hi! This is Chloe Beale and not Beca or Amy if you were around to hear my last voicemail message. If you’re hearing this, well I succeeded in changing my voicemail and you’ve just missed me! But don’t worry, I’ll call you back as soon as I can. We both win.”

Beca stares blankly at Chloe when she lowers the phone from her ear. “That’s ridiculous. Nobody is going to listen to that all the way through.”

Chloe grins. “But it’s cute, right? You think it’s cute. I can tell.”

Beca doesn’t lie to Chloe. She can’t. She grins back. “Yeah, it’s adorable.”)

Looking up, she contemplates which seat to take. Would it be presumptuous to sit beside either of Chloe’s parents? She’s not sure what protocol is, especially not when - 

There isn’t even an opportunity for a hospital visit. There isn’t room for the dramatics of a long period in a waiting room, anxiously awaiting news.

There’s just…nothing. A house visit from a police officer notifying her that Chloe is goneand that the bag he’s holding contains her personal belongings.

Nothing.

Beca numbly recalls making it to the trashcan in their kitchen, but she thinks that there wasn’t even anything to throw up. There’s nothing left in her.

It feels like someone's taken a wrecking ball to Beca's chest. It hurts—physically hurts—when she empties the bag. Chloe’s things tumble out onto the table. A bracelet, her phone, her favourite thumb ring, her wallet, and identification pass for the clinic.

Beca feels like she’s been split in half. Beca feels like she’s been torn apart because Chloe has been as well.

There’s nothing. Not even the reassurance of a heartrate monitor or tearful confessions to Chloe’s lifeless body. Beca doesn’t get to hear the beeping of Chloe’s heart and she doesn’t get to think of it as the most beautiful sound she has ever heard.

She hears nothing.

She listens to music for the way the beats match up. She listens for potential.

But she can pinpoint the first time she heard music and felt it reverberate through her soul. Settling somewhere in her heart, she remembers the way she felt something akin to pain when Chloe sang to her for the first time.

Something akin to pain, and yet...

She feels light whenever she hears Chloe’s voice. Heard.

Had heard.

The first and last time she heard anything worth remembering was Chloe’s voice, like a soothing lullaby.

“Beca,” Aubrey’s voice sounds in her ear. 

“I...yeah,” she mutters. She looks up and realizes she’s been standing just off to the side from the seats set up. Portland is quite beautiful, Beca thinks. Living in Seattle, she never quite managed to take the trip down with her parents. 

(”Thinking of going back home for the summer before New York?” Beca asks.

“Hm, maybe,” Chloe says lightly. There’s something in her eyes as she watches Beca contemplatively. “Depends. What are your plans?”

“Just trying to figure some stuff out,” Beca manages to say, meeting Chloe’s eyes.

Chloe takes a breath at that and when she exhales, a smile sneaks onto her face. “Same, honestly.”)

She never quite managed to take the trip with Chloe.

Somewhere in her mind, Beca has pockets of scenarios where she meets Chloe’s parents for the first time. They usually all involve her and Chloe living and working in Los Angeles or somewhere else in California. These now-alternate timelines see Beca finally shaking Chloe’s parents’ hands with confidence and assuring them Chloe is being taken care of. That Chloe is happy. That Chloe will always be happy onwards.

Instead, she sees the black and white story laid out in front of her (it’s difficult to see in colour these days because light was so harshly ripped from her life): Chloe’s parents huddled in the front row, looking despondent and engulfed in despair. 

None of this is how Beca envisions seeing them for the first time, let alone meeting them.

“Do you want to say anything to them?” Aubrey asks quietly.

“I...I don’t know,” Beca whispers. “I think so, but I don’t know if...”

“You know Chloe would want you to.”

It’s probably the first time Aubrey has said Chloe’s name aloud since she learned of the accident. 

All Beca sees when she closes her eyes is a medley of blood-streaked skin, crushed metal, and the flashing of the ambulance, police car, and fire truck – all of which meant nothing then and mean nothing now.

It’s what she imagines, anyway, because she hadn’t been there.

She wasn’t there at exactly 4:35 p.m. on a sunny Tuesday in June. She hadn’t been at the Canal Street and Allen Street intersection.

She hadn’t been there.

She wonders briefly – only briefly because it makes her chest cave in if she lingers on the thought - if Chloe was conscious at all during or after the accident. The pain she imagines manifests in a physical, visceral reaction in Beca whenever she thinks about it. However, it’s all she has left. She absorbs it because it’s the only way she can feel anything anymore.

Selfishly – it’s only selfish because it brings her some peace, just the possibility – but –

She wonders if Chloe thought of her.

Beca doesn't sleep anymore.

Sitting on uncomfortable plastic seats, somehow being corralled into sitting next to Chloe’s mother, Beca listens to the minister reflect on the meaning of life, on the beauty of an individual person, and how short life really is. Despite it all being quite beautiful, Beca cries, mostly in shame, guilt, and anger. The feelings are not quite reflective of reality, but she cries because all she feels then is pain and it overwhelms her. It settles somewhere deep in her chest and spreads through her veins like poison.

She cries quietly and tries not to think of everything that he’s missing out on. He doesn’t talk about the way Chloe cared about everybody and everything, even apologizing to inanimate objects. She cries because he doesn’t talk about how Chloe hugged people like it would be the last time she ever saw them. He doesn’t talk about what it meant, being in love with Chloe Beale and realizing that she’d never get the opportunity to tell her because she let every single opportunity pass by.

She cries and tries to hide it because it feels embarrassing on some level, to cry in front of Chloe’s parents and everybody who has ever cared about Chloe in some capacity.

It’s stupid, she thinks, because Chloe would brush her tears aside - just once - and probably tell her that it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel pain. It’s okay to feel and -

Chloe’s mother gently places a hand on her forearm. Beca jolts, looking up in concern, but Chloe’s mother isn’t looking at her. She has the same devastated expression on her face, but she looks forward, determined. Her hand curls around Beca’s forearm before she’s sliding her hand down to hold her hand.

Pain explodes in Beca’s chest, then.

Beca considers hand-holding as an extremely intimate form of expressing oneself.

She has held hands with only five people in her life.

Her mother, father, Jesse, Chloe.

And now, Chloe’s mother.

On this particular Saturday afternoon, the sun shines brightly and the skies are clear. There’s a gentle glow around.

On this particular Saturday, Beca stands in front of Chloe’s parents and tries to look them in the eye.

“You’re Beca, right?” Chloe’s father, Scott, asks.

“Yeah. Yes,” she corrects, blushing. It feels trivial, exchanging names when her world has ended.

“She talked about you a lot, did you know that?” Chloe’s mother, Grace adds.

“That’s...” Beca nods, swallowing. “I’m...I’m sorry, I’m not sure h-how to-” And she breaks again, gesturing with her hands like she’s not sure if she should formally shake their hands.

Instead, they make the decision for her and engulf her in a hug. It’s a warm hug, filled with love. It’s not painful, not quite.

Beca sobs, feels an answering quiver from the shoulder she’s pressed against. Confessions spill from her lips then:

“I never told her. I should have told her. I was going to, I swear. I loved her, so much.”

Pulling back, Scott places a hand on Grace’s shoulder while Grace holds Beca firmly at arms length. “I know,” she says quietly with strength. “I know.”

“You know?” Beca parrots. The sun’s setting, casting a beautiful orange, pink glow now. “You-you-”

“Chloe knew. Or at least, on some level, she did. I promise,” Grace whispers. “Thank you for making her the happiest I have ever seen her.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Beca whimpers. Because she didn’t. She was too scared, too slow.

“You did everything. I promise.”

The pain her veins slows a little. Her heart seems to slowly piece itself back together. She doesn’t doubt the honesty in the eyes in front of her - Chloe’s eyes. 

“Take care of yourself, Beca.”

And they turn – father and mother, husband and wife – away, out of Beca’s life for the first time and the last time. Beca feels her resolve slipping with every step, the resolve she holds on to so desperately every day that passes where she lives in a world without Chloe Beale. Every step that Chloe’s parents take, they carry a piece of Beca with them, so she is helpless and remiss to do anything else but watch them walk away with finality. It’s like watching her past and reality finally merge and everything leaves her at once. She doesn’t bother stumbling into a chair, instead chooses to lean heavily against the closest tree.

Heavy, heavy, heavy...

The woman and her parents are gone. Gone. Gone.

And Beca remains.

Twisting slightly, she can see the freshly placed dirt and the scattered flowers. There isn’t even a tombstone yet – nothing for Beca to trace physically with her fingers. Nothing physical for her to use as an anchor. She supposes waiting five to six months won’t even matter because the only thing that ever mattered is buried under layers of dirt.

Chloe’s gone.

Beca doesn’t plan on returning.

I...

...could feel you.

posted on ao3 as well.

#bechloe #mine #beca mitchell #chloe beale #angst #sorry #fanfiction #my fanfic #pitch perfect #pp3 #pre-pp3 #anna kendrick #brittany snow #like a stranger to impress #bechloe fanfiction

[raptorginger]

Chemistry & Conservation: Chapter 8 - Forgeries, or Our Lies Become the Stories We Tell

Rey avoided the Chemistry Office for the next few weeks.  Although she told herself she wasn’t avoiding it.  After all, she had a lot of work to do on the collection donated by Magister Hugo Snoke, one of the few remaining members of the ancient noble House of Plagueis.  Although nobility didn’t matter so much these days, Magister Snoke was a major donor to the University.  Rey didn’t care too much for Snoke’s politics and meddling in the University affairs, but the Special Collections department wanted to put on a exhibit about the history of House Plagueis using the materials and much of it needed cleaning and stabilization before that could happen.  Despite her personal misgivings- Snoke’s interfering didn’t affect her too much after all- Rey threw herself into the job, working long hours and worrying her friends and Mrs. Lao.  

Finn and Poe had come over to her brownstone one weekend bearing blueberry muffins and the artisanal coffee Rey loved from Intelligentsia, trying to coax her into talking about what was wrong, but Rey refused to talk about anything other than work.  They both had left in exasperation, grumbling on the way out.  Rose sent her numerous texts, trying to pry information out of her, but Rey only offered non-committal and evasive answers.  Mrs. Lao simply tutted and tisked and tried to make sure Rey ate and slept enough.

The week before the semester was to begin, Rey was hunched over her desk in the Lab, examining what was probably one of the most important items in the collection.  It was the charter granting the House of Plagueis the rights of a noble house, dated 984.  Many such noble houses had these charters, issued by old kings before The Fall of 1189.  Several were fakes, actually forged centuries after The Fall in the eighteenth century by enterprising merchant families with new money wanting to claim a connection to ancient bloodlines.  Many documents had been destroyed during the violent event, and the legitimacy of such charters was hard to prove outside careful examination by scholars and carbon dating.  Several so called noble families had suffered mild social embarrassment when it came out that they were not in fact descended from an ancient bloodline predating The Fall, but rather from a merchant family.  Centuries had passed since then, so no one took it very seriously, but it was often a source for gentle teasing amongst the upper classes nowadays.

No one doubted the legitimacy of House Plagueis.  Controversial and feared in the past, the House nevertheless commanded respect and admiration from society’s upper crust.  Their numbers had dwindled to only a few remaining descendents, Magister Hugo Snoke among them.  

Rey was wondering where to start with the charter when she heard the intern, Kayleah Connix talking to someone.  Rey paid it no mind and grabbed some vinyl eraser shavings to start cleaning a corner of the vellum document when she saw Kayleah come up beside her.

“What is it, Connix?” Rey asked distracted.  She was usually friendly with Connix, but she really didn’t want to be bothered right now.

“Umm, there’s someone to see you,” Kayleah replied quietly.

Rey looked up.  “Why are you whispering?” she asked jokingly, voice matching Kayleah’s whisper.

