#I had a green 3rd gen like at the front

[thisischeri]

cheri.png

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - Aristeia (working title)

Tagged by @dirty-bosmer thank you thank you

tagging: @thana-topsy, @expended-sleeper, @tallmatcha @gilgamish @nientedenada

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (blood and violence) Category: gen Genre(s): Adventure, Homer retelling Main characters: Borgakh the Steel Heart, the orcs of Mor Khazgur

Summary: When the chief of Mor Khazgur goes missing, male orcs from across the Reach show up to vie for the stronghold, causing chaos and disruption in their corner of Skyrim. The wives of Mor Khazgur must figure out how to deal with them while they wait for their chief's return.

I blame @thana-topsy for the Pavo Attius/Gat gro-Shargakh brainworms. Everyone go read Finding Mara and join me in the worm bin.

This is a pretty extended snippet, because the chapter's almost dooooooone~!

3rd First Seed, 4E 195 Borgakh did not need familiar landmarks to tell her they were getting close to the stronghold. She could smell it.

The daylight was waning as the mountains of the western Reach swallowed up the sun, casting long blue shadows over the land. Olur had spotted a clean spring for Borgakh to wash up, and there had been an untouched patch of wild winter radishes growing in the clay. They had picked all that they could fit in their packs and on Karagh’s saddlebags - all in all, a much more productive expedition than either of them had had for many months.

They crested the final hillock; Mor Khazgur dominated the shallow valley below. When she had been younger, Borgakh had often imagined the longhouse was a lazy cat asleep on a bright green rug, curled up against the rocks of the Druadach Mountains. When the stronghold’s goats were pastured in the glade, they played the role of mice scurrying about under the cat’s nose.

Now, there was no bright green rug, or herd of goats browsing the first buds of spring; the ground in front Mor Khazgur was a frozen mud pit.

Tents with various clan symbols painted on their roofs and sides crowded around the stronghold stockade with not even a semblance of order. The orc men who had arrived first had set up their lodgings without care for the foot paths, winter forage, or even well-tended herb beds outside of the walls. Later arrivals followed suit, until every bit of grass and brush had been ground into the dirt.

Then the thawing rains came and the winter snow had melted, and turned the broken mess into a mire.

Borgakh could hear shouting from the central bonfire of the camp, the one thing the orc men seemed to be able to work together to maintain. The stumps of the trees used to feed it stuck up from the ground where thick copses used to be.

“We should go around the side to the gate,” she said.

Olur continued to lead Kharagh down the slope to the main entrance of Mor Khazgur. “We meet our fates head-on, like Malacath commands, Borgakh. I for one won’t slink in like a thief to my own stronghold.”

Borgakh sighed, her stomach starting to knot. Coming home to Mor Khazgur used to be a source of comfort, a safe refuge from the harsh environment of the Reach.

Father used to be here.

Now every time she approached she had to run a gauntlet. Kharagh snorted at the mud, picking his feet up high with each step.

I don’t like it either, old friend, she thought and reached out to pat his neck. We’ll be through it soon.

Olur pulled up sharply, peering down into the crowd below. Borgakh followed his gaze, and saw what had caught his attention.

An orc leading a spotted mule and a human man were at the gate to Mor Khazgur.. They were surrounded by angry orc men. Borgakh could see some reaching for weapons.

“Pit, that’s Pavo and Gat-” Olur said before breaking into a ground covering jog, throwing Karagh’s lead at Borgakh. Borgakh swore and followed him, pulling a protesting Karagh behind her and loosening her knife in its sheath as she did so.

The mud was slippery and it was difficult going; Olur quickly outpaced her, breaking a trail through both the muck and the crowd. As he reached the knot at the gate, the shouting crescendoed and one of the orcs struck the human across the face, knocking him into the logs of the palisade.

The orc leading the mule was on the one who had struck the blow in an instant, his larger mass bearing the other to the ground with a thud that Borgakh felt through her boots. Olur had reached the man, and hauled him to his feet just in time as the orc men formed a circle around the grappling pair, stomping their feet and yelling encouragement and insults.

The orc that had assaulted the man was one of the newer arrivals; Borgakh did not know his name. It would probably not matter in a few minutes, not with the way Gat was driving his fist into his face.

Despite the blows he was taking from Gat, the other orc managed to get his axe free from his belt and swung it at Gat’s head. Gat intercepted the blow, and with a practiced twist jerked it out of the other orc’s hand and flung it away. Several of the onlookers were forced to jump out of the way as the axe flew by at eye-level.

Borgakh pushed her way to Olur and Pavo. Pavo’s brow was split and bleeding. The mule let out an anxious bray as the crowd grew wilder, adding to the din.

“We just came to trade-” Pavo was saying, swaying on his feet despite bracing himself on Olur’s arm.

“Can you get him inside?” Olur asked, transferring Pavo’s grip from his arm to Borgakh’s shoulder.

Borgakh, who had just grabbed the mule’s lead to prevent it from bolting, looked at him in annoyance. “How many hands do you think I-”

“Stop this at once!”

The authoritative voice cut through the noise and chaos, and in a few moments silence had descended on the crowd.

Gat landed another blow before standing, and turned to the stronghold.

Sharamph, Wise Woman of the stronghold, stood on one of the scaffolds that lined the inside of the stronghold defenses. She surveyed the assembled mass of orc men with a sneer.

“The wives of Mor Khazgur are still in seclusion. Fighting over the Chieftainship before it has ended is an affront to them and the Code!”

“I apologize for the disturbance, Wise-Woman,” said Gat, ignoring the other orc who was just now staggering to his feet. “I have no desire to fight for the leadership of Mor Khazgur, merely to extract the Blood-Price from the one who insulted my blood-kin.”

“And are you satisfied?” Sharamph asked.

Gat now looked over at the orc he had bested. Blood was oozing from his nose, and smeared around his mouth. Borgakh guessed he would wear the bruises of his defeat for a fortnight at least.

Gat looked over to where Pavo was leaning against Borgakh, holding a hand to his head. “Yes, I am satisfied.”

“If they aren’t competing for the right to be chief, then send them away! They have no business here.” Ansug gro-Yufethz, one of the first to arrive and declare his intention to fight for the right to be Chieftain of Mor Khazgur, stepped forward, and addressed Sharamph. “If you allow unrelated orc men in your stronghold during seclusion, then what meaning does that word have?”

“He is not an orc, and he has come to trade,” said Sharamph, indicating Pavo. “We need supplies after the winter, and the miners of Kolskeggr have always trusted our smithy for their tools. If you deny him entry you are only weakening the stronghold you wish to lead.”

Ansug narrowed his eyes and glared at Pavo, but after a moment relented. Borgakh was relieved - he was the largest and most influential among the candidates for Chief, and if he agreed, the others were likely to do so as well.

“Very well. The Imperial can enter for trade. But the orc must stay outside!”

Sharamph nodded once and disappeared behind the pointed timbers of the stronghold wall.

“Gat, I don’t like this-” Pavo said as Gat returned to his side.

“I’ll be fine,” Gat said, quickly removing a pack and a bedroll from the mule’s back. “I’ve slept in rougher places than this, you know that. I’ve got rations and our tent, and there’s no elves slinging firebolts at us. What more could I want?”

“But-”

“Olur, I think Juniper lost a few nails from her near-hind shoe in the mud.” Gat interrupted Pavo. “Will you be able to take a look while Pavo trades with Shuftharz?”

“Of course. Take him inside, Borgakh.”

The heavy gate swung open as Borgakh clicked to Karagh and Juniper. Pavo was standing on his own now, and Gat put a hand on his arm and bent down to whisper something in his ear. Pavo nodded and Gat gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder before hefting his pack and bedroll and disappearing into the crowd.

As she passed through the threshold of the gate, Borgakh felt tension she had not realized she was carrying leaving her neck and shoulders.

“Ghamorz, get the packs from the mule and bring them inside,” Sharamph said to the orc that closed the gate behind them.

“Do you really think Gat will be alright out there?” Pavo was already turning around and was staring at the closed gate. He opened his mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by Sharamph gripping his chin and turning his head in order to cast an experienced eye on the cut over his brow.

“This will need cleaning,” she said. “Come with me.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I should really see to Juniper first-”

“Borgakh will see to your animal. Your goods will be safe in the longhouse, but your blood is still flowing; much more and Gat will be compelled to extract more from that idiot to make up the difference.”

[thinkaboutmeff7au]

flash time 112

(1992.)

This church isn’t like the one back home, but it’s just as run-down. Mid-afternoon on a Thursday means there’s barely anyone here, but I can see a few people gathering in the pews. These doors are always open...something I found out when I had to drag Gen somewhere after his 3rd class celebratory bender.

There’s a confessional booth, but it doesn’t look like it’s being manned. I don’t care. I shut the door behind me and sit with a sigh.

“Sorry, I...” I start. “It’s okay. I don’t care if no one hears it, I just...”

I stare at the scuffed wood in front of me, wonder how many others have sat where I have. Confessed any amount of...well, anything.

I clear my throat again. “My best friend and I, we’ve been together like glue since we were in high school. We’ve been through a lot of sh--I mean, crap together...” Better not swear in front of the priest. Or God. Or whoever. “And like...he’s one of the only friends I’ve got.

“Now though...well, we’re both, er, we’re both in SOLDIER, and he’s got someone new he’s really...really fond of. It’s not like a girlfriend or something. He doesn’t date girls.” My heart stops. “F-forget I said that. He’s just eccentric. And there’s someone new in his life, and they spend all their time together now. They’re on missions together, they hang out together...”

I sigh. “I just wish we could hang out like we used to again.”

The truth is, I’m jealous. I know Gen was obsessed with me too, in a way that wasn’t healthy at all. Especially when he kept trying to make a move on me when I told him no. So him having someone else to put that...energy towards should be a good thing in theory.

But we’re still friends. He’s still my best friend. So why--

“Wow, that’s sad--”

“Ahh!” I yelp, jerking back and shaking the booth. It’s a young girl’s voice from the other side of the wooden mesh. What the hell?! Someone was actually listening?!

She pulls it open with her chin in both hands. “Sorry Mister SOLDIER, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says.

She has bushy brown hair with huge green eyes. She can’t be more than...well, she’s probably older than she looks. At least in high school herself.

“Sure, well...” I didn’t really want to put a face to this, let alone some random girl... “I’m gonna get going then...”

“Hey, wait! Maybe I can help!” she says, waving one hand. “Like, uh...what did you guys used to do together in school? To hang out?”

“Well, we were in jazz band together...”

“Maybe you can start doing that again!” She becomes animated. “Ooh, what instrument do you play?”

I don’t think she’s trying to come onto me. It’s happened to me before--especially with teenage girls. No, I think she’s genuinely excited. “I play drums. My friend plays bass.”

“See! Easy. You just start a band!” She is quite proud of herself. “Problem solved!”

I can’t help but laugh...what a strange kid. Still, it isn’t a bad idea. Gen always talked about getting a band together. Didn’t he say Seph played guitar? Wonder if he would be willing...

That way the three of us could hang out, without it being a work thing. I’ll never forget our tour with the three of us...but who knows when that’ll happen again.

I turn toward her with a nod. “You know what? You might be right,” I say. “If anyone asks for me, I wasn’t here.”

“Sure thing! But I don’t even know your name.”

“All the better.”

I step out, stretching a bit--those booths are so cramped. They’re not made for Banora men. To my surprise, the girl comes out too, running over. She’s wearing overalls and a pink t-shirt, her transparent pink jelly sandals squeaking with every step.

“Hey, one more thing,” she says. “Do you know those guys in the suits?”

“You mean the Turks?”

“Yeah. There’s a guy with red hair I keep seeing hanging around. Can you tell him to leave me alone? I can take care of myself!”

Oh God, is this girl under Turk surveillance? I don’t need to get wrapped up in that. Time to go. I’m 99% sure she’s talking about Reno, though, so... “I’ll pass on the message,” I say.

(A.H.)

epilogue:

(1997.)

He’s eating today, so that’s good. Zack is still out of the loop, but Genesis is over every evening. I feel like I need to keep an eye on him for Zack’s sake...in exchange for keeping him in the dark.

“Hey, you know something,” Angeal says suddenly, his voice croaking. He clears his throat before he continues. “I just remembered...you and I had a run in before, a few years ago, before you and Zack got together.”

I blink. “Huh?”

“You were here at the church, and I was...” He smiles and shakes his head. “I was getting some shit off my chest about Gen. My mom had died, so I didn’t have anyone else to talk to about it. So I came here. And there you were.”

I roll through my memory. Here at the church...so it would’ve had to have been after Mom disappeared, after I was on the street...I snap my fingers. “Oh! Oh yeah! Mister SOLDIER!”

His smile is warm. “Thanks for that, by the way. Your little idea was pretty brilliant. It brought us together.”

“God, I barely remember that. I was going through a lot myself,” I reply. It was after I started living at the church, and only just getting used to three meals a day again.

“We all were,” he says. “Everyone is, all the time.”

His smile fades, and mine does too. Strange how these things work out.

(A.G.)

[jayhorsestar]

gossip locally [a] loved the clip in sweden police chase a kawasaki zr10, then out of jurisdiction, a saab 9-5 aero unmarked, [i sniffed seconds on that kawasaki chase, loved her ‘darkside black sweater a lot, btw]. [b] firesquad at RO juneau kronstadt was called for premises inspection during 3rd week of december, they dropped by carrying a big black suitcase, papertrail on the JMB shop premises [so nothing scanned, not using USB stick, or assimilated whatsoever, 2022]. [c] 2005 condmag inc was not able porting onto server electronically using a plotter 10 gees EUR, the maps of pipelines and perhaps neither dafora inc today did. [d] shop managers still afraid of their own credentials, and called in couple young students a Ltd Co to deal the electronic transactions server room and change music, occasionally. also called in during december his own old team Ltd Co from Suceava, where also a smaller JMB, so to check all sensors of current bigger shop [yet he was appointed during june at least]. [e] we already replaced twice the POS caller SIM on POS 12, less a month in between reviews. [f] i witnessed a repair of a magnetic locking door by Yale which required three screwdrivers (two plus a hexa-octo imbus), and lasted more than 15 min. can be hooked on either 12V or 24V low current net. and there are more than fifty such magnetic sensors actively mounted, and identical to those at the BBP 2008-2013. [g] same day Yale was fixed, the shortcutcomputer 2nd retail unit on calea bucharest was shutting down permanently [they were revealing a Honeywell sensors box for 800 EUR appx 6 months ago, online]. [h] the caterpillar outside was on Stopped all through december, unlike the BBP 2013 when it was on Standby (same type caterpillar gen.), yet the heating air curtain at entry doors was running as if the snow outside was half a meter (instead was all sunshine). [under marky mark management, some front-desk ladies and cleaning services ladies would had been fired] [i] unlike the 2021 xmas and winter holidays, the 2022 shop floor looked much more diversified, at least 16 samples plastic evergreen trees instead of merely 10 at 2021, and twenty days of december were like 17 green sold a day and three-four whites, so averages of 20 trees a day. [j] unlike 2021 when shop warranted certain stock, currently there are more items on zero stock, just on display, and ready for delivery inside 24h, on paid order [reason why 2021 samples sold more often, 2022 sample items locked and not usually ready for sale]. m

[ninjaslegos]

hey hey, it's me again. i realize that there's gonna be.. probably no one who knows what the fuck i'm talking about/know the context for this, but could i get a kai x reader for the last/3rd life based thing i talked about on your main? with the scenario of (reader) becoming a red life and kai having to.. idk, watch em or something?

it's fine if you can't, i just thought that it'd be fun 😭 /gen

— 🎸

YEAH I love minecraft this is so fun. ALSO there's gonna be angst in here cuz like...there's no returning from a red name I assume?

I'm gonna say Jay has dark green name because he's a hardcore gamer, Zane has dark green from pure dumb luck, also he just sits at home and does farming all day that's literally it. Cole and Nya have green names, Lloyd has a yellow name because he has trouble hearing creepers sneak up behind him, and Kai has a yellow name because he INSISTS on going mining and then he keeps suffocating under gravel or mining straight down into lava or falling in ravines.

Context here

/Gamerule KeepInventory False

You were a really good player. How did it come down to this? He worked hard to expand your home; gave you nice, small windows you couldn't fit through so you could see the sunlight, fed you your favorite foods by tossing them into your cage, and even gave you a bed to sleep in. You never used it; instead opting to pace around your cage endlessly, looking for any way to escape. There wasn't any, of course. You couldn't mine obsidian without the diamond pickaxe you lost.

He would sit there for hours, talking to you as if you were listening, and not staring angrily at him with intent to kill. "Lloyd's gotten better at making potions. Jay has to bring him ingredients, but he's been sitting in the library, studying and practicing. I think we can cure you soon." He smiled sadly at you. He wanted nothing more than to hold you, touch you, but he knew the second he put his arm within your reach, you'd tear it off his body without hesitation. But he believed you were in there somewhere; that the disease that had taken over your body only controlled your actions, not your thoughts.