“I don’t know.  The guy makes me nervous,” Kayleah replied, still whispering.

Rey raised an eyebrow.  “Why did you let some creep in the lab?”

Kayleah’s eyes widened.  “Oh he’s not a creep! He’s just really tall.  And...intense.”

Rey’s stomach could have auditioned for Cirque du Soleil at Kayleah’s comment.  

“Will you talk to him?” Kayleah asked, her head tilted.  Rey’s face must have gone pale.

Rey could only manage a nod.  Kayleah turned and called the visitor over, then left for her desk.  Part of Rey really wished Connix had stayed.  She did not want to see him.  She couldn’t lie to herself annymore; she’d been avoiding him, not that she’d tell him that.  She turned her attention to the document in front of her, hands in her lap.  She focused on differentiating the letters in front her.  Dum in dei nomine…

“Rey.”       

She closed her eyes.  His voice shot straight through her, down to her core.  She took a deep breath.

“Ren, I don’t want to talk about this,” she said angrily, finally looking at him.  Big mistake.  His eyes were filled with a gentle warmth that made her insides feel all twisty.  “Plus, I’m busy.”

Ren didn’t look upset, rather he looked mildly concerned.  Gently, he said, “I know.  I came to apologize.  I wanted to earlier, but you haven’t been around the office for awhile.”  He gave a one shouldered shrug, “I figured I’d try you here.”

Rey leaned back, crossing her arms protectively in front of her, looking at him, waiting for him to speak his peace.

Ren sighed, “You made it clear what you wanted, and I should have respected that.  I’m hoping we can be friends, or at least people that speak to each other once and awhile.  I don’t want to lose you, Rey.  I’m sorry.”

Rey uncrossed her arms, hands returning to rest in her lap.  “Thank you,” she said softly. Her gaze dropping.  “I’d like to be friends too.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop avoiding me then?” Ren asked teasingly.

Her eyes shot back up to him.  “I wasn’t avoiding you.  I’ve been busy here,” she replied defensively.

“Doing what?” Ren asked, playing along, looking interestedly at the document in front of her.

“Working on the collection Magister Snoke donated.  Spec wants to exhibit it, and it needs work.”

“What is this?” Ren pointed to the charter on her desk.

“That is the original charter granting House Plagueis the rights of a noble house in 984,” she replied, somewhat proudly.

“Seriously?!”

“Yup.  I’m surface cleaning a couple spots, then I’ll work on stabilizing the seal.”  A large red wax seal hung from the end of the document.  The ribbon attaching it was in rough shape.

“Can I watch?”

“If you stay out of my way and keep quiet.”

Ren crossed his heart.  “I swear.”

“Fine, you can stay.”  Rey turned back to the document, gently rubbing the eraser shavings over a spot of dirt in the corner.

Ren pulled up an empty chair, folding his large form into it, leaning forward to get a better look.  “What are you doing right now?” he asked quietly.

“Doing a minor surface cleaning using vinyl eraser shavings,” Rey replied, brushing away the soiled shavings with a soft brush.

“What’s that?” Ren asked, pointing.

“What’s what?” Rey replied, looking at him quizzically.

“That.  By the third line.  It looks like scratches.”

Rey looked closely, bringing her overhead light closer and angling it.  There were indeed a few faint scratches by the third line.

“Hmm.  Probably from when whoever scribed this cleaned the vellum.  Vellum was pricey, and oftentimes scribes would use a piece that already had writing on it that wasn’t considered important or worth keeping.  They’d wash the writing off, then scrape it clean.”

“Really?  Is there anyway to know what was there before?”

“Probably not in this case.  Sometimes UV light or other special lighting can be used, but this looks like a pretty thorough job.”

Rey stopped suddenly.  Something in the third line was bothering her.  Early Medieval script was difficult to read.  Punctuation and spacing didn’t exist, and that leant itself to some fairly consistent lettering.  There was a flaw in the middle on the line of text.  An extra line beside a letter that didn’t belong there.  She grabbed her magnifying glass and looked closely at the spot.  She was right, a mistake had been made.  That wasn’t uncommon, but this particular mistake changed the meaning of the word.  She frowned.

“What is it,” Ren asked.

“I’m not sure.  There’s a mistake in the third line.  Like the scribe wrote the wrong letter, tried to fix it, then wrote over it.  I see that a lot, but this letter changes the meaning of the word.  That’s not something you see often.”

“What’s the word mean?”

“One way means ‘Grant.’ The other means ‘Rescind.’”

“How can you even tell what it’s supposed to be?  Everything’s squished together.”

Rey laughed, looking over at him.  “I studied Paleography and Codicology as part of my Medieval Studies master’s program.  You get used to it.”

“Let me get this straight, you have a doctorate and a master’s?  How old are you?”

Rey laughed again.  “Twenty-six.  And I have two master’s”

At Ren’s expression, Rey held up a hand.  “Long story.  Short version, I tested out, got to start college early under a special program.”

Rey sat back, studying the document again.  This was by no means her area of expertise, but the letter change made her uneasy.  The rest of the document looked normal for what it was.  Rey looked closely at the seal.  It wasn’t in the best shape, but she’d seen worse.  It was the royal seal of King Raholf, a relatively well known king who had been killed by a small group of his nobles.  They had destroyed a great deal of material related to him, seals, cartularies, artifacts, trying to erase him, but it hadn’t worked.  The people had loved King Raholf and took revenge on the nobles.  They had tried to claim they were acting under orders, but the people wouldn’t have it.

Something wasn’t right.  She grabbed her magnifying glass again.  King Raholf’s seal always portrayed the king seated on a throne, scepter in one hand, orb in the other, with a canine rampant beside him.  Many scholars considered the canine an odd choice, but Rey always found it charming.  Other kings always had a boar or a stag or some other fearsome impressive creature, but Raholf had chosen a dog.  There was a canine, but it didn’t look right to Rey.  It was too big and the face was deformed.  Originally she had attributed it to age and wear, but under the magnifying glass, she saw something that made her doubt.  She gasped.

“What is it now?” Ren asked, pressing forward.

Rey sat back, stunned.  “Ren, I...I think this seal has been tampered with.  There’s evidence of tool marks.  Like someone melted the wax and reshaped it to look like the canine rampant on King Raholf’s seal.”

Rey looked at Ren, her eyes wide.  “Ren, I think this is a forgery.”

Ren whistled low.  He was no history scholar, but he knew the reputation of House Plagueis.  “Rey, do you know what you’re saying?”

Rey looked dumbstruck.  “Connix!” she called.

Kayleah came over, looking curiously at Ren, wondering why he was still there.  “Yeah?”

“Get Doctor Skywalker on the phone,” Rey said urgently.  “He needs to see this.”

Kayleah’s eyes widened.  She knew Doctor Luke Skywalker’s specialty was medieval forgeries.  “Seriously?”

“Way seriously,” Rey replied.

Kayleah ran to their boss’ office.

Rey looked to Ren.  He had an odd look on his face, like he’d eaten something sour.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, confused.

“You wouldn’t be referring to Luke Skywalker, would you?”  he asked, his voice dangerously low.

“Yeah, he knows more about forgeries than anyone else on campus.  I can’t take samples of the vellum, ink, and wax for chemical dating until my boss gets back from vacation and gives me permission.  Besides, he can tell me if I’m wasting my time or not,” Rey replied.  “What’s it to you?”

“He’s my uncle.  We umm...haven’t seen each other in awhile.”

Rey reacted with surprise.  Luke was a gruff elderly professor, but he had always treated her with respect. She imagined having him as an uncle probably wasn’t easy though.

“Long story,” Ren said, using her line from earlier to avoid a deeper explanation.

Rey frowned, but let it pass.  Kayleah poked her head out of the office, saying “Doctor Skywalker said he’d be down tomorrow.  He’s on the Council today.”

Rey sighed but nodded.  “Okay.”

“Hey, you should go eat something.  It’s past lunchtime and all you’ve had today was coffee,” Kayleah admonished.

“What are you, my landlady?” Rey asked grouchily.

“No, but she did text me to remind you to eat.”  

Rey grumbled and groused as she got up.  She regretted giving Mrs. Lao Connix’s number.  It was supposed to be for emergencies only.  Her back was stiff, and she rubbed it, trying to ease her tense muscles.  

“You need your back cracked?” Ren asked.

Rey turned and found him standing behind her.  “Umm…” was all she could get out.

“Here.  Stand still and cross your arms over your chest.”

Rey blushed but did as he said.  He came up fully behind her, placing one foot beside each of hers.  Bending to get his arms across her, he grabbed her elbows and lifted her up off the floor, holding her to him as he straightened to his full height.  As he raised her, Rey felt what she was pretty sure every single one of her vertebrae crack back into place.  A hiss escaped from between her teeth as he set her down.

“Better?”  Ren asked, smiling.  

“Actually, yeah,” Rey said surprised.  “Thanks.”

“Well, I better go.  You need to eat,” Ren said, shuffling his feet.  

“Yeah,” Rey said awkwardly.  Her mind went blank.  Did friends get lunch together?  She was fairly certain they did.

Kayleah called out, “Rey you didn’t bring lunch today!  You’ll have to go grab something!  Hey, Stranger, make sure Rey gets something to eat or her landlady will kill me.”

Ren coughed into his hand, stifling a laugh as Rey turned and glared at Kayleah.  Kayleah returned her glare with a sweet smile and a wink.

“Come on,” Ren said, laughing, reaching for Rey’s elbow.  “We better feed you so Miss Connix doesn’t end up dead.”

Rey looked over her shoulder at Kayleah, mouthing the words I am going to kill you.

Kayleah smirked and mouthed back What?  He digs you.  You’re welcome.

Rey rolled her eyes and walked out with Ren into the bright sunshine.

#reylo #reylo fanfic #fanfiction #modern au #reylo modern au #university au #professor/professor #fluff #smut #rey #ben solo #rey x ben #multipart #chem & con #the secret's in the telling

[nahmooste]

I Want To Let You Down

pairing: Tetsuya Naito/Female OC warnings: as usual there’s physical altercations, swearing, and my favourite thing in the world; tension. there’s also a second part coming w/ smut. a/n: i’ve been struggling to write this one for about a week now? but i finally like the finished product with the help of this song (definitely where the title came from). this is also the same FOC from this request, bc you know i can’t leave my boy Naito hanging like that.  tags: @wrestlingismyfavourite @devittsbalor @fireangel1978 @laziestgirlintheworld (let me know if you want to be tagged!)

All things considering, Sam isn’t surprised that things have turned out the way they have. She’s pushed and pushed and pushed and then he shoved back and now— now she’s here, and he’s there, and there’s nothing she can do about it. Nothing, because he’s always been a pushover when it’s come to her and she’s always been too much for the both of them.

Fuck, she’s even accused him of cheating. She knows that he would never, and yet she still lets it sit between them like it’s some kind of weapon.

Maybe it’s what she gets for being so Goddamn overbearing. The constant texts, the constant phone calls, fuck, the more she thinks about it, the more she deserves to be on the receiving end of a restraining order.

So, she turns away from it all. Every time she thinks of texting him, she snaps a rubber band down on the underside of her wrist and holds her breath for as long as she can. Every time she feels like calling him, she picks up her phone and throws it across the room. It’s like she’s going through some kind of withdrawal, the thoughts shaking her brain, the impulse leaving her on the ground heaving. She’s been through worse, but… never alone. ~

Naito knows that he gets under her skin. She’s rejected him time and time again and he makes her uncomfortable, and of this he is accurately aware of. But he likes the chase, the exhilaration of a slap, the curve of his mouth as she moves away from him even when there’s no space. He knows that Seiya is in love with her, and Seiya knows that Naito craves, just once, to fuck her. Seiya will punch him square in the mouth if he kisses her— and so that makes him want it even more.