You all started out with dark green names. Everyone in Ninjago did. Some players had better luck than others; those who didn't know what they were doing died off quickly, and started to spread a disease once they had died too many times. The green would fade to red and they would lose control, wanting to paint the world in that unsettling copper scent. Those who had seconds of control left after seeing their red names would set themselves on fire and hope that would kill them before they hurt anyone. Everyone had campfires next to their beds just in case.

You weren't as good as Jay, but you were the best at tedious work like mining and farming for supplies. When someone wanted wood or stone, or anything else, you would be back in an hour with a few stacks of it. The first accident was when you were caught by yourself surrounded by red players. They fought you, then fought each other once you died. It all went downhill from there.

The last time Kai saw you, you went out to get kelp. He doesn't know if you drowned or you were poisoned by a pufferfish or what happened out there, but he opened the door to your shared room to get something, when you appeared in front of him. Items missing and name red.

You just stood there in shock. He looked to the fire pit in your room, but wasn't ready to let you go. There wasn't much time to act, as the disease would take over soon. "Come on, come on!" He grabbed your wrist hard and yanked you outside, despite your protests. You had gathered obsidian a few hours ago, and he put one down. "Get on it, now!" He shouted. He'd never yelled at you before, and you flinched before stepping onto it. You tried to protest, but he wouldn't listen. "Shut up! I'm trying to fix this!" He was crying just as much as you were as he worked on the four walls first.

You twitched, then hunched over in pain, the first sign of take over. "Kai...I love you."

Then you went quiet as he put the ceiling on. Those were your last words to him. Once you were properly trapped, he sat down on the ground and processed everything. Nya came out to see her brother screaming and sobbing loudly, and tried desperately to calm him down. Nothing worked until Lloyd stepped up, promising to try and find a way to cure you.

It took him weeks to recover. He didn't do anything to help the team, which they didn't mind too much. They spent that time staying home and stocking resources while Kai grieved. Keeping you in your original cage, he built more obsidian around it, then stocked a chest with food and snowballs you could throw for fun in case you were bored, and put a bed in the middle for you to sleep on. There was no way for you to get any resources, and no way for you to get out. You were perfectly trapped and as safe from the outside as the outside was from you. When it came time to release you from the cage into the larger prison, he sat on the top block first, then got rid of the walls, allowing you to get out. You reached for him, but he was too high up for you. "I love you, (Y/N)." All he got was growling as you continued to fruitlessly grab for his ankles.

He climbed out of a hole in the ceiling and finally sealed you away. Days turned to weeks turned to months. Every time Lloyd seemed close to a cure, something would go wrong and he would have to start over. The potion would have the wrong effect, or an ingredient would be so scarce that other players had already gotten to and hoarded it first, or the ingredients wouldn't mix properly and make the potion useless, or something, or something, or something. Kai stopped counting the mistakes a long time ago.

"If I still had a green name, you bet I would waste it just to go in there and hold you, even if you would tear me apart. Even if it wouldn't last longer than a few seconds. To touch you and hold you again." He sighed to you. "Wouldn't you like that?"

You let out a low growl, then hissed at him viciously. He smiled and stared at you lovingly. "I know you would. Just a little longer, (Y/N). We'll fix this. We'll fix this." He repeated to himself.

[honeypirate]

an old friend

Vulcan Joseph x Fem!Reader

Pt two here

warning. wounds, blood, implied torture. 

Banging on the door of the familiar building in the middle of the scrap yard was probably not the smartest thing you could do, considering it was after midnight and there was no moon in the sky, but you had no other choice, you had no where else.

The metal on the door scrapes as the flap moves and a pair half asleep annoyed green eyes look out at you. He takes one look at your scared, shivering form, and the flap slams shut. You hear many locks being opened before the door flies open and you gasp, getting a good look at the man. “What’s going on?” he asks and you take a step towards him, your legs give out and you fall forward, he catches you in his arms and takes you inside, laying you on his couch, noticing bandages on your arms. “I had nowhere else to go. I’m sorry. I know it’s been a long time” you watch as black spots cloud your vision, he kneels down next to you and places the back of his hand on your head, frowning when he feels how you’re burning up. You reach out and brush your fingers across his neck tattoos “sexy” you say and then giggle softly before everything goes dark, the pain in your arms, legs, and back finally feeling a little relief in sleep. 

You wake with a start, gasping as you fly up and a wet washcloth falls from your forehead. You try and catch your breath as you look around you, remembering last night as you took in the room that you guessed was Vulcan’s. as you throw your legs over the side you groan from your shirt moving against your back and  you can feel your arm bandages stuck in your wounds. You find a bathroom but couldn’t find a first aid kit but you did find a new toothbrush in the package which you were grateful for. after cleaning yourself up a bit you tried to find your way out, going up a few different sets of steps, following the sounds of drums. 

Your feet on the steps above him has him stopping his actions as he sets down his wrenches and takes off his mask. He spins around in his stool just as you enter the room. You very obviously look him over, going from his strong thighs to his even stronger arms and chest, when you finally make eye contact he has his eyebrows raised and your cheeks flush. “We should talk” you say and he nods. 

In the kitchen you sit opposite him at the table, sitting on the edge of your seat with your arms gingerly in your lap. he places a cup of coffee in front of you and you take a sip before sighing and meeting his eyes again. He’s silent and you didn't think he’d be otherwise after the last time you saw him, when you left him. As you look into his eyes now you remember that night like it just happened. 

he grabbed your hand to stop you and you sighed “Vulcan. We are best friends and have been since kids, but I need to do this. I can’t just pretend that I don't have something to offer. I want to use my powers for good. To find out the truth. I’m sorry” you rip your hand from his grasp and push the door open, not stopping it from slamming shut behind you. After that he found that you joined Company Three as a second gen and engineer, which just absolutely ruined him. ‘Another person to betray me’ he thought. 

“From the beginning then” he nods and takes a sip before folding his arms across his chest which now has a shirt on it. You take a huge swallow, the boiling liquid burning your tongue and throat “when I left a year ago I traveled from place to place, I eventually ran into Obi Akitaru from the 8th and we devised a plan. I want to expose the truth and fight for what's right and he suggested I offer my services to the 3rd because I had no other ties to anyone. I lied about knowing you i lied about my family, for the last year all i have had were lies and violence and pain. But i was so good at the act, so good at pretending for them that I almost had Giovanni eating out of my hand” you raised you hand and stared at your palm “but then he asked me” your voice cracks “he asked me to” your eyes well up with tears and you look at his face again, taking in everything about him that was different and everything that was the same. You clear your throat but the tears dont stop “he asked me to convince you by any means necessary to have you join them at the 3rd '' his eyes widened and his arms relaxed but didn't fully uncross them. Your eyes never leave his as you finish the story “I said yes, I said yes because I thought that I couldn't have him choose someone else and the only option was to say yes. For a split second though, I hesitated. I hesitated and he saw the confliction in my eyes. He took me to his room then, dragged me actually, and he” you gently roll up the edges of your long sleeves to your elbows, exposing an array of bandages “well, you should see you my back and shins if you really want to know” your eyes meet his again and you can see the pain in his, they are misting over with unshed tears as he looks at your arms, his hands trembling. “He untied me to let me use the restroom and when he wasn’t looking I jumped from the window and ran. that was” you swallow hard “that was 2 days ago I think. I have been running and I hadn’t slept. it’s why i passed out” he gets up and finds the first aid kit under the sink before pulling a chair up right next to yours and turning you to face him once he sat. 

His nimble fingers got to work, peeling off tape that held bandages made out of paper towels to your skin. You hiss when they get stuck on the scabs, the blood connecting it to the paper solid as cement. He grimaces and feels his heart drop and tingles run up his spine. He brings you over to the sink to run warm water slowly over the bandages until they move around easily and didn't cause too much pain. 

When you get back to the table he can finally bring the wet bandages away and the scene makes tears form in his eyes “oh y/n” he says and you bit your lip “please believe me Vulcan. I’d never betray you” you whisper and he nods swiftly “I believed you the moment i saw your eyes” he said as he pours some peroxide over your wounds. Deep gashes in your arms that would definitely scar, he had no idea what to think of your legs or back. He notices now that you are sitting gingerly and not leaning against the chair. “The ones on my legs were the oldest so they don't hurt anymore. Would you mind helping the ones on my back?” you ask in a whisper and he feels his heart break. 

“I’m sorry for coming. I’ve put you in too much danger. I’ll leave after you’re done” you say as his hands swiftly care for the few wounds on your back. He cleanses and you hiss and arch your back. His hand gently holds your shoulder and he brushes his lips across the back of your neck. “Vulcan” you whisper “don’t talk about leaving now. We will figure out what the best option is after i make you something to eat” you nod and grit your teeth as he spreads neosporin and puts on bandages. 

He helps you slip your shirt back on and then comes to stand in front of you, holding your cheeks gently in his hands “y/n” he whispers, his green eyes filled with an unknown emotion. You place your hands on his wrists “I’m sorry. I should have found another way and I should have done it with you. I never should have left” his eyes fill with tears that fall when he blinks “we’ll figure it out okay? Together.” You nod in his hands and he wipes away your tears as you stand up, reaching up to brush away his.  

A year ago you left, at the cusp of your friendship be someone something more. You knew you loved him but you ran away claiming to want to find the truth. You were a coward. One of his hands snakes around to your lower back and he presses you towards him. When your stomachs connect you chuckle and blush, he smiles down at you. “Is this the wrong time to tell you that I’ve never stopped loving you?” You whisper, your thumbs brushing his cheek bones as his eyes widen. “When did you start?” he asks and you chuckle “ my 13th birthday. you made the thing that spit out bubbles from a bunny mouth and you couldn't make it stop and..” “and i had to smash your gift 20 minutes after giving it to you” you laugh and nod “yeah. Then. of course I have had a lot of time away from you to really pinpoint the very first day. I realized I was in love with you 18 months ago when you made me a pancake that looked like a bunny and you made it’s tongue out of a strawberry. I've never stopped thinking about you” his eyes flick down to your lips for a second and your heart beat skips, the stinging in your arms and back seem to fade to nothing as he leans closer to you. 

“Vulcan who’s this?” you take about three steps back in a hurry, knocking down a chair and hitting your back against the fridge. You can feel one of your wounds open again as heat pools out of a cut but you can’t focus on it, your eyes are stuck on the gorgeous redheaded girl with tattoos in the doorway, a boy behind her looking over her shoulder at you. You reach up quick and brush away any stay tears as you take in a big breath, it didn’t seem like he was going to respond but before you can say anything he says in a rush “this is Y/n. an old friend is all”

[the11tailed]

Fandom: The Magnus Archives, Star Wars The Clone Wars (2008), vague Dead by Daylight

Tags: @crc-general-orin, @crc-commodore-sana9

Reblogs are love ^-^

-

[Recorder click]

Statement of Tup Fett regarding an incident that occurred in a Junkyard when he was a child.

Audio recording by Tech Fett, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institution, London.

Statement begins

I never blamed my brothers for what happened, it was my fault in a way. I never should have gone to that junkyard. It was a dare. Just a dare. It was harmless. 

I was 7 at the time. My brother’s Fives and Echo had dared me to go into the weird junkyard out by our old house. It's not a bad junkyard. It's just a dump a few meters back of the houses. Someone started a rumor that dead bodies were found there, but many members of my family is in law enforcement and they stated that no bodies were ever found, so I never believed those tales. Fives and Echo had been charged with taking care of myself and my twin, Dogma as all other members of my family were busy. Fives and Echo are good brothers, don't misread this, but they were not babysitters.

It was obvious early on they did not know what they were doing. They took us to the Junkyard, as they went there for fun a lot. It was a short walk, and sooner than I'd like, we were at the entrance. I was a bit scared, but Dogma was petrified. He clung to Echo and refused to go in. He said the "shadow people" didn't like this place. The shadow people were Dogma's imaginary friends (yet on some days I wondered if they were really imaginary) and he had them since, well, he was four after our uncle...did some disgusting things to him. I won't go into detail, but you can guess what our uncle did. He started seeing these "shadow people" everywhere. Anyway, I'm getting off track.

Fives only laughed when Dogma mentioned the shadow people. He dared us to go in

"It'll be fun!" he had said this with such glee.

I wanted to prove to my big brother that I was brave. So I went in. It was like any junkyard I've ever seen. It was just stuff piled high with no real order to it. I wandered for a bit, not long. It was when I turned a corner did I see the gate. At first, I couldn't figure out why it put me on edge. It was pitch black, with vines from some plant coiling around it so tight it warped the metal. I could see strange flowers bloomed on various and random places on the gate. I was curious so I got closer. I wish I hadn't. I wished I had turned and walked back to Fives and Echo and didn't go through the gate. But I did.

I stepped through the gate and the world around me warped. I don't really know how to describe it. The world almost folded around me and I felt really hot and really cold at the same time. Then it unfolded and refolding again and again. When it stopped I was standing in a junkyard but it was different from the one I had been in. This one had broken down cars everywhere. The next thing I realized was that the sky had taken a red tint, casting the whole area in a red glow that sent shivers down my spine. I turned, wanting to go back, only to find the gate slammed shut. I ran to it, but it had no handle. I saw a lever, but when I pulled it, nothing happened. I was scared and so utterly alone. I reached into my pocket for my phone, I need to call for help, but found my pocket empty of any phone, lost I looked around. I spotted the generator. It was an old thing, just sitting there. It wasn't on and I got the odd feeling that I needed to fix it. I walked over to it. I didn't know what I hoped to do, I was 7 and sure as hell didn't know how to fix a generator, and yet I did. I worked on it for 2 and a half minutes and fixed it. I still have no idea how. When it clicked on I got this odd sense of dread. I got up and walked to one of the red lockers that was sitting near the generator as the sense of dread grew into terror. I opened it and climbed in, closing the door. The terror I felt made my heart hammer in my chest. And then I heard it. The thump thump of something heavy walking near. The smell of rotting flesh was so strong I nearly gagged. I knew the smell of rotting flesh anywhere. My Grandpappy Jaster owned a farm, and one time I had found a dead cow that had been missing for days. She had wandered up into a wooded area and died. I found her and vaguely remember losing my lunch and crying into my older brother, Fox's, shoulder. Grandpappy did feel real bad about that, even though it was not his fault.

I heard a snarl of rage before the heavy footfalls got quieter and quieter. The sense of fear and dread went with it. Once I could no longer feel the dread, I climbed out of the locker and hurried off in the opposite direction of the footfalls.

I have no idea how long I ran. It was a while before I ran into anyone. I mean literally, I ran right into someone. A man in his 20's wearing a suit, now torn, ripped, muddy, and bloody. He had black hair and green eyes and I would later learn his name was Anthony. Anthony looked horrified to see me. I was confused back then, but I know why now. He was scared because I was a seven-year-old kid put in a demented game with a ruthless killer, but I'm getting ahead of my self. Anthony helped me up and hurried me along. I was went with him, too scared not to. He led me to another generator.

"I'm guessing you got the 3rd generator," he said and I just nodded.

"We just need two more and then we are free," he said that with such a hopeful tone.

There was another person with us, a young woman named Sarah. She was a young woman, maybe 19 or 20 with short, dyed pink hair and a few piercings. Her clothes were tattered and bloody and I noted she had a bandaged wrapped around her shoulder, yet I could see no wound. She was already working on the gen. Myself and Anthony knelt and helped her. Soon, with a rumbling click, the gen turned on. Then the dread crept in. I looked around desperately for a locker, but found none. Anthony grabbed me and dragged me behind a stone wall. There was a tree near us and I had to hold in a gag at the scent of rotten meat wafted from the crow slung up on the bark of the tree, stomach open. Anthony put his finger to his lips and we sat there crouched. The dread turned into terror and I heard the footsteps. thump thump. Loud and commanding. I was scared, far more scared than I had ever been in my life. I was shaking and Anthony knew that. He placed a hand on my shoulder, trying to console me. Then I saw Sarah run and I got the first look at the monster. It was humanoid, an arm covered in strange, boil like spots. I think the most horrifying part was it's face. It's flesh there was pulled, I have no idea how else to explain it. There were staples on various parts of it's body. It was terrifying. It held a chainsaw in one hand and a hammer in the other and it ran after Sarah. It activated it's chainsaw and I heard it whir and then the squelch of it hitting flesh. I heard Sarah scream, a sound so raw and so painful I wanted to cry. I think I was. I watched as it threw Sarah over it's shoulder. It carried her to a hook standing in the field. It was nothing special, but I found it odd that the hook was just there, swaying ever so slightly in the wind. Then, it threw Sarah onto the hook and she screamed again. He watched her gag for a second before limping off and vanishing into the tall grass. I tugged at Anthony's sleeve

"Shouldn't we help her?" I had asked through tears but Anthony shook his head

"Death hook" was all he said

Sure enough, long spider like limps emerged from the hook and impaled her. I watched in horror as they lifted Sarah's body up as more spider-like limbs descended down and grabbed her body and lifted her up into the void above. Once her body was gone, the limbs emerging from the hook, knocked the hook off and onto the ground. I let out a chocked sob as the realization hit me. I had just watched a person die.

"C'mon kid," Anthony had said and ushered me along.

I followed numbly, I was in shock, but the gravity of our situation shook me out of it quick. We found the last gen quick. We worked on it fast, but slow enough as to not make mistakes.