She’s small, top of her head barely brushing his shoulder when she stands next to him, and he wants to bury his face between the chest she endeavours to keep clothed around him.

And, he’ll admit; he’s given the thought no rest since the split happened.

So he turns up to meetings on time with a spring in his step, does what he’s told in hopes that he might catch just a brief moment with the evasive woman. He knows where her office is but doesn’t want to go out of his way. Instead, with all the promotional meetings and media drives, he knows there’ll be some overlap.

He’s right.

The day before the G1 starts, Sam is helping organise some logistics between New Japan and an international journalism company. She’s dressed in a silk blouse, bow tie up by her throat, and a slim skirt that stops just under her knees. Heels that boost her height considerably.

The blood rushes straight to his penis as he imagines those heels up by her ears.

Someone gently pushes him in the direction of his chair and he smirks when he realises he’s been staring for too long, but it doesn’t even matter anymore. He’s not taking no for an answer tonight. He’ll change her mind, of this he’s sure. He’s too ready for it now to be pushed away again.

Naito eyes her the entire event, smirks in her direction when she finally meets his eyes, and he catches the way a blush tints her cheeks. He also notices the way Seiya pointedly avoids both their eyes, almost like he’s afraid to confront what’s happening between them, almost like if he sees it, he’ll snap Naito in half, leader or not. He’s aware the only thing Seiya wants is Sam by his side once more. He neglects to mention to anyone that he slipped the red lingerie into their bed only to have this exact opportunity, though he suspects that Seiya already knows this.

Someone calls his name and Naito asks them to repeat the question, grins a little at his own recklessness— he’s usually in a world of his own during conferences like these, either trying to sleep or pretending like he is, but this is for a different reason entirely. ~

The conference ends as the sun starts to set. She stays behind to help pack up because she knows the last thing she needs her boss to see is her skipping out on duties; she doesn’t need the questions that follow. Instead, she plays it out and converses with the other journalists, stumbling between Japanese and English as they laugh about mistranslations.

She wraps her fingers around some lighting cords and a technician points her in the direction of a room that’s pitch black, tells her that she can lock the door on the way out.

There’s a bunch of boxes with cables and fixtures, a table along the far wall, and in one of the corners is a bunch of standing lights. She assumes that she’s the only one in the room, but when she turns around, she’s met with Naito’s shadowy silhouette. His arms are crossed, that much she can see, and the way the shadows dance off his face has the hairs on the back of her neck standing.

Colour immediately settles on her cheeks. “Can I help you?” she asks, trying to play off her caution as contempt.

“Samantha… what are you so afraid of?” He questions. She can hear the smirk on his mouth.

She swallows around the anxiety starting to build in the back of her throat. Realising very quickly that she’s alone here, and that no one will come looking for her, she acknowledges to herself that yes, she’s afraid of him, and she always has been. Having Seiya by her side for just the smallest amount of time had given her comfort in knowing that Tetsuya Naito wouldn’t do a thing. But Seiya isn’t here now, and Naito is, and they’re in a room alone, and this is not somewhere she feels comfortable.

Naito steps forward when his question goes unanswered, fingers switching the lights in the room on. “Maybe you’re afraid of how he’ll react when he finds out about this… he knows how I am, but does he know that you’re not as innocent as you like to believe?”

She swallows whatever dignity she has left in her body— he’s right. And he knows it too, because he smirks at her silence and pulls the door behind him shut. She knows that she can leave, knows that he doesn’t hold a magic key that locks it, but… she lets herself believe that he’s cut off any chance of her escape, because then it makes it easier for her to accept what’s about to happen. Like it hasn’t been something sitting under the surface waiting to be scratched.

Deep down, she knows what he craves— and even further down… she knows she wants to give it to him.

Sam swallows heavily again. “Seiya… he’ll…”

Naito dips his head at her and takes a step forward, and then another one. “He knows that I refrained myself until you two were not together.”

Her blush turns darker. “This is where you work… it’s a public space…”

“Are you afraid of getting caught?” he muses, and Sam stiffens as the space between them becomes non-existent. His thumb presses under her chin until she’s looking him in the eye. “Or are you afraid that you’ll like what I’m about to do to you?”

Sam gapes at him, but doesn’t speak— she knows the answer to that even if it’s unspoken. So does Naito.

He slams his mouth to hers with such force that she takes a step back in shock, and he follows her, pushes them until her ass hits the table, but his kiss is unrelenting. His tongue forces its way past her lips and his hand squeezes her jaw to keep her mouth open. Sam moans at his intensity, tries to push him away only to have his free hand rip one of her arms away. A cry falls from her throat and then she’s gasping for air as Naito grabs her throat, shoving her up onto the table and against the wall behind them.

There’s too much of him at once and then nothing of him at all.

Sam stares at the man in front of her with wide eyes. She’s barely pulling air into her lungs and yet he looks calm as anything. He slips off his suit jacket, sets it down on the table next to her, then starts on his cuff buttons. His eyes never leave hers. His movements never halt or slow.  “Take off your shirt,” he commands, “and your skirt, too.”

She can’t believe his audacity.

She pushes herself forward off the table to slap him so hard his head snaps to the side. Shaking in rage and lust, Sam stills as Naito turns back to stare at her with the kind of smirk that makes her thighs clench, and she inhales a shaky breath. “I’m not so easy that you can have me when you want.”

“Oh, but you are, aren’t you?”

She slaps him again.

He laughs at her, the sound starting from deep in his throat. “I’ll tell you a secret, Samantha,” he murmurs, “do you know that I couldn’t wait? That I didn’t want to wait? Seiya doesn’t know how those panties ended up in your bed, but I do…”

Nausea settles itself in her stomach. She stares at Naito in a mixture of horror and anger as his words register, and the latter slowly manifests itself in her veins and turns her vision red. This was planned. All of it was planned.

“He’s telling you the truth when he says he didn’t cheat on you. I... I can’t remember her name, but she didn’t seem to mind that the bed was not mine. And the best part of it all,” he continues, like he doesn’t realise the kind of fire he’s lit, “is that everyone gets what they want. I get you, you get to run and crawl back to Seiya after I’m finished, and he gets back the love of his life. Poetic, isn’t it? Organised chaos… I’d apologise, really, but I’m not sorry.”

She slaps him. And then again and then again until his hands take her wrists, and then she spits in his face. His eyes find the ground for a long moment before they return to hers, void of emotion.

She speaks like she isn’t crying. “You’re a fucking pathetic, worthless piece of shit, you know that, right? I fucking hope he clocks you so good that your fucking teeth fly into the back of your throat, I fucking hope you rot in hell!” She only realises that she’s using English when she finishes, and then she swears at him in Japanese. “Shi’ne.”

He raises an eyebrow. The humour falls from his face and instead silence surrounds them, and then Sam realises very quickly what kind of situation she’s in. No one knows where she is. No one will come looking for her. She’s in a room alone with Tetsuya Naito, whose hands are tight around her wrists, and there’s a slow anger twisting in his eyes as he stares at her.

“Shi’ne?” He repeats slowly. He drops her hands like they’re made of acid. “Leave then. Go. If you don’t want this and you don’t want to be here, go.”

Sam shoves past him and stalks towards the exit, intending to rip the door open and leave him standing in her wake. But as her hand hovers over the handle, she hesitates. And she hates herself because suddenly she’s not so sure that she wants to leave.

There’s a sound of movement behind her, and Samantha takes a deep breath. What does she want?

#CLIFF HANGERS #i love them #tetsuya naito fanfiction #tetsuya naito #njpw fanfiction #naito #current writing #i know i said i wouldn't be able to write for a while but like #inspiration struck

[rosemaidenvixen]

You are my Sunshine

Chapter 11: Twelve

Ao3

He’d been awake for a while, but right now he perfectly was content to stay lying underneath the covers with his eyes shut, enjoying the feeling of being snug and cozy.

All too soon his blissful rest was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder, nudging him into full consciousness.

He groaned and rolled over, refusing to open his eyes “Five more minutes Nana,”

“But Toby-pie, don’t you remember what today is?”

Instantly it all came back to him, his eyes shot open.

“Today’s my birthday!” Toby practically leapt out of bed, all traces of lethargy gone.

Nana beamed at him “That’s right, now come downstairs and have your breakfast, Jim and Barbara will be here in less than an hour,”

Toby ran downstairs with Nana following closely behind him. For breakfast he popped some eggo waffles into the toaster while Nana mixed herself some granola and berries. He wolfed down his breakfast as quickly as he could, eyeing the wrapped presents sitting on the counter, Tonight he would open them after having the cake that was nestled in back of the fridge. Much to Toby’s delight, one of the wrapped boxes was the exact same size and shape as the magic kit he’d been asking for.

It was his big one-two, twelve years old, and Toby was going to have the best birthday ever.

Noticing the time, he swalloed his last bite of waffles and ran upstairs to get ready. Right as he was finishing brushing his teeth he heard the front door open, letting him know that Dr. Lake and Jim’s had arrived.

As Toby came down the stairs he saw that they had brought several more presents that were added to the pile.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come Nancy?”

“Oh I’m quite sure,” Nana replied “At my age all that walking around in the sun isn’t good for me, I’ll be able to see you all again tonight,”

Jim was the first one to notice Toby “Happy birthday Tobes! You ready to go?”

“You bet,” Toby replied with a grin, he had been looking forward to this all week.

Soon goodbyes were said, water bottles packed, sunscreen applied, and seatbelts were buckled; and the three of them were off.

Toby was practically bouncing in his seat with excitement. For his birthday Dr. Lake had gotten him and Jim fast passes at Disneyland for today  and tomorrow.

He looked back and forth between Jim and Dr. Lake as she pulled the car onto the highway.

Toby was grateful for the Fast Passes, he really was, but he was hoping he could get something else for his birthday to.

“Hey, Dr. Lake,”

“Yes Toby,”

“Since we're going to Disneyland tomorrow to, and since it’s my birthday….” he really hoped that they took what he said next well “Can Jim and I have a sleepover at my house? Nana says it’s ok,”

Invite Jim over, don’t invite yourself over to his house, that was very important.

Dr. Lake and Jim froze in their seats. Toby fidgeted self conciously. He knew that Jim’s mom had a rule against sleepovers, but they weren’t little kids anymore. They were both twelve now, and they should be allowed to spend the night at each other’s houses.

“I’m sorry Toby,” Dr. Lake said apologetically “But we can’t do that,”

“B-- but we wouldn’t do anything against the rules like watch R-rated movies or eat a bunch of junk food. And our houses are really close together, if there was an emergency, we could get to your house really fast and--”

“I’m sorry Toby, but the answer is no,” Dr. Lake’s tone was still remorseful, but it brooked no argument.

Toby glanced over to Jim, waiting for him to speak up, to say that he wanted to have a sleepover with Toby, that he was old enough and he should be allowed to spend the night at his best friend’s house.

But he didn’t. Jim just sat there with his head hanging down, not saying anything.

Uncomfortable, Toby let the subject drop and they finished the rest of their drive in silence.

Once they pulled into the Disneyland parking lot the celebratory mood returned.

The three of them got out of the car and walked to the entrance. Toby felt his excitement building as he could start to see all the rides and roller coasters on the other side of the fence, although not enough to make him forget his unsuccessful attempt at inviting Jim over.

As they waited in line Dr. Lake went over the Disneyland rules again “Remember boys, stay together no matter what and don’t leave a ride unless I’m with you, got it?”

“Yep,”

“Got it,”

Tickets purchased and wristbands applied, they stepped through the gate into the park. Toby felt increasingly giddy as he looked around at all the rides and games and stores. Everything looked so fun! He couldn’t decide what he wanted to do first.