"I have a kid around your age," said Anthony, smiling at me, "Once I get out of here I plan to hug them and remind them how much I love them. You got any family,"

I nodded,

"Lot's of big brothers, a dad," I sniffled, "How does time pass?"

"I've been here a few minutes, what's the date,"

"the first of august, 2009," I responded and he looked pale

"No, it's-it's the second of January," I shook my head at that and we lapsed into silence. The dread came just as the gen clicked on. We both shot up, but by that time the dread was terror. It was here. Anthony ran at it and tried to draw it away from me, but it didn't work. I ran as it chased me, fear surging through my limbs, but I was seven, I wasn't fast enough. Do you know what it feels like to be slammed in the back with a chainsaw? I can't even begin to describe the pain. It hurt worse than any injury I had ever gotten and I screamed. Next thing I knew, I was being carried over it's shoulder. It was taking me to an open field. There were two hooks. Both faced each other. He threw me on one. The pain from that was worse than the chainsaw as the metal hook ripped through soft flesh and muscles and threw bone and I screamed a blood curdling scream. I was only there for a moment when I heard a strange noise. The gate had been opened. A sense of panic hit me. Had Anthony left me to die. But then I heard the whir of a chainsaw and a cry. It hooked Anthony right in front of me. He gave me a small smile as the creature ambled off.

"Listen," he had said, "Gates open, straight ahead, hurl yourself off the hook and run, don't stop, don't try to get me, I'm on death hook, Just run,"

"How?" I cried in desperation.

"Throw yourself off the hook," he said before the limbs stabbed him and dragged him away.

I wanted to cry, but it would have to wait. I took a deep breath and threw myself forward and off the hook. There was an explosion of pain, but I didn't register it. I ran. Ran as fast as I could. I saw the gate, wide open and tore forward. The whir of the chainsaw came from behind me and I got the idea to bob and weave. I did and it worked. I knocked over a pallet with strength I didn't even know I had and tore to the gate. I ran threw the gate out without stopping. Like before, the world folded in on me and repeated until, it stopped. I was back in the junkyard, no broken cars in sight and a soft blue of the sky almost made me sob. Warm blood trickled down and, to my horror, I realized I was still hurt. I reached into my pocket and was greeted with my phone. I called the first number I could think of. 911. I just said I was hurt in the Junkyard, fell and hurt my shoulder and that I need help and fast. The operator was a nice lady, helped keep me calm. The fire and rescue arrived fast and I felt happiness when the words 212 came into view along with squad car 1010. I wanted to cry as I ran towards them. I watched Helix run and catch me and I collapsed into my cousin's arms.

"Tup?" he had sounded so horrified and I guess he had the right to.

Fox rushed over and froze when he saw me. Helix was treating me as fast as he could as Fox knelt beside me and cupped by face with his hand. He told me it was all okay now, and that I was safe. I knew I was.

I woke up in the hospital three days later. I learned that I had been missing for almost an entire month. Fives and Echo felt so guilty, blamed themselves, but I could never blame them. Never.

-

Statement ends.

Another victim of the Entity's twisted games, and my own cousin. I remember the scramble for search parties when Tup went missing, but I still lived with my abusive mom, so my brother's and I were unable to search for Tup, who had been a close friend in high school for me. After this, Tup went through a lot of therapy, but he still struggles. He informed me one day, years ago, that he too now sees the shadow people. I've seen the shadow people too. All my brother's have. They are always there, just watching us.

As for follow up, there is not much we can do. The entity exists in a realm outside of ours and we have no way of stopping it or telling who it's next victim will be.

So another dead end, but not matter. Unfortunately, most of the files in the archives have statements made by members of my family. A lot mention a horrible tragedy and the sudden appearance of these shadow people. I wish to look into them, but my own shadow people have grow restless, usually that means-

[Static on recorder]

Yes, I know

[Static]

Yes

[Static]

Fine

End recording

[Recorder click]

[grandfracturalexact1970]

A 3rd gen Charger from 1974 that I built for a friend.

In the middle of the 60’s , car manufacturers in the USA wanted to make some sort of compact car “pony cars” but fast at the same time. And the Mustang was born. Ford basically refined the muscle car industry by doing it small. There were 3 variants of the mustang you could see.

Hardtop coupe 2 door (square top)

Fastback coupe 2 door (bubble top the first year but fastback the next years)

And the convertible 2 door

But Dodge saw that the car has a success , he begins doing on his own project. We had to wait till 1966 to see the new model: the Charger.

The first two years were extremely looking fastbacks. The car was heavily inspired by the AMC Marlin (despite being a 2 door , this car is soooo loooong!) and Dodge basically took the concept out of the Marlin and and rebranded it as Charger . The front however , is was from the Coronet , a lower class before the Charger and it fits very well. The rear is nothing you ever saw in the the 60’s. This is probably one of the parts that stayed or the concept . The rear is just a big light bar and a metallic bumper. I mean I’m not a big fan of light bar taillights but I just have to admit that on the first gen Charger , it looks ugly. (I probably lost some people now). But the first gen are my favorites along with the third ones.

The second gen are the most unique ones. They downgrade a little to look almost as a Coronet. But we can clearly see that it has his own inspiration. You can look at the photos above while I tell you what’s unique about the second gen. The front wasn’t straight , it was curvy ,the same for the rear too, you’ve got the windows that go up for the rear and all of a sudden it falls . (And for the video games enthusiasts, yes I will tell you what impact those cars got in racing games). And probably the most recognized muscle car cause of one movie that change the car chases in cinema history. This movie was called euhhh… hmmm… b… bull… hmmm… pfff i don’t really remember the name but It was from 1969 or something. Bullit(1968)for those who didn’t get reference . But the worst of it is that this wasn’t the biggest (in terms of lengths,width or height) muscle car , it was just placed between the mustang and another car that I didn’t remember. Yes we can talk about the general lee but it didn’t impact me as much as the Bullit edition. and it was also present in the movie Dirty Mary Crazy Larry (1974) but encounter a pretty tragic fate. From the three years the second gen was built , my favorite will be the 68 version. Because he has hidden headlights without the split grille , that makes car more mysterious and dark vibes from the one from Bullit. And it’s my favorite taillights combination for this car.

After 1970 , the Charger received a new design and it’s not disappointing at all. Really love the 3rd gen variants R/Ts like the variants SEs (which is the civilian version of the Charger or economy version). Actually the one that I built is not the version I prefer the most , if you saw the original movie Gone In 60 Seconds (1974) at a certain moment, there is a garbage truck blocking of the road after a good moment of pure chase , and when the truck stop at the intersection this green Charger with black stripes and vinyl roof with what seems to be dragsters wheels in the back with classic rallye rims , had to do an emergency stop by doing a fishtail because this truck is in the middle of the road and (she wasn’t the escapist, yes cause the driver was female). The next minutes will broke your heart but I leave it to you to watch this movie with intense 40 minutes of pure carnage. Really unfortunate cause this car didn’t not have so much credits and it would’ve been a great thing seeing this Charger in action on another scenes or maybe have its own movie . But i can talk but nothing is gonna be down to make something about this car , and it’s gonna be forgotten just like some other cars. But yes those cars really aged well and still appreciate by muscle cars communities and video games.

After 1975 the Charger got a new look. This was the fourth and the last generation of Charger after a long Time. This one , despite being a nice looking car, doesn’t look like a charger at all. It looks more Chevy Monte-Carlo than Charger. If they rebadged it into another name , I would have love it more (and I do know it’s was also named ‘Cordoba’ but since Dodge is division of Chrysler , it doesn’t really count. Both Cordoba and Charger are the same cars).Don’t have l a lot to say about that generation rather that this was the last after a long time. As I am writing this post , I read that this car actually partipate in the 24H LeMans and it was named Olympia Beer. Is was also one of two nascar cars that participated in this race.

While we gonna make our way into the video games part , I would like to add that there’s the variants of the 69 Chargers that were called Daytona as the same for Plymouth with their Superbirds. Beautiful cars indeed with what Richard Petty race it and (unfortunately) accidentally wreck it and Richard Petty also raced the Third gen Charger.

I first knew the Charger when I was a little younger when we played ( what is gonna be Race driver Grid) Pro race driver a racing game not everyone knows but I’ve grown up since I feel that it is a little off track to see this car in this kind of game along with another corvette and a Shelby cobra AC. But It was my go to car. And we’ve got a whole new package of racing car games that my big brother bought , and this was Need For Speed Undercover (PS2) . The PS2 version was widely criticized because of his cheating AIs but apparently had a better handling system that the PS3/XBox version. I am not going to go spend talking video games specifications because this is not the goal of this post and it’s gonna take 2333 more lines to read. But maybe a little fact about Undercover , one of the only NFS games where you can do a 360 and recover from (and your points bar count that and starts to rise). No wonder why my brothers hated me because every time we did a split screen race battle , they would always win because I’m still rolling in this b-body while they already finish , and this is with this game I discover the Challenger but this is for another post. And it’s just a beautiful car indeed, but yeah I already knew this car in The Fast And The Furious (2009) the fourth, where Bryan O’Conner reunites with Dominic Toretto for stopping a villain in Mexico. I was so young maybe 6 or 7 y/o and it was my big sister who was watching the movie, and I loved the Charger in the movie along with the Chevelle. This is the first Fast And The Furious Movie I’ve watched. The Charger from the fourth, is so far my favorite variant of the Charger In all of the F&Fs movies . Still today the Charger have a meaning to me and to be the first muscle car I discover, i am not disappointed to have discover classic cars and everything. I’ve downloaded two Need For Speed games I’ve never played. Need For Speed Carbon (2006) and Need For Speed Pro Street (2007) I will do a post to show you my whole line of muscle cars .

I’ve met this new friend but is gonna be anonymous, that my parents knew his parent via zoom . And one day my mom told me that I should say at least hello to their son who was the same age to me but a little older. And I said hello to the family and we go to know each other really quick , they know that I love to draw (that’s something that everyone knows when they first meet me) and my mom thought it would be funny to also show what I loved to built , and (this is something not everyone knows) and there were really impressed. And he was really interested to me , something I’ve never feel since I was born (except my family) outside of my family . So his mom decided to come to our house to delivering some food and stayed here for talking . So we talked for hours and never see the time flew really fast . But at the end , the reason why I did this for this, was because he offered me a twin sketchbook and now I can draw characters without having to take out a A4 paper. When this is your family that offered you a gift , you can kind of expecting that it will happening, but this their responsibility and because they love you , but when it comes to someone outside of your family , it means something to you , like you have the confirmation that you exist and there is people that will care about you in the future. I want thank him for the sketchbook he gave me and the package of pencils that he presented to me for my sister when she’s gonna go into France for job reasons , to buy me those packages. I want thank him in advance for that.

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Unedited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Thirty: The One With His View

Warnings: Weight loss

Word Count: 2376

    Bucky's POV

   Bucky sat in his bed with his arm laying detached beside him. His eyes stared down at the photo of Hunter and Lily on the beach, Joey there with them. His glassed over eyes focused on that bright beaming smile on the blonde's lips. One he hadn't seen in person for over a month now. One that he only saw in his dreams at night, or in the photos on his phone.

    Scattered around his apartment were printed photos of her that he had taken. The day after she broke up with him he had them printed out, just to have her in his hands once more. Her bright eyes crinkled at the sides as he took sneaky photos of her, ones he only showed her the night he took them, to avoid her from dodging him. She always hated having her photo taken, but he just couldn't help himself.

    She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

    He ran a shaky hand through his grown out hair, tugging gently on the roots, just as she always did. He ran those same hands down the front of his face, his overgrown facial hair scratching the callouses that he earned over the years. Glancing down at his phone, the brunette sighed. May 3rd. Her birthday was tomorrow. He could only take a guess how she was celebrating it.

     Her and Hunter probably sitting on the couch with Chinese, Gen and Rose occupying the other sofa as a cheesy rom-com played on the TV. When Hunter went to bed, she'd probably change it to a horror movie. He never understood how she enjoyed them so much. To Bucky, horror movies were something he could never get on board with, yet Lily adored them so much, he would sit there with her. He would typically end up curled into her side, wincing whenever there was a loud noise from the screen.

    But she'd never say anything about it. She'd just chuckle and call him a "big ol' baby", and kiss the top of his head before throwing more popcorn in her mouth.

     Her favourite was The Nun. Bucky despised it. Whether it be her desensitization to it, or her strange love for things that made her yelp in fear, she would watch it so often. Eventually, Bucky actually opened his eyes for some of the more scary parts. But he always ended up curled into her side once more, breathing in her scent to sooth him. She'd never watch ones that were more so thriller based, the psychological ones that messed with peoples heads and typically involved person to person violence though. He knew she watched them alone, but wouldn't with Bucky.

     Because he told her what they did to him mentally. So she didn't. Because his comfort was always her main priority, especially with his trauma.

     The alarm on his phone blared, sending a jerk through his body. Glancing down, Bucky groaned. He had therapy in half an hour, which meant he had to leave now. He'd managed to dodge the conversations about Lily with his therapist, but the Doctor knew that. Which meant, sooner or later, she would pry and get him to open up about his heartbreak.

-----

     "Lily was her name, right?" Dr. Raynor asked, tilting her head as she stared down the man across from her.

     "I'd prefer not to talk about it." Bucky stated simply, readjusting in his seat on the couch.

     "Mmm you said that a month ago. Then again three weeks ago. Then again two-"

     "I get it."

     Bucky knew that his luck would go against him. Of course Dr. Raynor would bring her up the day before her birthday. As her present sat heavy in his coat pocket. He'd carried it around with him for the past month, never letting it far from his sight. So much sat inside of the case, begging for her.

     "She has a son. I have that here in the notes. You loved him, and even saw him as your own," the Doctor began, crossing her legs, "did you imagine having a family with her yourself, James?"

     "We were a family already," he stated softly, voice cracking halfway through, "from the moment I first stayed at her house, we were a family."

     "Let me rephrase," Dr. Raynor continued, tilting her head, "did you imagine having a child of your own with her?"

     Yes. The answer was yes. He pictured it in his head whenever he saw her with Hunter, or pictures of her with Hunter when he was a baby. What Bucky would have given to be there for her then, to have been Hunter's father since birth. But he took what he could. Instead, he imagined her pregnant with his child. They'd talked about it briefly. Both agreeing they'd love to have a little girl, name her Stella, or Amelia, something classic. They even tossed Rebecca back and forth, for Bucky's sister. In the end they decided on Rose-Rebecca for a middle name instead. For a boy, they came up with Wyatt or Theo, with Steve as the middle name.

     They'd imagine their home. Somewhere in the countryside, a large backyard for Hunter and their other kid. A dog or two, maybe even a cat. Lily wasn't fussy on the idea of cats, not their biggest fans. But Bucky always wanted one.

     "You told me two months ago you planned on retiring," Dr. Raynor commented, pulling him out of his thoughts, "Was that to settle down with her? And start that family of your own?"

     "Yes." He stated, voice loose and breathy.

     "Did you end up following through with it?"

     "Yes."

     "How do you spend your days now?" she pushed, trying to get the truth out of him.

     "I volunteer at the old folks home near my apartment," he answered honestly, sighing as he spoke, "Tony offered me a job at the tower but I'm not sure I want to take it."

     "What was the job?"

     "Talking to retired veterans, young and old." He stated softly, fiddling with his gloves.

     "Does Lily know this?"

     He shook his head. He'd debated calling her over the last few weeks. Wondering if she'd even pick up. He drove past her street once, before doubting himself and refusing to ever step foot near there again. Too much pain followed when he realized he wouldn't have anywhere to go on that street. He wasn't allowed back at her place, not after she told him to get out, and said goodbye. With her back to him.

     "Have you had any contact with her son?"

     "No. No, I won't do that to him," Bucky whispered, voice failing him, "I couldn't. He deserves happiness, and peace. It's not for me to contact him."

     "And her sister, you said she was pregnant a while back," she continued, "what about her?" He shook his head again, prompting her to continue, "And...Gen. I think that was her name. Her best friend. Anything?"

     Another shake of his head.

     "Hand me your phone."

     Bucky sighed and tossed the device over, watching the Doctor swiftly catch it and turn it on. Her eyes softened when she saw his lockscreen. Bucky stared down at his lap, knowing what she saw. On his lockscreen, Lily stood on a balcony, a grey suit jacket on and a white lace dress. The sun shined bright on her face as she leaned her head back, blonde hair dancing in the wind. Her smile was slight, as she enjoyed the feeling of the sun. He took it when they were at his apartment in October, on a particularly warm day. She raided his closet and took the jacket.

     She still had it.

     "She's beautiful." Dr. Raynor stated, swiping up to unlock the phone. A tear fell down Bucky's cheek. His home screen was different, but still Lily.

     Lily and Hunter were asleep on the couch, Joey curled at the base of the couch. Bucky had come over for dinner to find them like that. So he draped a blanket over the two and got to work on the food in the kitchen. Not daring to disturb the two. He always loved seeing her asleep. The stress lines he adored along her forehead and cheeks disappeared, her face was calm and supple. Her lips slightly parted slightly and eye lashes laid against her slightly flushed cheeks.

     "Cute kid," Raynor commented, moving on to his messages, "You've ignored everyones texts James. Only Sam and Steve seem to be getting an answer from you. If you can even call it that."

     "They mostly come over unannounced to my apartment," Bucky said gravely, shifting once again, "typically to force me into this exact same conversation we're having."

     Tossing his phone back, the doctor sighed, "When did you realize you had fallen in love with her?"

      "I couldn't tell you, Doc," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "there were so many times where I would just look at her and know. Know that she would have an unspoken power over me."

     "Tell me more about her."

     Bucky knew where to start. He began by talking about her appearance, all walls he had up disappearing after the doctor saw just how much he was still in love with her. He began with her hair. Describing it as something that he could play with for days on end. It was always soft and was bright and reminded him of the sun. Her eyes were a deep amber hazel with flecks of green in certain lights. Her skin was bright and boisterous, always seemingly full of life when he was around. Her nose was something that he could only describe as sculpted. A strong ridge with a dip near the top. Her lips were that of a love song. Soft and welcoming, seemingly molded to his own. A beautiful cupid's bow that had him longing to kiss her from the moment he saw her for the first time.

     Her body was something Bucky could barely voice. A simple figure, dips and curves. Gentle stretch marks along the thicker parts, her hips, her thighs. Her stomach and waist was his favourite thing next to her hands. Her stomach had small marks along the bottom where she grew to carry Hunter. He would typically wake her up on weekends by kissing those marks, reminding her of the beauty. Her hands were gentle and calloused from years of hard work. But always so gentle, skilled fingers that would trace simple patterns along his skin and run through his hair.

     He left out the explicits.

     Her personality though. Bucky didn't know where to start. He was rendered speechless when he got to it. But he started with the dirtier parts. The harsher parts of her that he didn't always enjoy, but loved more than anything else. She was snappy, and had an affliction with everything being perfect. She was controlling, and never let him lead her through different things. Sometimes she wouldn't listen, and focus on that dark voice that plagued her head instead of listening to him. But she was kind. Kinder to him than anyone. She would sit him down some nights and point out all that she loved about him. She was warmhearted, and never let herself see the bad in people. Her mind was something that fascinated him beyond words. She was a quick thinker, always ready with a comeback or some fact he probably didn't need, but loved to hear anyways.

     When he became coherent to his words again, he felt the warm tears flooding his cheeks rapidly. Something that only ever happened in the confines of his own apartment, away from everyone else. But this time, he spoke. Three simple words that shattered his heart.

     "She was mine."

-----

     Standing in his kitchen, Bucky used his flesh hand to mix the blueberries into the batter in the black mixing bowl on the counter. He wasn't sure what possessed him to make these today of all days, but he did.

     The lock on his door turning made the brunette sigh. Steve or Sam, or both even, were here. Which meant that he wouldn't be able to get the peace and quiet he wanted for the day. Ignoring the struggle, Bucky poured the batter into circles on the skillet, smiling at the sizzle they made. Something Lily said was what he wanted. He watched intently, waiting for the bubbles to begin popping. When the door swung open, he chuckled. They figured it out.

     "I told you to turn it that way first," Sam muttered to Steve as the two walked in, "but nooo Mr. America had to do it his way."

     "Former, Mr. America." Steve corrected, shutting the door.

     "And now Mr. Pain-in-my-ass." Bucky sighed, flipping the pancakes before turning to face the two men standing near his kitchen.

      "Hey Buck," Steve smiled softly, walking forward, "How're you feeling?"

      "Well it's 2 o'clock and cyborg is making pancakes. So either he's so old he's losing his mind, or he's not doing great." Sam grinned walking over to the counter and leaning on it.

      "I've had a long month." Bucky smiled tightly, flipping the pancakes onto a plate beside him.

      "You could call her." Steve offered, stealing a blueberry from a container.

      "She doesn't want to talk to me." Bucky muttered, covering his pancakes in butter and icing sugar. Just as she used to in the mornings for him.

     "You sure about that?" Sam whispered, eyes staring down Bucky.

     Bucky shook his head and grabbed his utensils and orange juice before walking past the two into the living room. He sat down, turning on the TV and trying his hardest to ignore the heavy stares of his best friends from the other end of the room. He knew they were here for a reason. It could be the fact it was her birthday and Bucky had plans to make it special for her a month ago. Or it could be to pester him. Or even if something happened they won't tell him. The last was his best guess.

     "I'm guessing by your annoying stares," Bucky sighed, turning his attention to the men, "You're not here for pancakes."

[camelliacats]

Impudent You

Another random oneshot.

Fic: "Impudent You" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: eventual?Neville Longbottom/Louis Weasley, Harry Potter, Teddy Lupin/Victoire Weasley, & OCs, with cameos from Ron Weasley, Malcolm Baddock, & Graham Pritchard, & mentions of others

Rating: M

Words: ~13,050

Additional info: romance, slash, cross gen, angst, sequential, Next Gen era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Sometimes, all you need is one person to care about you again.

               He felt���old.

               Neville Longbottom sighed and rolled his shoulders, chasing the kink from his neck. Off to his right, Harry motioned to all of them. On the count of three, Neville's old friend mouthed. One…two…three!

               Teddy kicked in the door, and there was a great commotion. Inside the perfectly normal house in the perfectly normal Muggle neighborhood in perfectly normal Manchester, nearly a dozen bodies inside screamed or cursed or thrashed or fought their way through the small squad of Aurors. The interior of the residence lit up like the Great Hall at Christmastime as the spells flew. Normally, it only took a matter of moments to round up something like this. For once, it took a few minutes to detain each villain, but Neville had an idea why.

               "Not quite the rush it used to be," Ron said wistfully. He, Harry, and Neville kept watch over Teddy and the other younger Aurors as they took charge of the scene afterwards. Ron crossed his arms in front of his chest and exhaled, but it wasn't a sigh. He simply sounded and looked nostalgic.

               "Maybe it's a good thing," Neville said. "Going out quietly, I mean." Out of habit, he smiled; it took him a moment to realize he'd done that. Either way, he let it reach his eyes. "Better than ending the night by casting the Full-Body Bind on me and getting into further trouble."

               The three of them laughed. "Ah, Neville, you can blame only Hermione for that one," Harry said. His green eyes nearly looked black at this time of night, yet Neville was at ease. In a post-Voldemort world, nothing was scary anymore. Not even Harry, despite what Neville remembered of the chap's Dark experiences in years five and six.

               "Right, right…" Neville rubbed his neck, wishing he'd brought a scarf on tonight's escapade. He looked to Ron. "So, some retirement party, eh?"

               Ron shrugged. "I don't really care. What's important is that I'll have Hermione off my back, what with my returning to safer work with George at his shop." He eyed Neville and Harry. "You two ought to think about that, you know. Getting out of the line of fire."

               "Never happen with this gent," Neville remarked, pointing to Harry. "You ought to know that best, Ron."

               They laughed at Harry's "Hey!" "I still can't believe you came back to all this, though, mate," Ron continued with a change of subject. His expression seemed pitying when aimed at Neville.

               The brown-eyed man's smile weakened. "Yes, but… Teaching wasn't for me."

               Harry and Ron exchanged a look, and Neville felt as if it were the old days again, where something would go right over his head. Ha, he thought; even being adults now, they were still the same characters. "I…should probably head home. It's pretty late," the redhead continued, emphatically glancing at his wrist.

               Neville didn't have the heart to remind Ron that he wore his watch on his other wrist.

               "I'll catch up with you tomorrow, Ron," Harry said. "Go home. We'll take care of the rest."

               Ron nodded and Disapparated on the spot, leaving Neville and Harry to instruct the other Aurors and trainees before everyone returned to the Ministry. Teddy mainly took charge with little of their input, but they were still his superiors, so they made sure no piece of paperwork was overlooked. Though, sometimes, it felt as though Teddy tried to make it so that they had very little to do.

               "Sometimes I think he wants to have the Auror Office all to himself," Harry thought aloud while Neville hung around in the doorway to Harry's office.

               "Can't blame him," Neville supplied. "He's always admired you, Harry. He's just trying to be you."

               "He's not a little kid anymore," Harry replied.

               "Neither are we" was all Neville could think to say.

               For a brief interlude, there existed only the sound of rustling parchment as Harry tidied up his desk. Then— "Neville, do you really want to be here?"

               The other man faced him. "You're only asking that now, three years after I returned to the force?"

               Harry grinned wanly. "Oh, come on. It took me six years to notice Ginny existed."

               Neville rolled his eyes. "I'm fine here, Harry."

               "But you shouldn't just feel fine doing our line of work—"

               "All right, then. I enjoy it. It's better than teaching the same thing day in and day out. It—" Neville halted. It was probably best to stop there.

               Harry said nothing. He put a few things away and then stood and pushed his chair into his desk. "See you tomorrow, Auror Longbottom."

               "See you tomorrow, Auror Potter."

               Back at home—

               No, no, it wasn't quite home.

               Neville groaned as he tossed his outer cloak on the chair in the tiny living room. Three years, and he'd still not properly furnished the tiny living space he'd bought without thinking.

               Granted, he'd not been given a lot of time to think when it had happened. The build-up to his split from Hannah had been a long time coming, but he'd always thought they would've done things slowly and properly. They weren't the types to decide suddenly one night that that was it and that he'd have to leave and that he'd never be allowed in the Leaky Cauldron ever again. He hadn't even done anything, and neither had she; it was more along the lines of them forgetting why they'd ever married and finally having given up searching for a reason to stay together.

               And Augusta wouldn't take him in. "You're a grown man," his grandmother had said. But he had seen in her eyes that she'd wished for him and Hannah to make up and make merry. She'd liked Hannah quite a bit after some time had passed, even though he and Hannah had never had children.

               So a bachelor's living arrangements were for him. It wasn't Neville's first choice, since he'd always lived with someone and had become accustomed to company.

               But these days…the only company he enjoyed was his own.

               "And now Harry's acting as if I shouldn't enjoy work so much," he muttered to himself as he rifled through his fridge and brought out some leftovers from the meal he'd made the night before.

               He paused and gave Harry's remarks some thought. …no, Harry was wrong. There was nothing wrong with quitting Hogwarts and returning to the Auror Office. The Auror Office was thrilling and much more interesting. Surely he could affect more lives there than at Hogwarts. Of course, he did miss the time spent in the greenhouses…but Neville could grow plants any old day. He wanted to be an Auror while he still had it in him.

               And he kept that thought in mind for the rest of the night, until he was tired enough that his fake smile slipped off his face and he didn't care, so he slept instead.

               "Neville, I've been thinking that we should make some friendly alliances around the Ministry. What do you say?"

               There was no turning down the Boy-Who-Won. When Harry called Neville into his office the following morning and opened with this, Neville knew Harry had made a decision already. "Where are you sending me?" Neville asked.

               His fellow wizard passed him a folder. "Work with the Hit Wizards for the week. See if there's a way for us to strengthen our relations with them. We don't get as many Aurors as we used to, so calling on them and knowing their talents are where ours should be—well, it could help us with the man-power on some missions." Harry raised his eyebrows; he looked a tad skeptical himself. "…what do you think?"

               It was almost nice seeing this side of Harry, knowing it still existed after decades of relying on Hermione for good advice. "It's not a bad idea," Neville said.

               "Great—it earned a double-negative."

               "Oh, no…! I mean, I'll see what happens. Count on me, Harry," Neville added, and then he exited the department and headed to meet the Hit Wizards.

               Neville knew enough about the job. Hit Wizards worked on the small fish while Aurors sought the big fish. Still, there wasn't much separating the two job descriptions. Hit Wizards didn't need to be as brutal, but Neville agreed that Harry had had an intriguing thought: If the Hit Wizards could be prepared for anything—essentially, be Aurors without the official title—then the Ministry would be better off, and Wizarding Britain as a result.

               Despite all that, Neville had a hard time focusing while he met with their department head and senior officers, Cain, Low, and Renn. Two of the younger ones, Neville vaguely recalled from school: Malcolm Baddock and Graham Pritchard. But all Neville remembered was that they'd been Slytherins. Not promising.

               Cain didn't seem too happy with Harry's idea, but he'd been convinced by Renn that it was worth a shot. Neville's opinion of Renn shot up for that, but she, too, came across to him as feeling as if the Auror Office were meddling where it shouldn't.

               "We've got report of an incident a mile north," one of the trainees said, interrupting the meeting. "A young witch and wizard fighting in the street has escalated to magical violence."

               "Sounds like we're up, brother," Low murmured to Cain, and he was the first one out of the building.

               "Well, you wanted a taste, Auror Longbottom," Renn said to Neville, and he nodded and kept pace with her as Cain led the others after Low.

               It didn't seem like much when they got there. In fact, everything had quieted down. Neville almost asked if they had the address right or if it had been a false report when he saw Cain, Low, and Baddock move out of the corner of his eye.

               "Stop struggling!" Baddock barked. It took three of them to detain the witch, who bucked like a wild horse.

               "Ah!" Pritchard cursed. "Boss, he got away!"

               "I'm on it!" Neville said without thinking or waiting for Cain's response. He hadn't even seen the other suspect, but Pritchard gasped, "Blond. Brown eyes. That way!" He pointed, and Neville tore off, passing even the younger Hit Wizards and Hit Witches, because the male suspect was easy to pick out—he was the only person running on the street.

               "Excuse me! Sorry. Coming through!" Neville barked at the Muggles as they turned to watch with curious glances. He could care less about them, though; Cain and the others would take care of things and call in the Obliviators as needed.

               He rounded one corner, two, three, four—blocks flew by and still he was in hot pursuit. Neville ran for so long, he wondered if they'd left London.

               At last the suspect seemed to be running out of breath, and Neville's heart swelled. So much for feeling old! He had paced himself well enough to wear down the younger wizard…though the bloke couldn't have been all that smart for choosing to run instead of Disapparating. Neville just prayed that the kid wouldn't think of that now that Neville had thought of it.

               The suspect turned one more corner after dangerously cutting in front of a bus, and Neville pushed himself just a little bit harder. He rounded the corner, and then—

               THWACK.

               "ARGH!" Neville crashed hard enough into the suspect that he was sent backwards, and he landed hard on his rump and hit his head against the alley wall. His backside and his head throbbed so terribly that he let loose a string of curses, and he blinked the stars from his eyes as he proceeded, "You are under arrest for…" Neville stopped. Something was wrong. The suspect looked familiar. Plus, he wasn't breathing hard. Had he even been running?

               "Longbottom?" the blond male said. He was blond and had brown eyes, but Neville was certain he hadn't been chasing this person.

               Neville looked past him and squinted past the end of the alley. The suspect didn't turn around, but he did wave over his shoulder—and then he Disapparated. "Goddammit!" Neville yelled.

               "Hey." The blond drew his attention once more. He'd already gotten up and now he offered a hand to Neville. "You all right, professor?"

               Neville blinked. No one had called him that in three years. He stared long and hard at this person's face. The man had dull blond hair, lightly tanned skin despite the autumn season, and orange–brown eyes that Neville wouldn't call warm. But there was something about the glint in his eyes…

               "Ah, it's been a while." The blond grabbed Neville's arm and pulled him up. "I was one of your hundreds of students, professor," he continued as Neville brushed the dirt from his clothes. "Of course, I'm sure it felt for you as though you had hundreds of us alone."

               It clicked: He was a Weasley.  And there was only one blond Weasley male, if memory served him correct—

               "Louis Weasley, professor." Louis clapped him on the shoulder. "Good to see you. But aren't you a bit old to be playing tag in the streets?"

               Neville ran his hands through his hair. "Godric…this is not happening."

               Louis sipped his drink. "Mucked things up, yeah? Sorry about that, professor."

               After realizing that he was doomed if he returned to the Hit Wizards without the suspect in hand, Neville had decided to take a moment to analyze the situation. Louis had asked him if he was all right and if he'd needed a drink. Neville had sworn up and down that he didn't need the Leaky Cauldron at all right now. And Louis had laughed and said, "Not what I meant, but you can buy me alcohol now, professor."

               "Stop calling me 'professor,'" Neville groaned. He held his head in his hands. "I'm such an idiot…"

               "Stop calling you 'professor' because you're an idiot?" Louis snorted. "I'll try, but now you've just given me a reason to keep calling you that."

               "No, I mean…" Neville glanced at the younger wizard beside him. "Don't you know? I stopped teaching three years ago."

               Louis' eyes widened. "Huh. No kidding?"

               "And I'm an idiot for letting my suspect escape."

               The blond grinned weakly. "Ah, just blame that on me."

               "I'm an Auror again—it's definitely on me."

               "Yeah, but, you're old. Shit happens."

               Neville frowned at Louis' language. "I'm not that old. I'm fifty-one."

               Louis shrugged. "I'm twenty-three, and I feel plenty old."

               Neville cupped his cheek in his palm and leaned on the counter of the Muggle coffee shop. He pushed the handle around on his cup of cold caffeine. "I really mucked things up, and you're not helping."

               "I was never meant to help," Louis commented. "I'm someone who exists precisely not to help." He held out his wrists to Neville. "Here. Shackle me and take me to the Ministry. I'm sure you'll need a scapegoat for whatever happened." The next second, it was as if he'd forgotten his generous offer, for he returned to sipping his hot chocolate. "Which reminds me…what exactly did happen?"