Not for the first time, Toby remembered just how lucky he was to have an awesome friend like Jim that had a cool mom that did stuff like this for their birthdays.

Some days Toby liked to think his parents sent Jim and Dr. Lake to him.

“Alright birthday boy, where to first?” Dr. Lake asked.

He thought about it for a little while “Splash Mountain,”

It was one of his favorites, and had a long smooth water ride before it got to the splash, making it perfect for the other thing he had planned.

They hustled over to the ride and thanks to their Fast Passes, it was no time at all before they were getting strapped in.

Dr. Lake waved to them as their log boat pulled away “Have fun boys, I’ll meet you at the exit,”

Toby and Jim waved back to her as the current slowly pulled them out of sight. Jim excitedly glanced around at the surroundings of the ride, but Toby kept his eyes locked on Jim, his mind somewhere else entirely.

They were alone now, away from Dr. Lake and his Nana. Now was the perfect time to finally get some answers.

“Hey Jim,”

“Yeah?”

“Why can’t you have sleepovers?”

Jim did a double take, clearly blindsided by the question “Oh, well….because Mom says it’s not healthy to sleep somewhere that’s not your bed,”

Toby frowned, he might not have made the junior honor roll, but even he knew that was a load of hooey “But practically everyone we know has slept over at someone's’ house and they’re all just fine. And besides, we’re not little anymore, you should be allowed to stay  overnight,”

Jim squirmed under the security bar “Sorry Tobes, I just can’t do sleepovers,”

Toby’s face fell, Jim and Toby had been friends since kindergarten, they’d been through thick and thin together and they always had each other’s backs. But when Jim’s mom wouldn’t let him have a sleepover at his house he just accepted it? Without even protesting just a little?

“Jim do you even  want  to have a sleepover with me?”

Shock and horror flew across Jim’s face “Of course I do!” he shouted “It’s just that-- I can’t,”

“But  why not ?”

“Because I can’t !”

Any further discussion was lost in the roar of water as the ride dropped them down the side of the hill, summoning a huge wave and drenching the both of them.

Before Toby could pick up the conversation the ride pulled to a stop. Jim hastily wriggled out of his seat and ran over to where his mom was waiting at the exit.

Toby slowly followed him over to where Dr. Lake was, still feeling numb from his botched confrontation. He was dimly aware of her asking him what ride they should go on next. Toby managed to mumble out a coherent reply and Dr. Lake began shepherding them down the sidewalk towards the next ride.

Too late he realized that the ride he had suggested was on the other side of the park, and they had to walk the entire length of it before they could get on the ride and he could talk to Jim alone again.

For his part, Jim stayed withdrawn and silent. Non-responsive to Dr. Lake’s cheerful chatter.

Toby forced back the doubts that had started to worm their way into the back of his mind, his best friend in the world could never stay over after dark and he deserved an explanation. And if asking questions upset Jim, well tough toenails.

At long last they got to the ride. Despite the fact that they were sporting Fast Passes, it seemed to take forever to get to the front of the ride and have Dr. Lake send them off.

But finally,  finally , they were alone again.

Jim avoided meeting his eyes. Toby stared him down, undaunted, if Jim thought he could weasel his way out this he had another thing coming.

“For real Jim, why can’t you ever spend the night,”

“I….I just can’t….”

Toby wasn’t satisfied “Yeah but  why , why can’t you?”

Jim’s mouth opened and shut for a few seconds as he floundered for words.

“Come on Jim, tell me the truth!”

Tense, uncomfortable silence stretched out between them, the only sound the clicking of the car along the track as the ride carried them forward. Toby crossed his arms and fixed Jim with the sternest glare he could muster. No more evasions or excuses. He needed to know why his best friend never put up a fight when his mom wouldn’t let him stay over.

After nearly a full minute of silence, Jim finally whimpered out a response.

“.....it’s a secret….”

Toby narrowed his eyes “What do you mean a secret?”

Jim squirmed and looked away.

Toby bit back an aggravated sigh and scooted closer to him under the safety bar “Jim, I’m your best friend, whatever your secret is, you can tell me,”

“....I can’t….” Jim whispered in a tone that was barely audible

“Why  not ?”

“....I….I….I just….”

A sob bubbled out of Jim’s throat

Only now did Toby notice that Jim was crying

“....you don’t understand,” Jim hiccuped out past his tears “I want to tell you but I can’t….”

Toby gaped at him in stunned silence, horrified by this turn of events.

He made Jim cry, on his birthday.

Toby wanted answers, but not like this.

Jim was Toby’s best friend, always had been, always will be. So maybe Toby should start acting like his friend. So what if Jim had a secret; Toby had secrets, things even Jim didn’t know. Like when he’d lost the key to the art cabinet at school, or when he couldn’t find a trash can at the carnival and ended up putting his funnel cake wrapper in the first car that had a window rolled down.

If Jim had a secret reason for not having sleepovers, like maybe he wet the bed or maybe he couldn’t sleep away from his mom, Toby would let him keep it. Being friends meant that they respected each other’s privacy. And one day, maybe soon, Jim was sure to trust Toby with his secret. But until then Toby would be patient.

That’s what best friends did.

“Ok,”

Jim raised his head and wiped his face with the back of his hand “Ok what?”

“It’s ok that you can’t have a sleepover,” he flashed Jim his most reassuring smile “We can spend the night talking on our walkie-talkies while playing video games, like we always do,”

Jim still looked anxious and uneasy “Are you sure?”

“Positive, whatever your secret is, just tell me when you’re ready,”

“....thank you….,” even through the snuffling of unshed tears, Toby could still hear the overwhelming gratitude in Jim’s voice.

Toby held out his fist “Don’t mention it Jimbo,”

Jim gave a warbly grin and lightly bumped Toby’s fist with his own.

“Right back at you Tobes,”

Right on queue, the ride pulled to a stop and the safety bar popped up.

Toby stepped out of the car and turned around to help Jim out “Let’s not worry about it anymore, it’s my birthday, I want us to have fun,”

Jim nodded and accepted his hand “Sounds great Tobes, let’s go have fun,”

As they walked away from the ride exit to meet up with Dr. Lake, Toby forced himself to forget about all his doubts and suspicions.

Whatever weird rules Jim’s mom had about when he could and couldn’t go out didn’t matter. From now on Toby would be a good friend to Jim. No matter what.

#rmvwrites #trollhunters #tales of arcadia #fanfic #you are my sunshine #jim lake jr #barbara lake #toby domzalski #nancy domzalski #nana domzalski

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Junkrat Headcanon

He has a bad memory, patchy really. There’s a big old void in certain places, and at best, other bits get filed in the wrong places sometimes...

He might tell you a story six or seven times, and never remember you know it.

He might be asked a basic question, and blank.

Sometimes he turns to Roadhog, because the man is usually in the vicinity, for answers. The taller man’s ability to just produce all the facts, stories and things Junkrat can’t recall, after a few seconds’ thought at most...  it always left Junkrat in awe of him. Like he was some mythical being endowed with some great ability to know-all or something... 

He does tell him that... a few times, because the thought surfaces a few times, and Junk never quite remembers he’s said it. But Roadhog always laughs, good-naturedly, and lets the statement float away on the breeze uncontested.  Sometimes Junkrat worries he puts too much on Roadhog, asking him to be the repository for both their memories... as much as he can be, but Mako never seemed to mind. And openly says so more than once, when Jamie needed to hear it.

But the thing is... while Roadhog will always be there to quietly remind Junkrat of a fact or memory he forgot, or just listen to the same story a thousand times, because he KNOWS Jamie and understands it upsets him to realise he has forgotten again... 

-

Perhaps, when they join overwatch, the others aren’t as fast on the uptake as Roadhog. [And Roadie was whipsmart, despite what people always assumed (because of his appearance), the man could size up a situation or opponent in a heartbeat and crack skulls in the next...]

-

“How can you not know how old you are?” asks Mei, puzzled, as Junkrat scrambles to recall. He ends up so stressed out he can’t get a sentence strung together, trying to recall. 

Besides, you never tell someone a weakness unless you can trust them completely and they’ve been at base a day or so.

It leaves the cryogenics expert with a less-than-stellar perception of him; thinking him evasive. Especially since he couldn’t answer any cursory questions with any real certainty...

But he was telling the truth.

Why would no one believe him?

-

“I think he’s just faking it...” Mcree says to Hanzo, when the pair accost him to ask about the treasure and the omnic secret. But he can’t recall it, off-hand... he did have prompts in the sidecar, and Roadie knew what it was... but Jamie couldn’t remember. 

“I’m telling the truth!” he insists, but their expressions hit home more than their words. The disbelief. “I ain’t lying!”

“Oh yeah... prove it!” comes the challenge.

But he can’t. They keep asking the same questions, asking the wrong way, not leading anywhere but in circles.

“You will tell us.” Hanzo assures.

And they won’t accept, “But I can’t...” as an answer.

He’s so tempted to use his bombs to get out of this confrontation, but that Soldier guy looked like he’d get real mad if Junkrat blew up another wall; and he didn’t wanna get thrown out. Roadie seemed to like it here, and they had clean stuff, real food and beds!

They have him backed into a corner, literally and figuratively. And he kinda wishes there was a good lie he could tell the bounty hunters to make them back off... but it was hard to be deceptive if you might accidentally tell the truth or something along those lines. The logistical thinking tended to get muddled.

It was why he liked technology, explosives, machines... so ordered, diagrams were absolute; he could follow them and understand without too much stress. Tended to remember pictures better, anyway.

And maybe, he could have just stood up straight and walked away, ‘cause they weren’t exactly the tallest on the team or the burliest... but the thought is buried under all the additional processing happening internally. 

He starts to wonder if there even was a secret, had he made it up? had Roadie told him he knew one, to placate him? Or had he lied about that? And if it was real... what was it? He didn’t have any of his usual visual clues (something roadhog had helped him devise after realising Junkrat was great at memorising or at least associating, diagrams and ideas).

A metallic fist slams the wall by his head and reality snaps back with a flinch, “What?”

And there’s a moment, between the two older men, where they seem almost uncertain. Like they were starting to believe Junkrat... but before anything can process, Roadhog comes storming in to the explosive expert’s rescue. He’s never been happier to see the guy in his life...

...or has he?

-

“How could you do such a thing?” Ana scolds, putting out the small kitchen fire (and to be fair it was an accident). “What would your mother say?” 

It stops him dead.

...what would she say?

...who was she?

...had he had a mother, before? 

...was she still out there wondering what happened to him or should he have mourned her?

...what if she was, how would she feel about her son being... this? He’d killed people... sometimes blew shit up for the fun of it... 

So many questions, and none of them could be answered... all he had was a familial-shaped void where his memories of her should be...

Perhaps it was the hollow, haunted look on his face or his non-responsiveness, but Ana clearly realised something was wrong. She approached him from an angle where he could see her coming, if he wasn’t lost internally... and slowly put a hand out, eventually placing it on his shoulder.

She anticipated the slight jump, the Junkers were not yet used to having contact with anyone but each other for a long time, but their survival instincts/paranoia overrode their touchstarved-ness. At least he could look at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know...”

“No... ‘sokay... I just... didn’t remember I didn’t remember ‘til now.” he mutters, unusually subdued. “Can’t remember... if I had one, or her face... nothing..."

“I am sure you had a wonderful mother, who loved you as much as I do Fareeha...” Ana reassures, off-handedly thinking about how she would feel if this was her daughter, young, lost and unable to recall anything about Ana’s love or pride in her. Just the hypothetical situation broke her heart.

“...maybe.” concedes the junker, then he laughs coldly, brushing her hand off as he walked away. “But if she’s a lucky... she died long before she had to see her son turn into this...”