               A small part of Neville wondered if he should share what was really police business and if he should confide anything in Louis, whom he barely knew. But another part of him said, Sometimes you need a stranger's ear. And though he'd taught Louis for five awful years—because now it was coming back to him that Louis was a terrible Herbology student and hadn't advanced in the subject—and he knew his parents, Louis was the next best thing to a stranger. So…Neville told him. The story was a shorter one than Neville thought, though it seemed so serious and dramatic, because he'd never screwed up so badly in his whole life.

               "Uh-huh…" Louis filched a spoon from the man on his other side—Neville frowned at that—and stirred his hot chocolate, which definitely didn't need it. He licked the spoon before offering any more words. "Well…that sucks. I still say you should just blame me."

               Neville frowned again. "That really does nothing to help me. Unless you knew the bloke?"

               "I didn't know your runner. I didn't even get a good look at him as he ran past me right before you ran into me." Louis fiddled with his fringe as if thinking. "You could always just arrest me and bring me in. I look like him, don't I?"

               "I could never do such a thing!" the lion said, gaping at Louis. "And—and I know your family. And Pritchard saw the suspect. And the female suspect would know it wasn't you. And…and I'm sure you'd never cause such chaos in front of Muggles."

               Louis' expression softened. "Thank you for the character appraisal, professor. But I'm not perfect. No one is."

               "Yes, but your parents would never raise—"

               Something about Louis' posture told Neville to shut up. Louis went back to stirring his hot chocolate.

               "I wonder if there's a chance I could describe the suspect as more dangerous than he was," Neville said, facing forward and staring at the menu without reading the items.

               Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a quick smirk. "Looking to pad your story, professor?"

               "Well, I was a Gryffindor. I've got to be brave and do stupid things sometimes, yeah?"

               Louis shrugged. "I was a Hufflepuff—I wouldn't know."

               That pretty much wrapped up their conversation, but Neville didn't feel as though they'd left things on a sour note. He would've paid for their drinks, even, had he been carrying Muggle money on him. Alas, Louis took care of the check. "I can pay you back," Neville insisted.

               "It's fine," Louis said. They exited the shop. "It was nice catching up, professor. Nice knowing that you adults are just human after all," he added with a chuckle. "Good luck."

               "Louis—thank you."

               The blond wizard nodded, and then he continued down the road, while Neville faced reality and returned to the Ministry.

               Harry tried not to laugh. "Well, that's…that…that will keep them busy for a while."

               "Harry, it's not funny!" Neville pouted. Vaguely he wondered if this was what Ron had felt from time to time over the years when he'd done something stupid. Neville's face burned bright Expelliarmus red. "You should've seen Cain's face. And the trainees. Oh, Merlin, the trainees. They looked so happy that someone besides them had messed up for once."

               "Honestly, Neville, don't worry about it." Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the doorjamb to his office with his classmate. "Actually, I'm quite glad this happened."

               Neville's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "You what?"

               "Think about it—the Hit Wizards have a hazardous job, but they are successful a lot more often than we are. They don't make as many mistakes. This gives them a test, to see how they handle a situation getting out of hand." Harry smiled. "Personally, I'm glad that this gives them a true taste of reality."

               "Harry, that's awful."

               "I think it's the part of Mad-Eye that stayed with me."

               Neville couldn't dispute that. "In the meantime, how am I supposed to show my face around there without getting killed?"

               Harry removed his glasses to clean them. He'd developed the habit a long time ago, and Neville noticed it was something that helped his friend think. "Just be the Auror you insist you are, Neville. You convinced me to rehire you, didn't you? So throw your weight around. Pretend you're me."

               Neville laughed. "I killed Nagini, Harry, not Voldemort himself."

               "But, without you, I couldn't have done it."

               Harry's honesty was flattering, and Neville was humbled. When put that way… "All right. I'll continue to deal with them."

               "Good. Have more confidence, Neville. You're a war hero. You're a good friend. You're also a good man."

               With such lovely parting words, Harry went back to work, and Neville returned to work with the Hit Wizards as the Auror Office's liaison. The week dragged on, and the Hit Wizards didn't want to take Neville into the field any more so long as they could help it, so the next several days were rather uneventful.

               In fact, they were so uneventful that Neville took an early lunch on Saturday. It had been long enough that his feet no longer guided him towards the Leaky Cauldron, but Neville struggled to find anything else of edible interest on Diagon Alley. He almost left for Muggle London when he walked past a familiar face in the crowd.

               "Louis?"

               The blond stopped and looked behind him. "Ah, professor." He smiled. "Working hard or hardly working?"

               Neville chuckled. "That's an old one I've never heard before…"

               "How did it go with the Hit Idiots?"

               "That's not very nice. But I smoothed things over, since you asked."

               "They're treating you like a first year, then?"

               Neville hung his head. "I just…"

               Louis laughed and patted his shoulder. "I jest, professor, seriously."

               The older man exhaled. "What about you? I'm surprised to bump into you here."

               Louis raised an eyebrow. "Really? In the heart of Wizarding Britain?"

               Neville didn't get it.

               "Ah… Well, I work here."

               "Oh?"

               Louis ducked his eyes, for once a bit…embarrassed? "I work at Uncle George's shop. I used to work…nearly everywhere on Diagon Alley. I've even worked in a few Muggle places. Uncle's shop is just the latest place."

               Neville felt for him. He was so young. To have worked in so many places already… "Are you on break? Would you like to grab a bite?" He smiled warmly. "I was just going to lunch myself."

               "No, sorry." He genuinely looked let down. "I'm running late, to be honest. Maybe another time?"

               "Sure, sure."

               Louis nodded. "Thanks, professor. See you around, yeah?"

               "Yeah." Neville waved, and Louis headed for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It wasn't until he lost Louis in the crowd that Neville remembered he'd wanted to repay him. "Crap…!" And he still didn't even have any Muggle money on him.

               It wasn't until Monday when Neville remembered the repayment again. But, when he did, he initially marched out of the Auror Office—and ran right back in to Harry's office.

               "Harry, do you have five quid?"

               He'd been stared at as if he'd grown Dumbledore's beard. "Uh, sorry?"

               "Some Muggle money. I never really carry any."

               "Uh, yeah, yeah…" Harry fished some out of his wallet and passed it to Neville without further comment. Judging by his flabbergasted look, he really had no idea what to make of the request. Neville didn't give it a second thought.

               He headed for George's store, and it came back to him that Ron was working there once more. Neville wondered if Ron had settled back into that line of work again and how Louis did there. Huh. What did Louis do there? He'd never told Neville. Well, it didn't quite matter; Neville was just coming to repay his kindness.

               "Fine then! Just fire me already!"

               …or not.

               Louis stormed out of the store and bumped into Neville. He was thoroughly peeved, but he recognized who he'd collided with—again. "Oh. Neville."

               "Is everything all right?" What a dumb thing to ask! After all that yelling that could be heard from outside the store—

               "No, it's not, thank you very much." Louis pushed past him, leaving it at that.

               A part of Neville wished to see if some new explosion had happened in the shop…but he was more interested in Louis' attitude. He had known Louis to be a quick-to-anger child; perhaps that hadn't changed in adulthood. But he looked so upset right now.

               He fell into step with Louis, which took more effort than it looked. Louis was of average height, but his legs were long, as were his strides, and he walked fast. It was like a workout for Neville. Eventually Louis slowed down, and his eyes darted to the taller man. "…are you all right? You're breathing hard."

               "Don't…mind…me," Neville said cheerfully but with little breath.

               Louis grimaced. "I don't really want any company right now, professor."

               "Oh, I, uh…" Neville passed him the money. "For last time."

               Louis took it—and laughed. It began as a chuckle then turned into a laugh, and finally he guffawed, much to bystanders' dismay as he doubled over. "Really? Really?" He laughed hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. Once he got a hold of himself, Louis straightened up and swiped at his eyes. "Ah, professor…"

               "Yes?"

               "Forget what I said. This is exactly what I need." He jerked his thumb behind him. "You hungry? It's your lunch break, yeah?"

               Neville's stomach growled in response.

               "I know this great hot dog cart that sprouted up recently in the city. Come on." He tugged on Neville's sleeve, and they left Diagon Alley behind.

               Neville had to let Louis buy their food again (really, Neville needed to start carrying Muggle money on him; this was getting ridiculous), but they walked and ate as Louis calmed down. When he felt it safe to ask, Neville did: "What happened?"

               "Agh…" Louis ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. "I was cleaning up the place, and it turns out I cleaned up Uncle George's latest project."

               "How did that happen?"

               "It looked like shit."

               Neville gave him a disapproving look.

               Louis fumbled. "No, no, I mean it looked like shit. I thought some animal had come in… So I cleaned it up. Uncle Ron was no help; he didn't tell me about it, so I didn't know it wasn't sh—trash," he amended when Neville shot him another look. "I'm just so done working in yet another place that's a hostile environment."

               "You couldn't explain it to them?"

               "Didn't you ever learn anything about my family, professor? We're stubborn; it takes a few tries before words get through to us. Granted…" Louis sighed. "I'm half-Delacour. You'd think that'd count for something, but it doesn't. My sisters are the same way."

               Neville nodded. "Yes… I quite remember Victoire in my classes. Very stubborn about getting the right answer, though that might've been why she was a Ravenclaw… I've seen her with Teddy, too. She's very Weasley."

               Louis agreed. "Dominique's no different, to be truthful. My parents told her she couldn't go to Beauxbatons, so what does she do? Leaves to teach there."

               "Huh. Really? Good for her."

               The blond chuckled at him. "I thought you didn't approve of a timid teaching career."

               Neville blushed, caught up in his own words thrown back at him. "Well, not for me. It's not for everyone—"

               "I'm just teasing you, professor. Bugger. You don't know when to take a joke, do you?" The words sounded mean, but Neville could read it on his face: Louis was asking a real question. He meant no harm.

               "Well, I suppose I've just always been like that. Funny—Ginny's asked me the same thing before." He grinned halfheartedly. "Luna never has, but I think it's because she's like me in that regard. We don't always get everyone's sense of humor."

               Louis nodded. "It's all right not to. Sometimes you can save yourself a lot of pain and trouble by not understanding everything."

               Neville wanted to comment, but he focused on Louis' words for a while. It was interesting to hear Louis speak such wisdom, though he was so young by Neville's measures. Neville almost laughed. Here he was, the adult, and yet he felt like such a kid.

               They finished their food and continued to walk. Louis grumbled, "Merlin, I don't even know if I have a job to return to…"

               "You should give it a shot," the older man said. "If you don't go back, then you're not doing yourself any favors."

               "Running out on them didn't do me any favors, either," the badger stated dryly.

               "Yes, but…family's family." Neville remarked. "And your family's the quickest to forgive. At least, so much as I've encountered."

               Louis gave him a grateful look, and they returned to Diagon Alley in companionable silence. Neville walked him back to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and Louis sighed. "Um…professor?"

               "Really, stop calling me that, Louis."

               The blond beamed. "Professor," he insisted, "do you always have lunch around this time?"

               Neville shrugged. "Pretty much."

               "I see. We should lunch together more often."

               Neville thought nothing of it. "Fine with me, Louis." He was glad that Louis had shaken off his negative attitude. "And next time is my treat, promise," he added with a hint of dismay. It truly was embarrassing to have his meals paid for all the time.

               The more time he spent overseeing the Hit Wizards' operations, the more Neville wanted to strangle Harry for suggesting it and the more Neville appreciated the escape his lunches with Louis gave him, because one week with the Hit Wizards had turned into so much more than that. Louis had been right to call them "Hit Idiots"—their "hit first, ask questions later" attitude was worse than that of the Aurors. And it drove Neville nuts whenever they left him at the Ministry and reported later, because he'd begun to notice a pattern with them: They never canvassed the area, and they never quarantined within a certain radius.

               It wasn't the worst thing not to do, but Neville knew from his experience in the Auror Office that setting up a perimeter worked far better magic than rushing in headfirst did. Plus, they never asked questions of bystanders—potential witnesses! Even with magic exposed, Obliviators could always be called in. It was almost as if the Hit Wizards resented the presence of Obliviators, because they refused to call on them.

               "So it's got me thinking of one task I know I can do," Neville informed his boss as the better part of a month of observing the Hit Wizards wore on.

               "You're going through their logs," Harry realized.

               Neville smiled grimly. "I'm going through their logs."

               "Cripes!" Harry's eyes widened, and he flipped through some schedules. "I can loan you Al. Scorpius, too, maybe."

               "No, no, it's all right. They should stay in the field and continue their training."

               The doting father pouted.

               "Harry! Come on. Albus wanted to be an Auror, and he's come this far. You can't keep him locked up in the office forever. Besides, I'm sure Teddy looks out for him as much as you do. And Scorpius has always looked after him since their school days."

               Harry groused.

               "Besides, it's just going through old logs. I'll be fine, because the Hit Wizards are out of their office so much that I'll have peace and quiet to work."

               "Won't you be lonely?"

               Neville cocked his head to one side. "Don't protect your son from the world, Harry. Teach him how to handle it."

               His fellow Auror at last gave in, though reluctantly, and Neville began his sedentary work. It was while Neville confined himself to that office when Louis stunningly appeared at the Ministry. He found his way to the Hit Wizard department without any trouble, and he surprised Neville. "Good afternoon, professor."

               "Merlin!" Neville had had his back turned, and he dropped a thick records book on his foot. He yelped a second time.

               "Sorry! Sorry…!" Louis pursed his lips. "Bad time?"

               Neville smiled through the tears. "No, not at all… I'm just— How did you find me?"

               "I peeked into the Auror Office and didn't see you there." Louis crossed his arms in front of his chest proudly. "Since you've been working with the Hit Idiots for so long, I knew this had to be the only other place you'd be."

               The older man chuckled. It was nice to have a friend come looking for him. He'd forgotten the feeling. Or, had he ever experienced this before? Now he couldn't recall. He tried to focus on their conversation instead. "Ah, you're right… Since you're here, it must be lunchtime." He ran a hand over his face and looked at his watch. "Godric, I haven't even looked at the time."

               "Are you busy?" Louis furrowed his brow. "I could leave. Or I could go grab takeaway, bring it back here for you."

               "No, Louis, you don't have to do that—"

               "But I want to."

               Neville sighed. "I…I probably should eat, shouldn't I?"

               Louis made a noise that should've been accompanied by a shrug. "Meh. Chatting's just as fine. Give your mind a break."

               Neville agreed, and he grabbed his cloak as he and Louis headed out. None of the Hit Wizards even gave them a second look. Neville tuned them out for a bit. "You've kept your job, I see," he said to Louis.

               "Just barely. I bet Dad's leaning on Uncle George and Uncle Ron not to fire me."

               The dark-haired man frowned. "Do you like it there?"

               Louis studied him. "Three weeks later, and now you're asking me that?"

               "I—" Neville was flustered.

               "No, it's fine. I think I've burned too many bridges to be allowed the luxury of liking where I work."

               "But you should. Or you should at least feel good about working there." Neville tucked his scarf into his cloak's collar; it truly felt like November. "Take, for instance, my friend Seamus. Did you ever meet him or Dean?"

               "Finnigan or Thomas? Maybe as a kid. I don't really remember them, though."

               "Well, Seamus worked at Quality Quidditch Supplies for a few years. He was good, but his boss was awful. Seamus stuck with it for a little longer before deciding to move back to Ireland. Dean went with him since they were best mates, and they opened a Quidditch store together in the city near Seamus' hometown. Now they both enjoy what they do."

               Louis frowned. "Great. Now I'm envious of them."

               Neville frowned, too. He hadn't meant to make Louis feel down. "What I mean is, you have the power to enjoy your workplace or to find one better suited to you."

               "No, I don't. I told you—"

               "I know, I know. Eeylops, the Apothecary—no one wants to hire you on Diagon Alley."

               "And the Muggle stores don't last any longer."

               Neville burrowed his hands in his pockets while he thought. "Does it have to be a store? What about an office? Or some hobby you enjoy?"

               Louis snorted. "Me, in an office? Yeah, right. And hobbies…" His brown eyes darkened dangerously. "I could fly, but not well enough for professional Quidditch teams." He grimaced as a minute passed in silence. "You know what? I'm not really hungry today." He shivered in the brisk wind.

               The other wizard shook his head and removed his scarf to wrap it around Louis' neck, since Louis wore a letter jacket much too thin for this kind of weather. The scarf helped, Neville noticed; Louis' cheeks flushed with warm, rosy color. "Nonsense. You dragged me out of work, and you're in the middle of pouring your heart out. The least I could do is feed you."

               Louis shut up. In the maze of the Muggle crowd, they wound their way to some small, cozy restaurant, Louis gripping Neville's sleeve the whole time so as not to get lost.

               As the days got colder, Louis more frequently began to bring food to Neville. He liked holing up with the former professor in the back of the records room within the Hit Wizard department.

               "So long as you don't spill anything," Neville had warned him the first time he'd shown up with what Louis proclaimed was "the best Chinese in Great Britain."

               Each and every time, Louis always said, "I haven't spilled anything yet, have I?"

               It was…so nice. This camaraderie. Neville realized his loved that word. "Camaraderie." It wasn't quite friendship by his standards—he looked at Harry and Ron, at Seamus and Dean, and thought of friendship—but it was more than just companionship. He and Louis didn't have to talk about anything under the sun; it was just nice to enjoy someone else's presence and yet to be able at the same time to say most things on his mind and just have a laugh about it. There was no pressure, nothing serious. Granted, Louis sometimes grew frustrated with him when they spoke about Louis' employment…"challenges," but there was no resentment between them.

               One day in mid-December, Neville worked late, and Louis worked through lunch. Neville thought, Oh, all right, I'll just see him tomorrow then. But then Louis had shown up anyway, despite the late hour.

               Neville had been so touched that he blurted it out: "Since I'm almost done here, come over, and we can try dinner instead of lunch for once."

               Louis gaped at him but then recovered. "…all right. You sure?"

               "…yes. A change of pace can be nice."

               "Your call."

               Shortly after, Neville did in fact finish the log he'd been verifying, and he bid Baddock good night, as the slightly younger man had the night shift. Neville led the way out of the Ministry. "Honestly, I don't think I even need to keep on what I'm doing there," he told Louis.

               "Yeah?"

               "Yeah. But if I finish gathering my information… Well, I'm fairly certain there will be an organizational overhaul for the Hit Wizards."

               "No joke? Bloody hell, professor. You've stumbled into something, haven't you?"

               Neville modestly laughed. "No…I just think—" He paused. He'd been about to Disapparate without Louis. "Ah, hold on, please."

               Louis ducked his eyes and did as he was told.

               The very next second, they stood outside Neville's tiny flat…and it hit him.

               He said nothing, and Louis said nothing. But Neville could feel it looming over his head:

               He'd never said a single word about his divorce to Louis.

               Surely Louis had been expecting to show up at the Leaky Cauldron…though maybe not, since they'd Disapparated instead of taking the quick walk from the Ministry to there, and Louis could've realized that. But this? This…this was…pathetic.

               And Neville had never said a single thing.

               "Um, we can go out someplace, Neville," Louis said softly. "I know a good place that's open this late. Really, it's no trouble—" He stopped when Neville said nothing.

               Neville closed his eyes. It was morbidly funny to him, how all the time he'd spent with Louis had served as a distraction from his reality. Because here it was: Neville had escaped a loveless marriage, had dropped a lifeless job, had begun to feel alive again by doing the most dangerous job in the Wizarding world, and had found relief and enjoyment in the company of a man almost thirty years his junior. It sounded as messed up as the idea of Filch and Pince together.

               "Neville?"

               He didn't dare look. Blond hair, brown eyes—he should've known.

               Louis patted his back gently. "Hey, I'll see you around, okay?"

               Then he was all alone.

               For several days, Neville was on his own. Work, eat, sleep—he now had a routine. He'd never had a routine, not since his Hogwarts days.

               He didn't see Louis, but that was only part of his worries. Truth be told, he knew he should've understood his own situation more, realized how it had affected him. He believed he'd unconsciously gone along with things, getting to know Louis more and enjoying their time together. But it was a cruel thing, to expect to him to almost fill the void Hannah had left.

               A blond with brown eyes.

               A blonde with brown eyes.

               Him.

               Her.

               Both Hufflepuffs.

               Both much too kind for their own good.

               And both easily too close to Neville…no, that wasn't quite right. Hannah had worked at getting close to him. Only Louis had had it so easily, and maybe Neville had allowed that because subconsciously he had been drawn to a new friend who was a little like an old lover.

               Still…it wasn't fair to Louis.

               The more Neville mulled over it, the stronger his desire grew to explain everything to Louis. He wanted to clear the air so badly to the point where he was distracted at work. Even Harry said something to him.

               "You all right, mate?" the Boy-Who-Won asked.

               "Ah, yes…"

               "Then do you have something for me? I was expecting you to be over with the Hit Wizards still."

               "Hmm…" Neville blinked. "Sorry, what?"

               Harry frowned. "Neville, where's your head?"

               "Sorry, sorry…" He didn't answer Harry's question. "I just wanted to give you a head's up: When I'm done with what I'm doing, you're going to need to have a word with Minister Shacklebolt."

               "Is it that serious?"

               "Yes and no. Not serious enough that something has to be done this minute, but serious enough that we will need new management in that department."

               Harry groaned. "For Merlin's sake… All right. Thanks for keeping me posted, Neville."

               "Mm-hmm." He turned to go.

               "And, Neville? Maybe it's not me, but find someone to talk to, because you look ready to burst." Harry's eyes were so kind in that moment that Neville came back to his senses.

               "Right. I, uh, I'll go do that now."

               "Good."

               And he did. He returned to the Hit Wizard department to grab his cloak as he'd left it there during his quick debriefing. He couldn't be completely certain that he'd find Louis at George's shop, but he knew it was a start. And if not there, then—well, he didn't know what he'd do.

               Neville was careless as he marched up Diagon Alley, bumping into people, and went for the shop…but his pace slowed as he got closer. What was he thinking? Marching into George's store, looking for Louis… Did George or Ron even know Neville was friends with their nephew? Would that just create problems for Louis?

               He came to a halt outside the store and peered in through the windows. It was quiet at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes today. Inside, he saw Verity sweeping up since few customers were around, and Ron rang someone up at the register. George must've been somewhere upstairs. Perhaps it was a good thing that Louis was not around.

               With that thought in mind, Neville tried not to feel disappointment, though he did. He couldn't explain why, but he hated the thought of not clearing the air between them. It didn't feel right. Neville didn't do well with conflict, which was why this didn't feel right.

               Still, he was forced to slog through the rest of his workday. Neville checked the shop again before heading home, but still there was no sight of Louis. Giving up for now, Neville returned to his flat.

               It was just a night, another night like all the rest before it. He came in, he took off his cloak which promptly got tossed onto the chair in the living room, and he opened his fridge to find food.

               …no, this night was different. When he opened the fridge, he found he had no food. He hadn't really been home enough lately to make real meals for himself. He'd been working or out with Louis.

               Neville sighed and grabbed a gillywater. He went into the living room and went to sit in the chair, but he missed the edge and sat on the floor. What a perfect way to end the perfect day.

               KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

               Neville looked over his shoulder to glance at the door. Who the hell would show up at his place?

               He opened the door to find Louis standing there, in denims and a still-not-thick-enough-for-winter jacket as usual. His nose matched the red sleeves of his jacket. "Heya. Can I come in?" Louis didn't even wait before he barged inside and shed his jacket.

               "What are you doing here?" Neville asked. His nose caught something. "Did you—did you bring me food again?"

               Louis shrugged. "Well, it's not lunch, but, considering the time of night and that I like eating with you, I figured this was appropriate."

               Neville was dumbfounded. "… What is it?"

               "Thai. You ever had it?"

               "No."

               "Oh, good." Louis' eyes lit up with that devilish glint Neville had begun to recognize a while ago. "Then please, try some. I can't wait to see your eyes water—I mean, see your face when you enjoy it." Louis busied himself with grabbing plates and silverware—he ransacked Neville's kitchen until he found everything he needed—and then he dished up the food. He passed Neville a plate with various unfamiliar things on it, said, "Eat," and then got cozy on the chair after kicking off his trainers.

               "Louis…what is all of this?" Neville kept glancing between his plate and the spread.

               "Food," the blond stated stupidly.

               Neville gave him a look. "I know that! But…"

               Louis looked up at him. He had a rather masculine face shape, Neville noticed, and yet Louis at the same time had very feminine eyes and eyelashes. He took after his mother, the former professor supposed. "So, what are you waiting for? Sit down and eat."

               Neville sighed exasperatedly and plopped down on the floor. "You're in the only chair in the room…"

               "And whose fault is it that you don't have more furniture?"

               There was no real argument there. The two men ate in silence, and Neville could sense that Louis was waiting for an opening to broach the subject. "Louis—"

               "Just tell me what happened. Get it off your chest and make both of us feel better."

               Neville's mouth went dry for a second, but then the words came bubbling up on their own. "Just understand one thing: No one's…" He struggled to find the right words.

               "What? Hung out with you so much?"

               "Not in a long time."

               Louis shrugged. "You're not a charity case, you know. I like you."

               Neville's smile was halfhearted, though. "Thank you…"

               "You still feel like a charity case, don't you?" Louis sat up straight and reached across to stab some dumpling-like thing with his fork. But it didn't make it to his plate—he dropped it on Neville's shirt. "Oops."

               "Please try to get more in you than on me," Neville griped, wiping himself off. "And, yes, I s'pose I do feel that way."

               "Why?"

               The word hung in the air. Neville pushed the food around on his own plate. Now that he thought about it, he didn't really have an appetite. "…you look like her."

               "Oh, my Merlin—did you really just say that?" Louis' tone was annoyed, but he said it so quietly. He took a deep breath and then continued, more loudly, "Could you be any simpler?"

               Neville glanced at him over his shoulder. "That's mean."

               Louis winked. "Exactly. Just because I've got yellow hair and brown eyes, you were beginning to draw comparisons, weren't you? I'm not Hannah Abbott, though."

               "It's not just physically—"

               "I'd hope not, 'cause I'm a bloke."

               "—but personality-wise. You're both very honest and extremely kind—"

               "And that's why I said 'exactly.' Neville, I'm not kind. I'm a bitch."

               Neville couldn't help it; he snorted. "Erm…wouldn't the term be…'bastard'?"

               Louis smirked. "Look at Professor Squeaky-Clean, finally cursing! But nah, 'bitch' is an attitude, not a gender-specific description. Look, Neville, I don't go out of my way to be nice. In fact, I'm a fairly good-for-nothing bloke. Please," he said, and there was something in his eyes that made Neville want to nod and at the same time wrap a comforting arm around him, "don't ever think of me as kind."

               It was probably safest to let that be that, so the pureblooded wizard shrugged noncommittally.

               "By the way, nice place."

               With that, they both laughed, and it was as if everything were the same again.

               At the end of the night, they'd consumed maybe half the food Louis had bought (honestly, Neville was trying to like Thai food, but…). Neville began to clean up since their conversation had died down. He turned to ask Louis for help, but he saw Louis had fallen asleep turned sideways in the chair and with his chin tucked in to his chest. The older man stood and cleared everything away, but he didn't have the heart to wake his young friend. As a result, he draped an old favorite blanket of his over Louis.

               Louis jostled, but he remained asleep.

               "Really, Louis," Neville mumbled to himself. "If you don't go out of your way to be nice, then what was all this about?"

               Harry looked happier than usual right after Christmas. Neville didn't even have to ask before Harry asked him, "So, Neville, anything you want to tell me?"

               Neville froze. It was like being in front of McGonagall, red-handed. Or worse: In front of Ginny when she wanted to dish about one's love life. "Um…like what?"

               "Your work's back on track," his friend said. "You're happier than normal. And…"

               Oh, Godric. It was coming—

               "I heard from Renn that you go out to eat a lot."

               Neville blinked and smiled in relief. "Oh, yes. That makes sense. They've probably seen us. Just friends, you know. Good company."

               "Really?" Harry almost looked disappointed.

               "What?" Neville tugged on his shirt collar. "You sound like Ginny, you know. There's nothing to gossip about."

               Harry looked mortified. "No—I—" He held his head in his hands. "…did I really just sound like Ginny?"

               "Sorry, mate…"

               The Potter sighed. "I blame both her and Hermione, then." His eyes slid back to Neville. "So there's nothing going on in your life? You really do seem happier. I meant that."

               Neville's face grew a little warm. "Not really. He and I just happened to—"

               "'He'?" His expression told Neville that they were having two different conversations.

               "Wait, did you think I was dating someone?" Neville laughed it off. "Harry, come on. I could never get Luna, I couldn't hold on to Hannah—what makes you think I'd cast a line again?"

               Harry coughed. "Sorry, sorry…just… What friend? Do I know him?"

               "I suppose Renn didn't know him? It's Louis."

               Harry, for a fraction of a second, looked wary. "Wait…my nephew, Louis Weasley?"

               "Yeah."

               Harry frowned. "Neville, you should stay away from him. He tries, but nothing good ever comes from dealing with him."

               Neville couldn't believe his ears. He'd always thought Louis was being modest when he said things like that, but to hear Harry talk that way, too? Neville furrowed his brow. "Harry, that's an awful thing to say about a relative."

               The other man shook his head. "No, Neville, you don't understand. Louis is a loner for a reason. He—"

               Neville grimaced. "Harry…I'm sorry. But if I'm going to hear something like that, I'd rather hear it straight from Louis himself. You know I don't do hearsay." His eyes softened. "If I did, I would've given up on you back in seventh year."

               Harry opened his mouth and closed it. His expression was pained, and he averted his gaze. "Maybe you would've," he uttered.

               It was the first time that Neville left still upset with Harry. But he didn't want to apologize for his words; he wanted Harry to be the one to apologize.

               Granted, his unease didn't disappear even when he saw Louis later, though his mood lightened a bit. Louis had taken to splitting up their mealtimes between lunch sometimes near the Ministry and takeaway for dinner at Neville's place. He was starting to make it a regular thing, and Neville noted that the younger wizard had grown far too comfortable there. The problem? That Neville didn't seem to mind. But…

               "You've got something on your mind, I can tell," Louis said to him. It was early in the second week of January, and Neville wasn't working because it was Saturday and Louis' hours on the weekend had been reduced so he wouldn't be going in to work until three o'clock. In other words, Neville had been trying to sleep in and Louis had come over to bother him.

               Neville pursed his lips. He was much too timid to blurt out the hurtful things he'd heard. "It's nothing," he fibbed. He fought a yawn and went to make himself toast, only to give up halfway and butter bread instead. He yelped when something poked his side, and he stared at Louis. "What the hell—?!"

               Louis laughed. "Seriously? I was just poking you. You're all disheveled, professor, showing a scandalous amount of skin."

               The older man glared at the younger and tucked his pajama shirt into his pajama pants. "You are a—"

               "Yes?" The blond smirked. "A what?"

               "A brat."

               He beamed. "Thank you very much." Louis stretched and grabbed one of the slices of bread from Neville's hand. "So then tell me what's on your mind at this ungodly hour of eight-thirty."

               Neville sighed and buttered another slice for himself. "I just… I overheard…" He winced. Would it be best to rip off the bandage?

               "Rip it off already," Louis ordered, reading his mind.

               Neville's dark eyes darted to his companion. "I overheard some unkind things about you, and they bothered me."

               Louis put the bread down, and his chewing slowed. "What did you hear?"

               "Only that you're supposed to be a loner, that no one should be near you."

               For a while, Louis was utterly still. He stared at the tiny kitchen table and sat. He leaned on it with his elbow and cupped his cheek in the palm of his left hand. When he looked back at Neville, his orange–brown eyes smoldered; they looked like toasted cedar. "That's probably wise."

               Neville grew frustrated. He was put in mind of his school days when his Housemates would say things and he was slow to catch up and they'd smile and shrug and tell him it was all right that he didn't understand. Godric! He was so sick of being reminded of those days! Hadn't he outgrown them? He was a man now! He had—he had been feeling old lately. At least, until he'd met Louis, who for some reason made him feel unsure of himself all over again, with his smart-aleck, all-knowing attitude. "I wish everyone would just stop telling me what's good and what's not good to do," he groused, tearing his gaze away from his unnerving friend.

               Louis sighed. "I think people do because you give off this kind of…I dunno, helpless animal vibe?"

               The older man blushed. "What?"

               "You're not scary, professor. You're a pretty timid fellow."

               Neville glared at him. "You're wrong."

               "Oh?"

               "Because when I was warned about you, I told the person that they were wrong and that I had no intention to end our friendship." He deflated a smidge. "I just want one thing—for you to tell me why you and others say these things about you."  

               Louis nodded. "All right."

               "Really?" The response caught Neville off-guard.

               "Yes, just not tonight. Give me just a bit of time, will you? Then I'll be honest. Totally honest."

               "All right, then."

               "And, professor?"

               "Hmm?"

               Louis laughed, and Neville liked that. "You really need to buy some real food around here…!"

               When the day came, Neville was caught unawares.

               Finally he'd given Harry the ammunition to take to Kingsley. Harry couldn't believe the large stack of notes Neville had compiled. "This is ridiculous, mate," he'd breathed in amazement as he skimmed them.

               "Yeah, well, they got sloppy. We just didn't know it until now. Good thing you decided to send me over there."

               "Good thing I sent you over there." Harry smiled. "If I'd sent Ron, he would've decided on actions alone and tried a hostile takeover." They shared in a laugh, and Neville went to leave the office.  "Neville? Where are you going?"

               "I figured I'd tidy up their back office a bit, since I've been living there, nearly."

               Harry chuckled gently. "All right… Then after that, just go home. You've done some good work."

               "Nothing glamorous."

               "But something safe."

               Neville caught Harry's fleeting look then, and he thought about his words as he left for the Hit Wizard department. Huh. So maybe that was it. It wasn't that Harry didn't need him in the field or anything. On the contrary, Harry had wanted to protect him, as he'd tried to protect Al by sending Al along. Neville rubbed the back of his neck. So much for the exciting life of the Auror…and yet, he was a tad flattered.