To that, the Sniper could not think of a comforting retort. And her hatred of the Omnics, of the damage they had wrought on so many lives, young and old, grew ever-stronger in that moment.

-

“...oh, did you have a sister?” asks the ever-curious DVa one day as they pass a toystore and Junkrat pauses to stare at the dolls. 

He looks at her blankly, cocking an eyebrow, and says nothing.

She raises her hands in mock surrender and laughs, misunderstanding, “Dude, if you collect dolls that’s totally fine with me! I know Torb has this collection of old tech that he’ll never get to work again, but clutters up the place with anyway... and I think Reaper has glass figures or something and-...”

“Thanks... but s’not that.” he interjects her supportive speech. He keeps looking at this one doll, just a random, run-of-the-mill type, kind you’d find all over the globe for cheap. “Just... made me think I seen that before... or somethin’ like it, and I don’t think it was... mine...”

He frowns, “Least probably not... mighta had a whole collection before the world went to hell or something...” and then he makes that piercing laugh that still sent a chill through the Mechapilot’s bones. The conversation was at an end, clearly. So they both moved on... but she didn’t miss his glance back at the doll, or the confusion on his face as he tried to grasp at phantom memories.

DVa never brought it up again.

-

“Crikey, that’s fucking amazing, mate!” comes the booming praise, over his newest track, and the shorter of the two clicks back onto solid floor; having been practicing his wallriding in the specially-equipped gymnasium. 

“Thank dude!” beams Lucio, a man who was basically sunlight in human form. His smile falters for just a second, but Junkrat sees it.

“Wot, mate? Is it the ‘fucking’? I can say ‘freaking’ instead if ya prissy ‘bout that sorta thing...” Lucio hesitates, but decides to be straightforward. “Nah, I’ve heard worse you say what you want, man. It’s just... I mean, not that I don’t appreciate the daily compliments, but-...”

And he sees Junkrat’s face fall. “I’ve... said that to you before?”

“Yeah, but it’s fi-... wait, come back!” he calls after the retreating Aussie, but Junkrat’s already gone. 

Now he sees what Ana meant. They needed to speak to Mercy about this.

-

“...no, I meant where IN Australia?” Soldier sighs, exasperated with the new recruits. It’d been a long day of paperwork, and he was over this little game.

Junkrat shrugs, “Ya asked where I was born, and I’m 99% sure it was Australia... dunno where exactly though.”

God, this damn kid was playing games again, this happened everytime he or Reaper needed to get something administrative done with the Junkers. He should have asked Roadhog, but Mercy wanted to speak with the guy for some reason... so he was stuck interviewing the evasive explosives expert.

“Alright, fine... I’ll just put down ‘Australia’ until you’re ready to cooperate. Next question, WHEN were you born?” 

“Uh...” Junkrat stalls, starting to count on his fingers. Jack could toss him out the window for prolonging this, did the Junker get perverse amusement out of this or what?

“That’s something I also ain’t real clear on, think I’m... twenty... uh, twoish?”  “You’re telling me that you, someone who has committed elaborate heists all over the globe, and evaded arrest... magically can’t remember his real name, age, or birthday?” snaps the man, really losing his patience for whatever this is.

“Well... yeah,” admits the Junker, getting a little smaller as his eyes dart to the only exit in the room, flesh hand fingering one of his bombs. 

“Don’t you dare blow anything else up, we’ve already replaced two walls this week!” he cautions, fingers itching to go for his blaster. Was this what Overwatch was reduced to? A handful of ragtag criminal punks being recruited to fill the gaps where good soldiers had stood, proud and willing to serve?

“...ya ain’t giving me many other options here, mate. I said I don’t know, and I don’t. Roadie might... sometimes I remember things and tell ‘im, but then I forget I did...” 

The answer makes him pause. Maybe the kid wasn’t lying or fucking about.

He gives him the benefit of the doubt, “Alright, I’ll ask him. There’s still a few questions left we can try to answer... Do you have any current convictions? We can check yes automatically. Any dietary requirements?” Junkrat perks up, but Soldier cuts him off with, “Bearing in mind that requesting fried frill-neck lizard (whatever that is) be added to the rotational meal menu... is not a dietary requirement.”

The Junker deflates a little. “Then nah.”

Well, at least this was going faster. 

“Okay, just a handful more, bear with me... have you had your complete medical check with Dr Ziegler, yet?”

The odd laugh he got in response stated that clearly the Aussie had managed to evade Mercy, thus far. 

“Put that as a No, then.” Soldier mumbles, checking off everything n the clipboard, and hovering the pen over the next set of boxes...

“What is your preferred sex? Male, female, nonbin-...” he tries, but Junkrat’s mirthful tone cuts him off.

“Prefer it as often as possible with all of the above, mate.” The wink he adds at the end has Soldier tossing the clipboard in surrender... clearly the kid was messing with him.

“I’m too old for this...” he moans loudly, knowing Reaper was probably watching the security feed and laughing his undead ass off. 

“Hey,” interjects Junkrat with a peculiarly soft tone, belied by the shiteating grin plastering itself across his soot-stained features. “I like a bloke with experience...” 

He blew a rather exaggerated kiss at the exasperated Soldier, and the man just gave up there and then, looks like he was never getting a straight answer out of the damn kid. How had Roadhog survived all these years?

Meanwhile in the monitor room, Reaper was, indeed, laughing his head off. He’d never let Soldier 76 live this down. 

-

Zarya was always aware that she cut a startling figure of a woman, tall and muscular enough to wrestle multiple bears at once. Many people tended to stare, agape, the first time they saw her, or exclaim something in surprise.  Some flushed or stammered, clearly attracted, it was very flattering.

But it could grow wearisome.

Especially when it came to the newest Overwatch members.

Once again, the comment rang out about the gymnasium. “Crikey, what a beaut of a sheila!”  And yes, it was flattering, intended to be, in fact. However, the reality was, she had heard it so often in the last few weeks, it was starting to grate on her nerves somewhat.

“Thank you my friend,” she acknowledges, as always. “I like the way you light up a room” she responds, smiling. And, as always, he laughs.

In fact, many on the team had tried to put out the ever-present fire, more than once; but it was just part of him. Didn’t burn anything, just sort of glowed.  Zarya found it mesmerising, especially during these ‘paint-by-numbers’ sessions.

At first, she had thought it was a joke... or something between them, an ‘in-joke’ da? But, it was the look on his face when he said it that made her realise that this Junkrat person sincerely saw her anew almost everytime they crossed paths. 

His face betrayed the same shock, awe and mild lust that had adorned many faces that gazed upon her in the past. Every time. And she realised that perhaps he did not remember their previous encounters...

It was less frequent, now a month had passed, but every so often, she would hear it. But pretending to be delighted, every single time, was not so heavy a burden to bear for a teammate. Zarya would play this game, until he remembered... and even if he didn’t. That was what friends were for.

Besides, it was flattering, and he was not so bad. They both despised omnics to a similar degree, and she respected his approach to battle.

-

“...are you aware that we have the same conversation every few days, Mr Junkrat?” Winston asks, adjusting his glasses and peering at the Aussie.

For his part, Junkrat immediately drops the wrench he was working with and tenses; his expression clouds, like he’s deep in thought, trying to run back over past situations where they’d done this.

Tracer appears by Winston’s shoulder. “Did you break him?”

“...’sfine.” Junkrat answers, bending to pick up the tool and keep working. “Didn’t realise. Sorry.”

He doesn’t respond to their overtures at conversation for the next hour, and leaves for lunch with Roadhog. But he will be back in a few days, and Winston won’t break the narrative again... it is always a fascinating conversation, even if it is easily scheduled.

-

“I did not build her for this, how many times must I tell you!” shouts Efi, the eleven year old genius frustrated to, once again, find one of the new ‘heroes’ trying to ride Orisa like some kind of horse.

She’d told him so many times that was not appropriate, or, inherently safe.

But every so often, he’d be there; this ‘Junkrat’, who always looked dirty and acted as if he had no idea that they’d discussed this matter before. It did not feel good to see him make such a startled expression, guilty and chagrined, until she said the words ‘again’ or ‘how many times’... which always turned it to confusion and embarrassment.

Today, she had returned to base to find him there again, Orisa trying to be patient as always. “Please cease your actions, for your own safety. I was made to protect, not to be transport, although I will be happy to carry you in an emergency.”

“Get off of her! Why do you keep doing this?” she shouts, understandably annoyed. 

And the australian explosives expert freezes, his previous joviality at the challenge of trying to ride an omnic (which he had originally detested, until Efi had bridged the gap between the Junkers and her creation) evaporates. He looks suitably chagrined.

“...did it again, huh?” he says, and leaves too fast for her to answer.

Orisa narrows her eyeslits.  “This is the sixteenth incursion by the new member ‘Junkrat’, and his twelfth attempt to ride me as one does a horse or vehicle.”

Efi blinks, “Oh? What did he do the other four times?”

“Memory data and visual surveillance indicates he came in, in much the same manner as usual... then paused, and stared for a long time, before leaving.” Answers the OR15. 

“...memory data...” mutters the genius. “You don’t think...?”

“Observation and analysis suggests that interactions with this person are repetitious due to faulty memory collection databanks.” Orisa answers, succinctly. 

“He doesn’t remember I told him off.” Efi responds, thinking, “Have you collected indications that he is able to read proficiently, in your interactions, Orisa?”

“The new member, designation Junkrat, is literate based on personnel records and observed behaviours.” 

Efi brightens, “Oh, perfect!”

The next time Junkrat suddenly gets the idea to ride the Omnic team member (Orisa), he encounters a sign on the door. “Hello Mr Junkrat,  Just to remind you, Orisa is a member of your team and not a horse! She is capable of carrying you out of danger if you need it, but cannot be ridden, because she was not built for that. I made this sign to help you remember our conversation about it! Thank you for understanding, Efi” He huffs out a small chuckle, “Fair enough, kid.” and leaves. But really, even if it’s a little concerning he can’t recall... he’s touched she went to the effort of making him a sign to boost his memories around the topic. He leaves himself a note to teach her how to make an impromptu explosive out of everyday items, as a sort of thank-you; after all, what harm could come from that?

-

“I am sorry to interrupt, but you have told me this story several times, Junkrat.” Symmetra informed, succinctly. 

He just about choked on his own tongue as he swung around to look at Satya with wide eyes. “Are you sure?”

She nods, once, in confirmation.

“...oh.” He rubs the back of his neck with his metal hand. “Ah, sorry. Kind of repeat stuff sometimes... didn’t realise... just tell me if I do it again, okay?”

They are in lab three, working on their weapons. Her sentry matrix needs an upgrade, and he has to make a few additions to the bomb-launcher and riptire. It was a weekly activity; everyone had staples of their battle technique and weaponry, but additionally, they all liked to improve their items where possible.

They work in silence for a long while, both caught up in different trains of thought, before Satya breaches the companionable void of sound. “You may have noticed, that I do enjoy things to happen a certain way... that I do not overtly mind repetition, Junkrat. Do not think I am angry or annoyed with you. I was merely... pointing it out.” “Ya don’t have to be nice about it, m’used to being told I already said something. Ain’t a big deal..” he finally answers. “You misunderstand me, Junkrat. There is comfort in both silence, and familiar repetition, especailly for me on occasions when battle has been difficult or a task is frustrating... while my initial statement was to make you aware you repeated stories, it was not an entreaty to cease. I enjoy listening to them, when we work. As I hope you do, when I speak of my own.” “Oh...” there was a pause. “Oh! So ya don’t mind I’m a little messed up?”

Symmetra smiles warmly. “I do not believe there is  person out there who is not, to some degree. Now would you like to continue the tale, or shall I retell one of mine for you?” “You really don’t mind?” he checks again.