               Cain and Low were much too delighted to see Neville go. Renn held Cain back, though, and Neville didn't blame her. It wasn't that he wished them to be fired, but they knew plenty well that that might likely happen. Neville tried not to let that get to him; it had been on them to keep their records straight, after all.

               After he was done, he did as Harry asked and left the Ministry early. Neville almost went home, but he chose instead to walk to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and see if Louis was working. Again, he didn't see him, but Neville had a feeling he'd bump—

               "Ah, there you are."

               Louis' face was bright and cheery. For once, he was properly dressed for the weather. "I didn't know you were looking for me," the older man said, and he couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face.

               "Lonely souls always seek out lonely souls." He playfully linked an arm through Neville's and tugged. "Now, come on! It's time for lunch!"

               "Actually…I've the rest of the day off."

               The blond male's eyes lit up. "No joke? Perfect! Then I get to do whatever I want with you today."

               Neville chortled. "I suppose so!"

               Things flashed by them as if they were on a train. Louis wanted to go here, there; they stopped at a dozen different stores if only for Louis to make fun of the window displays; Louis dragged him to a candy store, and Neville thought of Honeydukes because the candies were that good; and they ate snacks here and there, never stopping for a full meal.

               It wasn't until dusk arrived that Neville realized hours and not minutes had passed. "My Godric!" Neville glanced at his watch. "It's this late already?!"

               "Nine-thirty isn't very late, professor," Louis teased. "Besides, the city comes alive at night."

               Neville almost said, "Maybe for you young people," but it occurred to him that that was something his old, timid self would say. And he was trying to be anything but timid tonight.

               He let Louis lead him to the doors of a few loud music clubs, but they never stayed long. The music was all right, but it was much too loud. Neville couldn't hear his own thoughts, much less Louis standing right beside him. At one point, when they visited the last one of the evening, Louis turned to him and said something. Neville wasn't good at reading lips, but it looked something like, "I'm okay." Louis raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response. He looked nervous.

               "I'm fine!" Neville shouted back. He gave Louis a thumb's up to help convey his reply, and Louis brightened up once more.

               They left the night scene sometime around one in the morning, and Neville couldn't fathom it. Even in the dorms as a teen, he'd never stayed up so late. At least outside, he and Louis could hear each other again. "You all right?" Louis shouted. Their ears were still ringing.

               "I'm knackered." Neville shook his head. "Time to head home."

               Louis nodded and waited while Neville got his bearings. Then he Disapparated and let them into his flat. The sudden quiet helped them regain their hearing.

               "I must say," Neville said, still a little loudly, "I've never done anything like that before in my entire life."

               The younger wizard laughed as he stretched out on his back on the floor between the little coffee table and the tiny chair. "That was awesome."

               Neville rolled his eyes. "Of course you think that," he remarked, stepping over Louis to sit down with a cold glass of water. "You're bonkers."

               "Ah-ha…yeah, I s'pose I am."

               Neville sipped his drink and leaned back in his chair. He ran a hand over his face. "Ugh… I've never been so tired before in my entire life." He could even feel the glass slipping from his grip.

               Louis sat up and took it from him, setting it on the table. "Damn. I didn't think you'd be that tired. Can you even get up?"

               Neville tried but not in earnest. "…no. Looks as though I'll just sleep in the chair tonight."

               Louis smiled and nodded as Neville closed his eyes. "Sorry about this, Professor Defenseless."

               The older wizard managed a weak, tired smile. "Hey, I'm not de—"

               His words didn't emerge. They were swallowed by the peck on the lips Louis gave him. Neville didn't even have enough strength to open his eyes fully, but he could see a little of the scene before him through his dark eyelashes. Louis' mouth was on his, and Louis held his jaw delicately, as if he might break like the water glass.

               For a brief moment, Louis pulled away, and Neville struggled to say something. "What are—"

               Louis kissed him again, deep and hard. He backed off for a second and locked eyes with Neville. His gaze was so sad and pained. "I told you once before, professor. I'm not a kind person." He leaned in close, kneeling on the chair with one knee pressed perilously close between Neville's legs. His breath was warm and moist at the older man's ear. "I am the most selfish person you'll ever meet."

               Neville was…horrified. He had never dreamt of this.

               Louis' mouth left his lips and made a stop at his jaw before continuing down his neck. At the same time, Louis' hands fumbled with Neville's belt. Louis slid off him, and, the next thing Neville knew, Louis' head was between his legs.

               He couldn't determine what was worse. What was going on—Louis touching him so intimately, his mouth moving so expertly, his care coming so softly…

               Or the fact that, even if he'd had the energy, Neville wasn't sure he'd stop Louis.

               You idiot, Neville scolded himself. What did you do? Did you lead him on? Did you make him think you were this way? And are you really becoming aroused by his ministrations?!

               Far off in his mind, something clicked: Louis had not said "I'm okay" at the club. He'd said "I'm gay."

               And, somewhere along the line, Neville had not only led him on but had led him astray and gotten his hopes up.

               Louis kept going until Neville was released. Then he cleaned Neville up but not himself. Instead, he bent over the reclined form of the former professor and smiled deviously…but weakly. Neville squinted, because Louis looked ready to say something else. But he did not. No, he kissed Neville again—oh, cripes, it was sticky and revolting (no, no, no, not arousing, not arousing, go down, you—!)—and exhaled. It was a borderline sigh.

               Then Louis did something even more unexpected: He sweetly kissed Neville's forehead. And left.

               Neville…had no clue what to do. Call for help? Go after Louis? Chase him down and…punish him? Embrace him? Had that really been three months of friendship gone down the crapper? …no, it wasn't friendship, not to Louis; that much was obvious. But it was too much to think about these shocking things. All Neville could hold on to was that pained look on Louis' face, and it haunted his dreams…

               Neville knew he'd become somewhat withdrawn afterwards. Thankfully, Harry never pressed him. He was glad. He didn't want to admit that Harry had been right.

               Still, a part of Neville fought that. What made Harry right? What made Louis right? All those things they said about Louis… Louis wasn't a terrible person.

               (Of course, he had to be careful when he thought that, because then his body would betray him and respond, and it was getting harder not to bring attention to himself.)

               But then what was Louis? Not a lover. Neville didn't think of men or of Louis that way. All he knew, as January faded and February grew old, was that he missed the good times with Louis. But had he any right to search for Louis and to ask for things to go back to the way they'd been? He didn't think so, not with knowing that Louis was attracted to him sexually. That changed things. It always changed things.

               Besides, he was beginning to feel old again, and Neville understood. He'd been using Louis. He'd wanted to feel young again—why else would he have returned to the Auror Office in the first place? Befriending someone refreshing like Louis was just the icing on the cake. So he'd used Louis to regain his youth. Maybe, in some morbid sense, Louis was justified in taking what he'd wanted, as well.

               (And it wasn't as though Neville could deny how good Louis was. But it frightened him even to think about how Louis had gained his talents.)

               He was such a masochist. He'd brought this pain upon himself, and now he'd shared it with Louis. Louis might've been a dark character before, but Neville had only made him darker.

               February passed. March arrived.

               Louis stayed away. Neville didn't go looking for him.

               Neville didn't forget what had happened, though he was doing his best to let it go and to share the blame instead.

               March fluttered away. April drizzled in.

               Louis who? Neville had few friends, and they were all in the Auror office.

               Everything that had happened in three months (November, December, January) suddenly felt like a few minutes.

               April breezed by. May stumbled in.

               Neville was back to normal. Work, eat, sleep—that was the life of a single Auror.

               Cain and Low weren't fired, but they were demoted. Renn was promoted for the time being, but Minister Shacklebolt was seriously considering giving either Baddock or Pritchard the chance to run the Hit Wizards. Neville's investigation had been a success, and now Minister Shacklebolt was developing a team to test other departments. The Ministry had never had a system of checks and balances before. Now, they might.

               May was gone in a flash. June appeared hotly.

               Neville was working with Harry, getting things straightened out considering the candidates to join Neville's new team. "Kingsley was right, asking you to head your own office," Harry said admiringly.

               The other wizard grunted. "Another desk job—it's a sign."

               "Oh?"

               "Maybe teaching was for me, after all."

               Harry gave him a gentle grin and patted his shoulder. "You'll be fine, Neville."

               "As long as we pick a good team, of course."

               Harry didn't even bother trying to explain that he meant something else entirely.

               Out in the larger area of the Auror Office, Victoire arrived to see Teddy. They were still engaged, but things were looking up for them these days; they were considering marrying sometime next year. But she talked in rushed tones with him, loud enough to catch Neville's and Harry's attention.

               "Everything all right, Victoire?" Harry asked, sticking his head out.

               Victoire furrowed her orange brow. "Oh, yeah…I suppose. It's my brother, Uncle Harry."

               Neville's ears perked up. He'd heard nothing from or of Louis for five months.

               "What's he done now?" Harry asked, pulling the door shut behind him.

               Neville wanted to chide Harry. As if it would hurt him to hear about Louis! (Because surely Harry had noticed Neville didn't go out and said little these days.) Luckily, the door didn't latch, so it creaked partially open, and Harry didn't hear it.

               "Well, he'd been mooching off me and Teddy for a little bit. Once Uncle George finally fired him, he went to live with Dominique and Lysander. Just when Dom told me she was about to kick him out, she found he'd left. She gave it two days, but now no one knows where he is."

               Neville's eyes widened. His stomach fell through the floor.

               "What?" Harry cursed. "Have you tried his mates?"

               Victoire must've thrown her hands up in the air, because there was a sound like her palms falling and smacking her legs. "What mates, Uncle Harry? Even in our family, Hugo wasn't that close to him, and they're the youngest. Hugo recalled a somewhat friend of theirs, an Olsha Maeve, but she wrote that she hasn't seen him since graduation. It was about the same with their roommates, Henry Benton and John Cauldwell. They've not seen him since last year."

               Teddy groaned. "I hate to voice the elephant in the room…but maybe it's time to… Merlin, I can't word this right. I can't say it. I just can't."

               "I'm not giving up on my brother, Teddy." Victoire scoffed. "He's still my brother. I mean, there's got to be some good in him. And…" Her voice was wet. "I'm sure someone would miss him if he really disappeared. I know I would. I'm sure Dom would. I—I don't know about anyone else, though, because he's always been a handful."

               "Well, he barely managed to graduate, yeah. And he's lazy and always getting fired."

               "But he's not evil."

               "He's just not a kind person, Vic. Maybe…"

               Neville knew what Teddy was trying to avoid saying: "Maybe the world is better off without Louis." But Neville knew that was a lie. And Louis was a kind person. He knew it! In his mind's eye, he kept replaying the night that Louis had barged in and force-fed him Thai food and had laughed his pains away with him. Louis was his friend, his close friend, his real friend—his only true friend.

               He would miss him if he disappeared.

               Neville steeled himself and put his work away. He opened the door, startling Harry, Teddy, and Victoire, and he humbly ducked his head. "Sorry. Didn't mean to intrude. Harry, I'll give you lot some privacy and finish my work elsewhere."

               "Yes, of course," Harry said, but he missed the determination in Neville's eyes.

               Neville was going to find Louis.

               Granted, he didn't know where to start. Diagon Alley was going to be a miss. London was too large to search. All the places Louis had taken him to, they were too numerous.

               And yet Neville searched each and every single one.

               But the day ended and night came, and still Neville had not found him. For the first time in a very long time, Neville's heart ached. He really missed Louis, and he cared for the stubborn little bugger. He had been wrong ever to make Louis uncomfortable. If he thought about it, it went back to the first time he meant to have Louis over and he'd finally seen the comparisons to Hannah and—

               Hold on.

               Neville Disapparated from the edge of the city and Apparated to the front door of the Leaky Cauldron. He had a hunch…

               He hadn't been inside the pub for years. He was surprised Hannah wasn't at the bar, and he didn't even recognize the bloke working. But none of that mattered at the moment. Neville was looking for another blond tonight.

               The Auror tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he scanned the faces of the patrons. But one quick look told him Louis wasn't at a table. He glanced and saw he wasn't at the bar either. Then he checked the booths, and he found Louis tucked into one before a corner booth.

               Louis wore regular denims that were a little tattered at the hems, as if he'd been doing a lot of walking or running. Despite the heat, he still wore one of his thin sweatshirts. Otherwise, he looked fit and healthy; he was just lost in thought. He had a small rucksack beside him, too, as if he were ready to hop away at a moment's notice. But he didn't see Neville.

               "Hey."

               Louis flipped to face him. His expression was that of a guilty first year caught in Hogsmeade.

               Neville stood there. He didn't want to sit beside Louis and send more mixed messages, but he didn't want to sit across from him either and give Louis the opportunity to escape before they spoke. So Neville remained standing, but he edged over so that he blocked Louis' exit.

               "What are you…" Louis shook his head. "How did you find me?"

               "Um, process of elimination."

               "How do you mean?"

               Neville gave a glib summation of what had happened during the day concerning Victoire. He left out some comments, especially Teddy's, but it was enough to fill in the blanks. "And I—I didn't know what to do besides check every place we'd ever been."

               Louis' expression softened, and his eyes turned glassy, but he determinedly looked away. "You didn't have to. That's why I came here."

               "Oh. You were counting on me never setting foot again in here?"

               The other man nodded.

               Neville took a breath and decided it was safe to sit across from Louis. "Hey. Look at me."

               Louis refused.

               "Look… You…" But what could he say? He hadn't mentioned Teddy's comments, even though they were exactly the things Neville had come to publicly refute.

               "No one needs me, I know. Nor does anyone want me. I know that, too." Louis stared out the window. "I'm not having a pity-party, just so we're clear. I was just leaving."

               "But where?" Neville frowned. His adrenaline was wearing off, and now he breathed hard.

               Louis glanced at him, and his cheeks flushed. "I, uh…dunno. I hadn't quite figured that part out yet."

               There it was. The old Louis. The good Louis. The real Louis. It was enough to bring a bright smile to Neville's face. "That so?"

               "Oh, shut up, Professor Twat," the blond grumbled, but he turned beet red.

               "It's not true, though," Neville stated. "You'd be missed, if you left."

               "Shyeah, by Vic, and maybe by Dom." Louis rolled his eyes. "But no one has any need of a good-for-nothing bastard."

               "I thought you were a bitch?"

               Louis looked at him, but he fought a smirk. "You think you're so smart, flinging my own words back at me."

               Neville shrugged. "Your words, and your thoughts." He leaned across the table. "But your thoughts are not unique, Louis. I've had the same ones about myself."

               "…what?"

               "It took me decades before I believed I had a purpose or had any use for anyone. Because, let's face it, no one lives for themselves alone. It's natural to want to be useful, to be wanted and needed by at least one other." Neville raised his eyebrows. "Sometimes I still feel that way."

               "Are we making this a contest? Who's more pathetic?"

               "No, of course not."

               "Good, 'cause I win. I'm an idiot and an arse."

               "Well, I'm not street-smart like you, and I'm a pushover."

               Louis finally smirked. "Sounds like a tie to me."

               Neville smiled, relieved. "It does."

               But Louis' smirk lessened. "This isn't some weird love confession, is it?"

               "Uh, no…" Neville rolled his shoulders. "I'll be honest, I still can't figure out how I feel about what happened. But that doesn't change you, and it doesn't affect my opinion of you all that much. I've been keeping things separate."

               "Compartmentalizing—very nice." Louis crossed his arms and leaned on the table, too. At least he faced Neville again. "If that's the case, then why did you come here?"

               Neville's face grew warm. "I at least know I don't want you to disappear anywhere."

               Louis scoffed and looked away. "There's nothing here for me anymore, Neville. I was fired, and I've been blacklisted from just about every store within a five- or ten-mile radius." He looked back, brown eyes meeting brown eyes.

               The older man shook his head. "I am not asking you to stay because of me. I am only telling you that I will miss you if you leave. It is up to you to choose for yourself what you want to do."

               The blond nodded and grew quiet. He ran a hand through his hair and looked around. When he settled again on Neville, he didn't meet his eyes. Instead, he reached for Neville's clasped hands. He hesitated, and then he barely stroked the skin on the back of Neville's right hand.

               Neville bit his tongue, and he dared not react. Surely it was just a side-effect, just his body remembering the last time Louis had touched him in any way? He subtly crossed his legs and stared at the gold strands in Louis' hair. He wanted only Louis' friendship back, only his companionship.

               His act must've been good, because Louis sighed and nodded. "All right, all right… Yeah, I won't leave."

               "You should probably tell your sisters that, or at least Victoire. She was worried enough to go see Teddy during the day."

               "So you said." Louis pulled away from him. "I want to stay. I do. Too much of my family's local or well within Apparating distance."

               Neville gave him a tight smile and ignored the feeling of missing Louis' touch. "Sounds like a plan."

               "Except I have no place to stay."

               Neville nodded reluctantly. "Well…so long as you behave and you find another job soon, it's all right if you stay with me."

               "Really?"

               Neville studied Louis' face. Was it his imagination, or did he no longer see something more in Louis' eyes? Maybe now…now Louis really was just his good friend. "Yes," the Auror said with a fleeting grin.