“Junkrat, when you look at the architecture of my home, it is grand and beautiful, intricate... and most importantly, the pattern within each design is repetitious. That is what catches the eye and captivates. A story worth telling, is always meant to be retold to those who will listen and understand.” “That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever said they’re okay with me telling the same shitty stories over’n’over again... you’re one alright sheila, Symmetra!” he grins back. “Now, where was I? Oh yeah... so there I was, ‘fore I met Roadie, right? And there was this big bloke at the bar-...”

The familiar cadence filled the room as Symmetra went back to work, content at having the rhythm of things restored once more.

-

"I thought we had settled this...” sighed Genji, to his mentor. “Patience.” cautioned Zenyatta, unobtrusively weathering the brunt of the anti-omnic rhetoric for possibly the fifth time since the Junkers had moved onto base. “This is not his fault, not directly, and we cannot blame those who have suffered for their hatred born of fear and loss.”

“But we have done this so many times already!” sighs the youngest Shmada brother.

“And we will do it again, in future, as necessary. That is what it means to know true patience...” responded his mentor, utterly cryptically, as always. Roadhog tended to glare them down, but Junkrat was the more vocal. And they’d thought after the first few altercations and subsequent conversations, that things were finally evening out.  They seemed to trust the pair enough in battle, to heal and protect, but then there would be days like this. Days when there was no recognition in the shorter Australian’s eyes, as he beheld them with shock, fury and some slight tinge of fear-laden madness... 

Genji deflected anything physical, and Zenyatta provided calming words until the young man had calmed down, recalled them, or simply run out of steam. At which point he would provide his Orb of Harmony to reinstate tranquility. It was frustrating, and while Zenyatta was content to wait it out, provide a calming presence and wisdom afterwards... Genji just wanted to know why it kept happening, and how much longer they would have to bear it. 

-

Mercy had tracked him down, eventually.  For the mandatory physical (comprehensive, not the basic bioscan from their initial entry). She had heard things... from various members, both directly and indirectly; had spoken to Roadhog. And now she was armed enough to offer him options...

He resisted, as was initially assumed he would. But between her gentle persuasion and Pharah kindly carrying him there (sans explosives), they managed.

Like Roadhog, his basic biology was a little out of whack, due to the large degree of passive and direct radiation they had been exposed to over the years. Elevated heartrates, internal scarring, little things that were outside normal range by only a fraction...

She did need some help to pin him down for vaccinations, because he didn’t really see why they’d bother... the radiation took care of that sort of thing, kept the bugs at bay and all. But Mercy insisted it would be important in the long run... one the radiation was treated, which was, of course, something they could flush out using her nanotechnology and new concentrated anti-rad serums.

She was explaining them in detail, and he got lost somewhere in the technical side of things, so Mercy flat out vaccinated him against anything she could think of... he honestly wasn’t that bothered afterwards. Perhaps it had been the unknown component... there can’t be that much medical care in Australia right now.

It was then, Mercy brought up the difficult topic... of memory, and mentioned that she had spoken to Roadhog. Junkrat didn’t seem overly offended, just kind of embarrassed. “Yeah... can’t remember much...” was all he offered.

“Well, I will be honest Jamie... I cannot do much for the missing gaps in your memories, but I do happen to have a few methods available that can stimulate your neural pathways and promote greater memory retention and recall. Especially for short-term memory, like conversations and such."

“You can do that?” he asks, surprised.

“Of course!” she enthuses. “But I must caution you, the results will not be immediate... but they will improve your memory retention and recall over time. Maybe not to a perfect level, but...”

“I’ll take whatever ya got!” grins Junkrat.

“Excellent,” Mercy replies, moving over to pick up the associated devices. “Let us begin...”

-

Unfortunately, the team noticed. And put their noses in his business.

-

“No, it’s NOT!” he shouts, startling the room into silence. 

He’s too angry, too frustrated, to elaborate, and storms off. Roadhog’s footfalls tart, then falter... like he’s decided not to follow Junkrat. That’d be right.

He kinda wanted Roadie to come... but he also wanted space. It was a messed up feeling Jamie didn’t have the words for...

But, as he stormed out onto a landing a  few floors up, he realised he wasn’t alone.

“Do you wish to talk about what troubles you, Jamie?” Zenyatta asks, in that oddly ethereal tone, hovering nearby. 

Junkrat feels the Orb of Harmony attach, it always makes you feel lighter, strangely safe. He plonks down on the ledge, drawing his flesh knee to his chest; resting arms and chin on it. 

“It’s... I dunno, mate... how’m I supposed to feel?” Junkrat says, voice cold, tone seething. “Everywhere I fucking look-....! Oh, er, sorry mate, you a monk and all...”

“Think nothing of it... swear if it calms you, ‘mate’ Jamie.” Zenyatta replies, tone almost amused. 

“Well it’s just like, I know me memory’s fucked up... has been for a while. Before roadie, when I was by myself, it didn’t matter ‘cause I didn’t remember I didn’t remember, right?” 

“Indeed.”

“Then I teamed up with Roadie, and he kinda started to remind me that I had said something, or forgot something... and he remembered the important stuff... d’you know I can;t even remember how fucking old I am most of the time?” Junkrat laughs, incredulously, with a hint of anger and hysteria mixed in.

“I understand that would be frustrating.” Zenyatta consoled.

“You bet your shiny metal arse it is!” laughs the aussie.

There was a pause before Zenyatta adds, “I do not, technically, possess an ‘ass’, what else may I bet on this?”

The Junker hoots out a laugh, at the very serious tone the monk said it in, and the mood lightens a fraction. 

“Heh, nah... the real problem is just... ever since we got here, everyone’s either been super angry at me or just letting me repeat stuff over and over. I don’t know which was worse, really. I mean, you’n’Genji had to deal with me yelling at you all the bloody time, and I remember that now... feel like a fucking prick about it... 

But... now everyone knows they’re TOO understanding. Everytime I mess up, whether I know it r not someone’s bloody saying ‘It’s Okay’... but it’s NOT! It’s not okay... it’s... I dunno, I cant put it in words or nothing.”

Zenyatta nods. “You feel more self-conscious about your memory concerns due to the fact that now a larger group of people know, and it is frustrating, which is understandable. Our teammates are trying to help and understand, as best they can... but the concept is new to them. However, the more you remember, and the more they show sympathy to your condition by providing you friendship and insights into their own lives, the greater your awareness of what you do not know of yourself. Specifically your past, and who you were.”

Junkrat squints at him. “...did becoming a monk make ya psychic mate?”

Zenyatta hums back in amusement, his version of laughter. “Something akin to that.”

“I mean, ya right but I don’t wanna admit it. ‘Snice to have everyone care ‘n’all, still weirds me out though... and it’s... too much, sometimes. Sorta like what Symmetra says happens to her... how, suddenly, everything gets too much and she has to get away. Not that bad, though.   Dunno, ‘sall weird. Do ya think I should go back and apologise or just avoid everybody for the rest of my life?” he jokes.

Zenyatta hums back again. “Perhaps we can simply sit here and watch the sunset, and decide what to do after that. If you are still feeling unsure, I do have Transcendence ready... you will be far too relaxed to worry about anything, afterwards.”

“That a threat to make me go back inside after we watch the fiery orb hit the sea?” Junkrat mutters.

Zenyatta tilts his head. “Indeed, Jamie.”

“You’re pretty fun for a monk, and an Omnic, Zen...” Junkrat says, a faint smile on his face as the frustration ebbs away under the mysterious power of the orb and good company.

“High praise, Jamie. I thank you... ‘mate’.”

And that’s how Junkrat nearly fell off a balcony, laughing at an omnic monk imitating his Aussie accent.

-

His memory does improve, somewhat. But the team learns to just work with it, and accept duplicate conversations as something that occasionally happened. It hurt no one, and everyone had their idiosyncrasies... who was to judge any one hero for theirs?

Junkrat, sometimes Jamie if he recalls it, feels integrated into a community for the first time since he can remember. And can finally trust other people, outside of Roadhog; though hoggie is still his go-to for forgotten facts and friendship.

#overwatch #junkrat #headcanons #no reason #also as an aussie i authenticate all statements in this post bc i have legit used crikey that's fucking amazing mate more than once in #actual convos #longpost #mercy #zarya #zenyatta #dva #roadhog #lucio #ana #pharah #genji #mcree #hanzo #orisa #efi #it's 5:30am and this is what I spent an hour wrting for some reason

[manascoundrel]

Trophy- Chapter 12

by Yarking Fandom: Dragon Age (general) Summery: Two troubled children meet at the Minrathous Circle. One is a magister’s heir, groomed to be the blood mage general of Seheron, without fear or mercy. Hopefully, that will keep people from noticing how very much an elf he is. The other is last born, least loved and most of his emotions involve academics and cadavers. They love each other, even if they’re not terribly good at it. Warnings for this chapter: references to past trauma (non-graphic) Special thanks beta, Autumn <3 AO3: here

Tertius pointed as the approached the stables, pride bubbling over. "That's her! That's her right there, they turned her out for the day already, it looks like."

Stardust grazed placidly in the open fields, ignoring a bay horse that seemed intent on getting her attention. At Tertius' voice, she raised her delicate head and trotted, the picture of elegance, to where Tertius and Cato stood at the pasture's fencing. As Stardust approached, Cato took a step back, face froggish as Stardust lifted her head over the fence and politely requested Tertius' attention.

"That's a pony?" Cato asked, unsure.

"Well it's not a dragon."

"No, I mean," Cato began, edging closer as he watched Stardust's whiskers tickle over the palm of Tertius' hand. "She's big. She's a pony, so I just... expected her to be smaller. Like those little ponies that pull the half-carts."

"Oh, no, those are Anderfel Mountain Ponies. Yeah, those do stay that small. But I couldn't ride those! Stardust is a Tevene Riding Pony. My mom's family made the breed, special. Aren't they pretty?"

"She sure is a pony," Cato said, evasively. When Tertius turned and frowned at him, hurt, he was pressed to continue. "Horses and ponies and things like that are a little spooky, aren't they? Look at their faces. They're so long. Why are their faces so darn long?"

Tertius snorted at his friend's suspicion. "Stardust is really nice, you don't have to worry about her."

"But she's so big, too! Bigger than me by lots. Bigger than you. You're not worried she'll step on you or anything?"

"She already stepped on me," Tertius said, enjoying Cato's alarm.

"Didn't that hurt?" he asked. He edged away more, putting Tertius between him and the pony.

"Well, yeah. She's a pony so she is pretty heavy, but it was just an accident and I pushed her off right away. It didn't even break my foot or anything; it was just sore for a couple of hours." Tertius looked over his shoulder at where Cato was very nearly cowering. His fear was losing some of its humor, though, and Tertius began to wish they could just get on with each other. "If you're really that scared, you don't have to be here. I can just meet up with you at the library at sundown."

"B-but, you really like Stardust. This is special," Cato argued, inching forward to the pony's soft grey muzzle.

"Yeah, but you don't have to really like her too, you just got to not be mean to her or rude or think she's bad," Tertius assured him. Even as he said it, he felt distantly sad that his two best friends might not get along.

Cato, however, seemed to take this as he often did- as a challenge. He tugged on Tertius' riding shirt and asked, "D'you have any more sugar cubes?"

"No, but there are carrots in the barn if you want to try giving her a treat," Tertius said, lighting up at the prospect. Cato nodded and scampered off, returning after a short while with two carrots, one in each hand while Stardust's eyes shut in peaceful contentment at Tertius' scritching. When she saw the carrots, she lifted her head and took a few slow paces closer to Cato, and when she was not immediately rewarded she gave a small nicker.

"Don't be spoiled," Tertius chided her, petting down her neck as Cato broke the carrot in half.

"So how do I do this?"

"Lay your hand real flat and just put in on your palm and reach out. But you have to keep your fingers flat, or she might accidentally chomp on them trying to get the carrot."

Cato made a distressed noise high in his throat even as he placed the carrot as he was instructed. He reached forward, mumbling, "So, do I tell her to- Oh!"

Stardust gobbled up the carrot without ceremony and nuzzled her velvety muzzle against Cato's palm afterwards, as if thanking him for the gift. Or, more likely for how pampered she was, asking for more.

"Aw, she likes you!" Tertius said, delighted. He knew she would, but it was still nice to be right.

"Did you see that? She just munched it right up, right out of my hand!" Cato crowed, beaming over to Tertius. "I didn't think she'd hork it up like that in one big bite, ha!"

Tertius stomped. "Stardust is a lady pony. She didn't 'hork' anything up. Ponies are just a lot bigger than us, so that was a regular normal bite-size handful of carrot for her."

"Alright, alright. That's fair, I'm sorry."

"Better be," Tertius mumbled, still pouting and sore from the insult to Stardust's honor. To think of her as anything less than a majestic princess!

"Your mom did a really good job breeding her," Cato said, carefully stroking over the soft skin over Stardust's nose. He smiled sheepishly, as if he realized Tertius was not pleased. "She's not nearly as scary as she first looks. She's real sweet."

"My mom didn't breed her, her family did. That was awhile ago. There are lots of Tevene Riding Ponies now; but they're still really special and pretty and good. Everyone wants one just like her, but they can't have her because she's mine!" Tertius asserted, patting Stardust's side. "And we make a really good team! My riding teacher is going to let me jump pretty soon."

"That sounds scary. Is she fast? Do they jump high?"

"Yes and yeah! But I've been riding for a really long time, as long as I can remember, so I'm ready. And Stardust won't let me fall, will you, Dusty?"

Stardust remained silent, her eyes closed in placid relaxation at all the attention and treats. "Did your mom teach you how to ride?" Cato asked.

Tertius smile faltered, twisting slightly bitter. "She did, a little. Before she got sick."

"Aw, sorry 'bout your mom," Cato commiserated, shoulders dropping. "I hope she gets better."

"She died."

"Oh." For some time, the two of them were silent. Cato seemed to sense beyond the wisdom of his years that there was nothing to say to that, no way to make it better, reading the stiff way Tertius braced for empty platitudes or unwelcome sympathy. Wanting to hear none of it. Then, with a lopsided smile, he asked, "Do you want to show me how you ride Stardust? I could run alongside you and see how much faster she is, because I bet she's really fast."

Tertius, heart aching and eyes stinging, managed to smile. "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

--

It took some time for them to get Stardust out to the paddock. Cato was very curious, asking a constant stream of questions about the brush and blanket and saddle and bridle all throughout the process of getting Stardust ready to go out. Tertius was about half sure he was doing it to help keep his mind off his mother, but was grateful. Part of the reason he groomed her and put on her tack himself instead of just letting a slave do it was for the same reason, the other being that he liked spending the time with Stardust, and he liked answering Cato's questions. It made him feel good to be able to answer most of them and hear Cato's impressed hums.

Tertius mounted, checked his stirrups, and pressed his calves into Stardust's side gently. He loosened the reins, asking her forward into her sedated, elegant walk. Cato trailed alongside, giving Stardust a wide berth but loped along at a jog to keep up with her long legs.

"Wait until we get into the field to start running, okay?" Tertius asked. "I don't want you to scare her on accident running too close while we're still near the stables."

"Me? Scare her?" Cato wondered.

Stardust continued serenely, her pale eyelashes fluttering as she blinked. "Uh huh!" Tertius nodded. "Horses and ponies have a lot of animals that want to eat them in the wild, so they get scared really easily. I've heard of horses getting scared for lots of silly reasons, like seeing a leaf they didn't expect, or a bush rustling, or your hat falling off. Stardust is pretty calm most of the time, but I still don't want to make her upset, even if she is really brave."

Cato tilted his head, considering that. "What does a horse do if they're scared?"

"A lot of the time they can start running really, really fast. Faster than I'm allowed to go, and I'd probably fall off and get hurt. Stardust could get hurt too! It's really easy for them to hurt themselves when they go really fast because they're scared."

"So don't scare her on purpose as a joke, got it."

"Cato Fen'Rhea, if you even think about it, I'm gonna-!"

"I said I wouldn't! I don't want you or her to get hurt, that wouldn't be funny," Cato reassured, waving his hand in dismissal. "But if they really do scare that easy, you sure you're gonna be safe?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty good at riding. My teacher wouldn't let me start jumping if I wasn't, because that can be real dangerous too," Tertius explained.

Cato made a grumble of distress. "Okay. If you're sure. You gotta be careful though, because if something happened to my best friend I'd be really upset and angry. I would never, ever forgive Stardust, even if she is really nice and didn't mean to."

"I'll be okay," Tertius promised, privately bursting in joy that his best-best friend would be sad if something happened to him. Cato might be the only one who would.

--

Cato was, predictably, very impressed with Stardust's speed. Tertius only trotted when racing, not really supposed to go faster without someone there to chaperone, and the stablehands were keeping an eye out, but Tertius wasn't sure that counted, since they were just there to tell on him if he did go too fast or do something stupid.

They still had plenty of fun running over the grasses, Cato sprinting on foot and Stardust easily overtaking him until Cato was heaving for breath and ended up lying down, reminding Tertius constantly not to accidentally trample him while he stood with Stardust plenty of paces away.

After that, they ended up playing a game where Cato would sit and call directions, and Tertius would seamlessly follow them with Stardust, to Cato's simple delight.

"How are you doing that even? Is it magic?" he had asked, not being able to tell when Tertius pressed lightly on Stardust's side or noticing when he gently moved the reins. Cato's mystification equally delighted Tertius, amused by how his friend took his skill for wizardry.

Later, when Tertius had brought Stardust over to the pond to drink and take a break, Cato had uprooted one of the long, thin reeds near the pond's edge. He showed it to Tertius proudly.

"You wanna play cavalry?" he asked.

"I don't know how..." Tertius said, tilting his head at the reed. It ended in a little brown bulb- a cattail.

Cato puffed out his chest. "I just made it up! After Stardust is finished drinking, you get on her and try to hit me with the brown thing on this, like you're part of the cavalry and you're trying to stick me with your spear."

"Why do you always want to play games that hurt?" Tertius complained, but took the switch and inspected it further. When Cato made a noise of confusion, Tertius explained further. "When you wanted to play pretend, you wanted to pretend to eat me. You were gonna scare Stardust as a joke, and you want me to hit you with this now. You even joked about sending assassins when we were gonna play chess!"

"Hey, I was gonna send assassins for Sternhalma, not chess," Cato corrected him, but seeing Tertius' scrunched, displeased face, he dropped the teasing. "I... I dunno. I just think it's fun. I've always wrestled with Aun and pretended to spar with sticks and stuff. Tamas says it's good because it teaches me to not be afraid of fighting."

"Because Seheron?" Tertius asked.

"Because Seheron, yeah."

Tertius didn't understand. "You're not going to be able to go to Seheron for ages and ages though. That's years away! Why do you have to start fighting now?"

"Well," Cato mumbled, looking over to the surface of the pond. He folded his knees and sat, looking out as he picked the grass. Nearby, Stardust continued to graze. "Seheron is supposed to be really dangerous and scary. So I have to start now so I have the best shot of coming back, because I'm supposed to be a magister, too. And... it's not like Seheron's the only place I got to fight, anyway."

Tertius sat beside him, knees knocking as he pulled grass alongside him. "Where else do you got to fight?"

Cato looked at him, frowning. "If I was bigger and stronger, I could have maybe fought the apprentices who took me. Maybe I could have at least ran away, or said something back when they said things. Maybe if I was good enough they wouldn't have got me to begin with, maybe they'd be too scared."

"I don't know," Tertius said, skeptically, surprised and afraid now that Cato was talking about what happened. He didn't want to say the wrong thing. But he wasn't sure what the right thing to say would be, so he decided to just be honest. "There were a lot of them, and they were older, too. I don't think you could have scared them off or fought better. They've been at the Circle a long time, haven't they? They probably learned a lot of stuff from the enchanters that we haven't yet, stuff we can't know yet because we're just not as big."

"But I have to be able to do something!" Cato said in dismay. He picked up a rock and lobbed it into the water, watching it hit and sink with a 'plunk'. "There's got to be something I can do, so I can do it if they try to get me again. No one else will. I mean, you'll call for help, which is really nice, but I don't want you trying to fight them and getting hurt because of me."

"You have your knife," Tertius pointed out. He followed Cato's lead, picking out and throwing a rock. It landed short, plopping in the mud near the pond's edge.

"That's true, yeah."

They sat in the long grass for some time, Cato stretching out and soaking up the warm autumn sun and Tertius watching him bask and Stardust munch daintily on grass. After some time, Stardust wandered over to where they sat, her lips nibbling toothlessly at Tertius' ponytail. He scratched the spot on her forehead where her coat whorled, and the direction of the fur went in everywhere, and she gave a cute, blustery snort.

"Did you bring your knife out here?" Tertius asked, the thought just occurring to him.

"Nah," Cato said. He didn't open his eyes.

"Why not? You're not afraid?"

"Apprentices aren't allowed to use magic out here, like in the library. And yeah, they could just catch me and drag me someplace where they can," Cato said, before popping open one eye and giving a mischievous smile. "But first they'd have to catch me. I may not ride as well as you but I'd bet you'd let me ride away if I really needed to."

"I'm pretty sure Stardust could carry us both," Tertius agreed. She was very strong, after all. And, perhaps more to the point, they were very small. "We can try us both riding at the same time right now if you want. Just to practice your escape!"

"Uhh," Cato offered dimly, looking suddenly unsure. "That... er, uh. That's okay. I should really wear my boots when we do, unless it's a real emergency. Since that's how you use the dangly feet things, right?"

Tertius looked down at his friend, suspecting that his footwear wasn't really the issue. "The stirrups. And yeah, but we both can't use the stirrups at the same time anyway, so you can just hold on."

"Well... I mean, don't you think you should be the one who just holds on? You're a better rider than me, after all. That just seems to make sense," Cato reasoned, his voice pitched higher than normal.

"You can just say you're scared," Tertius teased.

"I'm not scared! I just don't want to get hurt, because I've only ever ridden those little cart ponies when I was smaller. And riding on Miss Stardust seems like it would take a... a very advanced rider, seeing how she's so fast, right?"

"You're scared."

"Am not!"

"You aren't even a little?" Tertius weedled. "Because I get scared sometimes when she goes faster than I expected, and I'm a really good rider, so it seems weird that you wouldn't be scared at all, not even a little."

"I'm... a little concerned," Cato said in compromise, eyes shut as he sat up with a dignified jut to his chin. "That there could be an accident. That's not the same as being scared. That's being smart."

"Well, we don't have to try it today. There's always next time." Tertius stood, brushing off the pulled up grass on his lap while Stardust huffed. He paused. "Well, if you want to come back."

"Yeah, this is nice! Even if I don't ride, we can always play games, like earlier. Or I can sit out here and read for the enchanters while you ride around; the willow looks like a really place to read or even just take a nap. I've got so much sleep I need to catch up on."

Tertius looked out past the still pond, trying to judge when the sky would start to go golden. That was when he really needed to bring Stardust in if he wanted to make it back before dark. It was getting late, but he didn't want to stop playing. It was so nice out here. He could hear Cato even better without the voices, and the details of his voice became apparent. Tertius liked it. He liked how it was a little scratchy, and he liked how his friend laughed.

"There's some daylight left. D'you want to try playing 'cavalry?'"

"Huh?" Cato asked, surprised and then delighted. "You want to try it? I didn't think you liked that stuff."

"I do! Just not all the time. Besides, it does kind of sound like it could be fun," Tertius said. It was a little bit of a fib- Tertius thought it still sounded needlessly mean when he could just as soon lean over and tag Cato- but he liked Cato, and he liked Stardust, and he especially liked being able to play with both of them together. Since he enjoyed it so much, he needed to do something to try and get Cato to come back again. Sure Cato said he liked it too, but just to be safe.

Cato leapt to his feet, pinwheeling his arms when the sudden jump made him almost lose his balance. He righted himself and beamed. "Alright! Mount up, commander!"

--

Tertius and Cato walked back to the Circle proper shoulder to shoulder, stopping only for Tertius to wave back at Stardust, who was rolling around in the pasture's dirt, seemingly pleased that her saddle was finally off. He turned back around, and checked Cato playfully.

Their attempts to pretend at being cavalry had failed pretty thoroughly. Whenever Stardust galloped (trotted) at full tilt towards the enemy (Cato, making grunting noises and pretending to have horns), she would always slow down, first to a walk, and then when she was close enough to nuzzle Cato, she stopped altogether, and no amount of kissy noises or flicking the reins would get her to budge forward and trample the nefarious Qunari threat (Cato's words).

That's not to say he didn't end up getting Cato. When he came up to Stardust's side to tell Tertius he didn't think this was going to work after all, Tertius had taken a risk and swatted Cato on his shoulder with the reed. Cato had gave a short, bitten-off scream and leapt back with such drama that Stardust took a few lazy steps away from him. Of course, Tertius panicked, worried that he'd gone too far and that this was it, this was the end. It was nice while it lasted.

Cato just inspected the welt, biting his lip, and after a long beat between the two of them, he gave a breathless laugh.

"Oh yeah, that was a nice one, you got me good!" he said cheerfully, inspecting the thin line of blood that began to bead up from where the long red stripe rose up highest. He poked at it gingerly, hissing and flinching when he pressed too hard.

Tertius hovered, hands pawed over his chest fretfully. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do it that hard, I didn't think it would-"

"No, no, you did good!" Cato had assured him, before they decided to turn Stardust in for the evening, since she obviously didn't much care for this game. "That just surprised me. My tamas gets me worse when I'm playing where I'm not supposed to."

He had licked his fingers and wiped away the blood, and that was that, motioning for an unsure Tertius to bring Stardust in. Tertius had gathered the reins and lead Stardust behind him, watching the blood bead up again sluggishly from the cut.

"I got assessed for my magic," Tertius confessed as they neared the gate to the Circle's grounds.

"I can cast enough that I get to be in the class with all the other casters next semester."

"Really? That's great! We'll have it together then!"

"You think?"

"There's not enough other apprentices our age to split us all up. Nobody else in my group can cast yet, and I don't think they'll put us in with older kids. I hope they don't, at least," Cato added as an afterthought, his voice lowering with his mood.

Tertius agreed, "Yeah, they probably wouldn't. I just want to do it now. The break takes too long. I don't even want to go home."

"You don't miss your brothers or papa?" Cato asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Tertius snorted. "My brothers are a lot older, so they're not usually around. Palermo is in the Navy, so he's never home. Hey, you know, you might like him since he's fighting the Qunari actually. Cyprian is working with someone from the circle a little north of Minrathous. I don't really understand what he does, but he only comes home to go with papa to the Magisterium. He was certified by the Circle before I was born, so he's not much fun, not like it sounds like... 'Aun' is. 'Aun', right? Is that his name?"

"His name's Aunny. Well, his name's really Aunnriel, but everyone but Tamas calls him Aunny, and I call him Aun," Cato explained.

"That sounds complicated."

"Your papa?"

"Huh? Oh... n-no, I don't really miss him. He's mostly busy anyway. Being a magister, right? I like reading and drawing and I can do that by myself."

"I guess."

"Honest? I'm glad he's not around a lot," Tertius confessed, throwing himself back to fight the fall winds that pinned the Circle's doors closed. "He's not fun, and he's honestly really scary. Maybe I should be like you and want him to be around more because he's scary, so I'll get better, but I don't think I'm brave like you."

"You think I'm brave?" Cato asked, looking at him with wonder.

"Well, yeah. You're going to go out and fight all the Qunari on Seheron. You said it was really dangerous and you could get hurt, but you're going to do it anyway."

"Yeah but that's ages from now, you said yourself!"

"And you wanted to play cavalry, which mean Stardust was supposed to come running at you-"

"But she didn't."

"But she was supposed to come running at you, and you were afraid of her already."

"Concerned," Cato corrected him, nose turned up. "I was concerned of her. Er, about her."

"Fine then," Tertius finally said, annoyed at Cato's constant rejection. "You're not brave. Happy?"

They reached the library just as Cato puffed his chest out in victory, and then deflated. "No?"

Tertius' laugh was cut off by a withering look from the librarian. He nodded his head in a bow, a silent apology, and ducked down his bookshelf aisle with Cato, waiting until they were certainly out of earshot before whispering again. "What about you?"

Cato shrugged. "I want to see Aun again, sure. I miss playing with him."

Tertius paused, worried that that was an indication that Cato wasn't happy just playing with him. He set the uneasy thought aside and asked, "Your tamas isn't around much either?"

"No, she is. And I do need to ask her about the knife. If she gave me the wrong one or it got enchanted wrong or something. But I'm afraid she's still mad at me for what happened."

"Wait, she's angry at you?"

"Yeah," Cato admitted, his voice cracking as his face crumpled. "I'm supposed to not, uh, not let that stuff happen. It makes my family look bad, and that can be really dangerous. Not just here but in the Senate too. If people think they can hurt me then they might threaten to do stuff to me to make Tamas vote their way or something. And just- it lets people know they can do that stuff, so they'll try it again."

"Oh," Tertius said, dimly. Tertius himself wasn't important enough in his family's hierarchy to worry about, he was pretty sure, but he wondered if this was something Cyprian had to worry about. Perhaps there were downsides to being the house heir. "Sorry. It's not like you wanted it to happen, though."

Cato just shrugged, looking a shade of miserable as they stopped in front of the bookshelf. "Doesn't matter. End's the same."

"I guess. Are you worried about them going after Aunny because of it?" Tertius asked offhand. He didn't notice Cato's reaction immediately as he focused on shifting his heavy bookbag to the ground.

When he didn't get a word either way from Cato, he looked up to check on him and realized his friend was not okay. His eyes were unblinking and looking at nothing, and his breathing was working up like how it had gone funny last time before he suddenly went to sleep.

"Cato?" Tertius asked nervously, not wanting his friend to sleep again. If he did, Tertius would have to pull him in their secret spot himself so he wasn't just lying in the middle of the library, since that sounded dangerous for an elf. That sounded like a lot of work, and they risked someone noticing and finding their spot. He poked his friend on the shoulder experimentally. "You should stop that, I think."

Cato started and looked at Tertius as if he just noticed him there. The little jump he gave in surprise made tears spill over onto his cheeks, and he hastily palmed them away. "Sorry. I was just thinking. I hadn't thought of that but now that you mention it, yeah. I have to figure out how to make sure he's going to be safe."

"Oh. Sorry," Tertius apologized, not wanting to make him worry.

"Naw, it's good that you reminded me. I can start figuring that stuff out now so by the time he's here it'll be okay," Cato assured him, looking the utmost serious and determined with his new plan. "And I think I know where I want to start."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. You go ahead. I have someone I gotta talk to, but I'll be back soon, promise."

Tertius squinted at him suspiciously, but nodded and watched as he sprung off like a halla. He hoped he came back soon.

--

Calpernius looked down at Cato with narrowed eyes. "I thought I told you not to-"

"No. I don't want to play this game. This isn't funny. I need to talk to you."

At that, Calpernius reared his head in surprise before cackling. The laugh cut off abruptly, his face falling into flat irritation. When he spoke, his words were sharp, his teeth bare. "I don't think you get it. I'm not joking. I don't give a fuck about you-"

"No," Cato snapped. He stepped forward and, despite only reaching just past Calpernius' waist, matched the boy's vicious face and then some. Cato pointed his finger at Calpernius, jabbing it into his chest with the kind of authority only learned from a lineage of ruling. "You don't get it. This isn't about me. My brother is gonna come to the Circle next year, and I heard that... that the thing that happened to me might happen to him, too."

"My sympathies," Calpernius sneered. His lip curled as he swatted away Cato's finger, but he did not push past Cato like he had feared.

"How do I make it not happen?" Cato demanded.

Calpernius laughed again, this time less false and more helpless. "You can't. What happened to you? Happens to every elf that comes to the Minrathous Circle. Has for years. Happened to me. Happened to every poor fucking rat I've seen here. It's going to happen to you again, until you wise up and transfer to someplace less prestigious, or apply for remote classes."

"We can't do that. We got to go here."

"Then I'm so sorry for your miserable future. Best wishes that you manage not to kill yourself like the last rat that came through here," Calpernius said sarcastically.

"They killed themselves?" Cato asked. Something in him stilled, and his voice trembled- this was new. He didn't... he wasn't prepared for that. "People do that? How many... do that?"

"I don't fucking know," Calpernius grumbled, throwing his hand up. When pressed by Cato's sharp frown, he hissed. "Six- no, seven since I've been here, at least. There's been at a few dozen that's transferred since then, though."

"Seven?"

"Yeah, and it's as likely as not that I'm talking to number eight, so if you'll fuck off-"

"I need to help Aun."

Calpernius groaned, visibly grinding his teeth now in frustration. "This is why butchers don't name their beef cattle."

"Huh?"

"I don't want to know your brother's name! I don't want to know your name, I don't want to be your friend, I don't want to be your little mentor or whatever fantasy is running through your stupid little head. I can't believe I'm even entertaining you right now. You want my advice? Leave the Circle. I don't know why you haven't done that already! There are correspondence classes. I know your mother is a magister, so you could transfer to any other major Circle in the entire Imperium. Fuck, you could probably afford to hire tutors that would give you a better education if you really wanted to."

"I can't leave," Cato insisted.

"Well, then you're an idiot."

"If I'm an idiot for staying and it's so easy to transfer or do any of that other stuff, then why do you stay here, huh?"

Cato hadn't expected the reaction he got. Calpernius' mouth shut instantly and his head reared as if someone had yanked back his reins. Sensing something there, something with give, Cato persisted, his words coming careful as he puzzled them out. "Why are you staying? You don't want to be here, it's not about Minrathous being the best. 'Titus' isn't a magisterial name, so it's not because important magisters always come from the Minrathous Circle. It's not because it's close to the Senate either, so it's not about distance..."

"Rot in the Void," Calpurnius swore, but Cato could tell he was hitting something.

"Is it? If you have to be here- if you have to be in Minrathous... it has to be for some reason."

"Fuck off, this is none of your business."

Cato's voice cracked as he spoke. "I can find out, you know. I can ask my tamas to look you up and-"

"Fine! Fine, whatever you want. Ask away. Whatever the fuck you want to know, and then you leave me alone, right?" Calpernius wagered. The urgency in his voice piqued Cato's interest.

"Well, now I'm kind of curious."

"Do you want my help or not?" Calpernius asked. "I like my privacy; you have your offer. Keep your nose out of other people's fucking business and I'll help."

"I want to know everything."

"Fine."

"All your tricks. You've been here for years and-"

"I said fine! Meet me back here tomorrow, same time. I'll have everything written out for you."

"How do I know you aren't going to send them for me?"

This time, Calpernius recoiled not in fury but... offense? It was a moment before he replied, as if he had to find his words again. "I wouldn't do that," Calpernius said, face set. "Would you?"

#dragon age #trophy #yarking writes #abuse tw