               "Wow, thanks." Louis appeared genuinely grateful. "Dunno what I'll tell Vic…or if I'll tell her at all… But thanks."

               Neville stood and waited for Louis to get out of the booth. He took the smaller male's bag for him. "Good. Now, if you must say thanks and if you're going to apologize for running away and making me worry, then you can buy dinner."

               Louis stuck his tongue out at him, but he laughed. "Who's the brat now, professor?"

               "Oh, shut up, will you? Let's just go home."

               "Sure thing, mate."

               Ah, yes, Neville was beginning to feel young again. Mood-swinging-ly, uncomfortably, self-consciously, insecurely, assuredly young again.

OH, SHIT. *fails* This fic was a REAL challenge for me, because I wanted something that ended almost unhappily, but I was trying to be a bit more realistic. Plus, Neville comes across as so straight, so masculine (not saying that the two are exclusive) that he would have a hard time going along with Louis' affections. Louis…has always seemed gay to me (I know, I know, next-gen are really just names without personalities), but I do think I've held on well to my headcanon for him. And writing Neville's always a treat, though I adore him best with Victoire. Still, I've been thinking about these two for a while, and I think it's a real challenge, having a couple where someone remains adamantly heterosexual and the other one's got no qualms though isn't flashy about being homosexual. Though I'm sure if you've made it this far to my A/N then you've taken the hint that Neville's not wondering about men but maybe at least about Louis… And, oh, so many motifs in this story! XD The number three, food, touch… And the theme of disliking oneself… Urgh, whatta recipe for two charries who have more in common than even I originally thought! I really liked this story in the end, and I want to write more of them in the future… At least two fics, maybe…? Note: The OCs Cain, Low, and Renn are allusions to three main characters in Derek Landy's Skulduggery Pleasant series, which I also adore. I switched the genders here, but the social politics are the same, *lol*. P.S.—A much-deserved shout-out and thanks to my twin, Morghen, for beta'ing. I know it's been a while, hon, but you helped me realize that I loved this story in the end. Mor Louville, yes? ;D

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

2017 note: WHERE DO I START. Okay, first. I think most everything I want covered was covered in my 2013 A/N. Godric, I just. I love Neville so much. I hope that comes across every time I write him. ;w; I'm glad that edits to this old fic mostly were just fixing my language (making some terms less American and more British), so yay. ALSO, I've no clue about two more fics, but I'm definitely working on the sequel, "Contrary You," and I just. GAH. I feel the urge to rip thru and finish it now. X3 I just love them so much. I love Neville so much. X333 So, will Louville become a thing in "Contrary You"? Well…you'll just have to wait to find out. ;]

[okdnn]

Okada Nana and Murayama Yuiri Mail September 5 2020

Okada Nana Mail

September 5

It’s hot too today~.. I’m also sleepy~...

I don’t want to waste my time,

So I’ve been fighting with drowsiness. Lol

My consumable gone very fast

So I will be sure to go buy those today!

Also also

I will do my best editing videos.

I will do my best 〜 !

make up

I put on thin makeup, change my clothes

And preparing for a brunch~~~~. 

I saw Ousama Brunch

Covering about cup noodle,

And it really brings my appetite on....

Cup noodle … I want it ...

Today's delicacy 

★ Kimchi ginger on Tofu

★ Miso soup with green onion

★ Tofu TKG

Similar menu as yesterdayー ! 

Vegetable juice before meal.

I’m having it~

Black white offshoots

The cover for AKB shinbun’s 48times

That was published at 18:00 today

Was all selected by me. See it ok.

I will notify you again

Once it’s past 18:00 〜 ! 

For 2 covers to be possible

It’s a good thing about the electronic version isn’t it.

If it’s the printed version, it will be front and back cover isn’t it!

Tomorrow…! So nervous…!

My first

Online Ohanashikai

I’m scared if I can do it well or not

But I’ve been checking the preparation video

For several times so I will be ready~! I will do my best.

Preparation video part 1

https://youtu.be/IZQrwjBUJm8

Preparation video part 2

https://youtu.be/Mpp6LIJVClU

Sweets. delicious.

Cover published 

AKB Shinbun-san

Has tweeted the picture of the cover!

I choose two variations

Where I look at the camera and where I don’t~...

It’s the first where I can select a picture like this.

It made me so happy.

I want to select my own picture,

But I also want to select other member’s pictures! I want that kind of job! Lol

I’m confident that I can select a nice picture. 

The offshoot taken by manager

I’m sorry the quality is bad !

Natto man

I feel hungry

So I had natto that almost expired.

My 3rd natto today …

I’m getting hooked into vinegar natto lately!

Okay! I will take a bath now!

I will also sleep early for tomorrow!

Sleep early, wake up early~. GOOD NIGHT zzz

Murayama Yuiri Mail

Theater 

Performing Boku no Natsu Hajimaru stage

In September, it’s already autumn

But why is it soooo hot?

Today is the day

Where my whole body

Seems to float 0.5cm from the ground

And I just feel floaty!

13th gen Sakisahoringo picture!！

SahoSaki’s atmosphere

Where they seems to be bickering or not

The way I look at it, it’s funny.

[junionigiri]

Peony Pink and Cherry Blossom Tea Ch 2: Can We Pull This Off

Story Summary: Todoroki Shouto, 3rd year Neurosurgery Resident, needs to find a date for the annual Pro Heroes’ Gala by tonight, or else Endeavor will do the choosing for him. Having to resort to drastic measures, he convinces the OR nurse Uraraka Ochako to pretend going out with him. On top of having to deal with the media frenzy, the relentless hospital gossip, and the expectations of Japan's #1 Hero, Shouto and Ochako struggle with the complexities of their own feelings for each other.

Relationship: Todoroki Shouto/Uraraka Ochako; background KiriMina :)

Rating: T

Warnings/Notes: This is a direct continuation of my submission for bnha rarepair month d 26 - fake dating AU. There are MAJOR changes to that chapter though, which I won’t repost here because of redundancy. so please look for this story on AO3 (JuniRiceBall) or FFNet (Juni Onigiri) to read those changes :)

Tongue tied, every time I try to talk to you In time, I’ll find the right line

Ochako opens her eyes to a mess of spotty bright lights, various shades of pinks, reds, and greens in candy-shades.

“She’s opening her eyes,” someone says above her. The red blur moves closer to her. She feels something heavy prodding her cheek. It’s bothersome and she wants it to go away, but coordination comes late to her arms, and she misses swatting it away completely.

“Ochako-chan? You okay, honey?” The pink blur moves closer to her too, so that her vision is all shades of reds and pinks.

A legitimate question makes it to her lips in a slur: “Am… I awake…?”

Her head has a vague feeling of emptiness, like a crashing web browser with a hundred and fifty tabs open at the same time.

“You tell us,” the pink one says with concern. “Ei, are you sure she didn’t hit her head back there? We might need to bring Dr. Kendo here to see her…”

“N… no… don’t. I’m fine. I’m f…” Her arm regains feeling, and finally she has enough strength to rub her eyes.

Clarity comes to her soon, and she’s treated to the sight of the Kirishimas staring down at her with concern. Mina already has her hands on her phone, ready to make a phone call. Eijirou is squatting next to her, one hand ready to shine a light in her eyes and the other pressing fingers to her pulse point.

“Hey there,” says the red-haired Kirishima gently. “How are ya, babe? You scared us back there.”

Ochako gives him an eloquent mumble. Slowly, she rises from where she lay and struggles to orient herself. “… when did I get in the locker rooms?”

“Kiri and Sero carried you after you fainted in the cafeteria, babe.” Mina still has a worried look in her dark eyes, but puts her phone away all the same. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up for five minutes now. I’ve been telling Ei to bring you to the ER already, since it might be serious, but the boys insisted on checking up on you here in private.”

Scattered around them are all sorts of tools to check her vitals, her blood sugar, and even a spare cardiac monitor they probably nabbed from the recovery room. She’s a little stunned that they ‘borrowed’ so many stuff for her without the nursing service knowing, but then again it’s what she expects of the smooth, conniving Mina. At least they didn’t see anything that warranted an ER visit. For now.

Eijirou nods and tells Mina, “I just had a feeling that those two probably don’t want any more people rubbernecking over them? You should have seen the cafeteria. People ugly-crying left and right. Women on the verge of a riot. They had to call in a Code Grey at one point.”

Ochako furrows her brow, trying to recall. She does remember people screaming things like I’m too late and it can’t be true, not him, not Todoroki-sama~~~ as if they’re at a fan meet and Doctoroki is a pop-idol who just announced that he’s engaged to be married to a cryptid or something. What kind of a fucked-up dream sequence…?

Oh, but they’re talking about it as if it happened in real life. She squints her eyes and stares at the husband-and-wife in confusion, wishing that they’d give her something tangible to go on.

“Mhm. I can just imagine,” the pink Kirishima says flatly. She turns to Ochako with an odd look. “Honey? You okay?”

Her brain refuses to further process anything that they’re saying. “Um. What… happened, exactly…?”

“You don’t remember anything?”

A stoic voice whispering in her ear. Mismatched eyes, pleading with her about something-- ”I need you Uraraka. Please.” A floating old man who falls to the ground.

Warm and cold hands around hers. A shiver down her spine. A decision in her head -- “Okay, I’ll do it”, and then--

She shakes her head vehemently, even as warmth starts to invade her cheeks. Nope, that can’t be real, that has to be a complex dream sequence that her brain made up because she’s a mess of a human being who can’t function properly around attractive people.

The Kirishimas give each other an odd look. Eijirou scratches the back of his head and tells her, “Well, I guess we have to wait for him to give you the details of what happened, ‘cos we sure as heck don’t know what went down.”

“... him?”

“Yeah.” Mina, for some reason, pouts at her and gives her a look as if she’s double-crossed her somehow. Seeing that she’s stable now and could handle a good shove at the shoulders, she gives her a really good shove at the shoulders. “You sneak, Ochako! Here I was, teasing you with him like an absolute idiot, not knowing the real deal between you two. How long were you going to keep it a secret, huh?”

Ochako is a little confused at the playful-accusatory looks that the couple is giving her. “What are you guys talking about? Have mercy on me, please? I just came back from the dead and all…”

They squint her eyes at her in disbelief. Now she’s feeling annoyed. The inside of her head feels like crushed uncooked instant ramen noodles. She does not deserve this treatment.

“Uraraka? You’re up.”

Her entire body straightens up automatically in attention when Dr. Todoroki Shouto’s face peeks out from the doorway. The blank expression on his face lightens up very subtly when he sees Ochako fully functional again.

Well. As fully functional as Ochako can be in front of him, she supposes. A silly noise that doesn’t sound like any proper word in any real human language escapes from her throat.

“Doctoroki! Finally!” Eijirou opens the door for him and snorts at the sight of him carrying way too many things in those big… muscly… arms of his, bulging underneath his crisp white doctor’s coat. “What is all this, doc? Did you steal everything you could get from the supply room?!”

The nurse helps him sort out all types of IV solutions, tubes, and needles. “I brought everything we might need,” he explains nonchalantly. “IV hydration, tube feeding, blood extractions.”

“W-what?! That’s overkill! No!” Ochako yelps with a sudden burst of energy. Despite being a nurse who has to subject her patients to them, she hates, hates, hates needles--she had nightmares in middle school about a villainess in a middle schooler’s uniform who goes around poking people with a giant syringe--and not even Doctoroki and his perfect face will calm her down enough for her to take a needle through her skin quietly. “Please, I’d die if you stick any of those needles in me--”

She’s visibly distressed enough that Mina holds on to her to calm her down. Todoroki just gives her an amused smile. “It’s okay. I don’t think we need to use these if you’re up and about now, Uraraka.”

That smile. That look he gives her, right in the eyes, as if he sees nothing else. Her mind is instantly blank and weak and soft, like jello. It’s… unfair. She forgets about her needle-induced melodrama and stammers, “Y… yeah, I am…”

“Okay.” He uses a different tone this time--a soft, comforting one, probably the same quiet voice he uses with his patients when he tells them that he needs to drill through their skulls to take a diseased portion out of their brains. “I need to check you out now to be really sure. If it’s okay with you.”

“... okay…”

She struggles with her composure as Todoroki bends down on one knee and stares her down at first, and then puts one cold finger to her chin, tilting it this way and that and she wonders how she hasn’t frozen like a popsicle under his touch. His voice is astonishingly gentle in her ears, as he murmurs one command after another: look at the light. Look at my finger. Show me your teeth. Hold my hand, grip my fingers… just like that, yes. Nice and strong.

Good. Very good, he murmurs to her, every time she does what he asks. The rumble of his voice activates little earthquakes in her chest and stomach, and strangely enough she wants more of it.

When he’s done, he nods and stands up, leaving the points of contact between them cold and empty. Ochako hopes that her face isn’t too pink when he regards the Kirishimas with gratitude. “She’s okay now. Thanks for taking care of her, you two.”

The bright smiles on the husband-and-wife’s faces can light up a small village. “Our pleasure, Doc,” Eijirou says in amusement. “Um. It’s weird for us to say this now, but thanks for taking care of Uraraka too… I guess?”

“Yeah,” Mina pipes up with a pout, one hand on her hip. “Really, Doctoroki, you should have asked us for permission first. Don’t you know that Ochako’s like our adopted Hosu Gen daughter? We should have been the first to know that you’re dating!”

Dating. Dating? Doctoroki… and… me? Ochako feels her diaphragm freeze when the hazy images from before finally, finally flood through her brain.

You can help me by going out with me. His voice in her head is finally clear. As is Endeavor’s, who looked at her and judged her and then respected her after she sent him crashing to the ground and then told them, I’ll see you tonight. Don’t be late, Shouto.

Oh my god, thinks Ochako. It’s happening. Her completely ordinary, disaster-bisexual self has somehow become a good and proper K-drama heroine. Complete with a brooding, supernaturally handsome male lead, a judgmental potential parent-in-law, and an unnecessarily convoluted plot that led to a harebrained fake-dating scheme.

What in the actual fuck?! Wide-eyed, she turns to Todoroki, who is infuriatingly unfazed by all of this.

“I see. I apologize.” He pauses thoughtfully. In all seriousness, he bows his head in the next moment like a proper son-in-law. “Please allow me to date your adoptive daughter.”

“You have our blessing,” Mina says immediately with a satisfied smirk as Ochako continues to silently choke on absolutely nothing. Ignoring her so-called daughter’s lack of oxygen, the pink-haired girl pats her on the back gently. “My baby girl is a proper woman now. Don’t forget to use protection and invite us to the wedding, ‘mmkay?”

“Mina!” she squeaks in horror. No, please, mental images, do not bombard Ochako’s brain now, she still needs to understand what in the holy fuck just happened in the cafeteria, okay?! “D-Doctoroki and I, we’re not… we just--”

Eijirou ignores her less-than-intelligent stammerings and pats the blank-faced Todoroki at the back. “Take good care of our round baby, okay, Doctoroki?”

“Okay.” With that weird, soft look in his eyes that makes it look like he’s perpetually shimmering behind a rose-coloured lens, he looks at Ochako in the eye. “Uraraka… you good to go?”

He holds out his hand to her and gives her something other than a blank stare, instantly killing her last two remaining brain cells.

Still, she manages a weak nod, and reaches out to hold on to him. The chill of his right hand shoots through hers, like a bolt of frost through her veins piercing her heart, making it run marathons in her chest.

“Okay. You’re steady,” he murmurs again, oh god can’t he just speak in a normal volume, not this really sensual low tone he uses on her please she still needs to go home in one piece.

“Come on.” The look in his eyes tells her that they have other things to talk about, though, and thankfully she understands well enough that they need a nice, quiet spot to talk. Definitely not there, where the Kirishimas are watching their every move and grinning ear to ear like a happy pair of Shibas.

“... okay,” she squeaks. With a weak goodbye to her so-called Hosu Gen parents, she follows her brand new, non-imaginary, bishonen-as-fuck boyfriend out of the room.

*

“First of all, Uraraka. I’m really sorry about this.”

Ochako listens to his sincere apology in a secluded booth in Satou’s Coffees and Cakes, as she stares at a giant tower of fluffy pancakes and a large strawberry mochi parfait.

Easily her favourite things in the world, but for the first time in her life, she is not overcome with the immediate urge to stuff her cheeks to the limit. Instead, she carefully stares back at Doctoroki and the thick layer of gloom surrounding his aura like downtown smog.

“No, Doc,” she says gently, twiddling the pink pads of her thumbs anxiously. “I… did tell you that I’d help you, and… I guess you did what you had to do…?”

“I… did. But that doesn’t excuse the fact that I got you in this mess without you knowing all the messed-up details of it.”

Ochako laughs awkwardly. “You mean how your father Endeavor, Japan’s #1 pro-hero, thinks that we’re datin’ and how we’re gonna be all couply an’ stuff in the Pro-Heroes’ Gala and how the media’s goin’ ta go crazy over it and how it’s gonna change our work relationship with erryone else in Hosu Gen?”

Ignoring the slip of her aggressive Kansai dialect, the doctor nods solemnly.

“Heh… I’m over it now, Doc. I’m okay with it.” As if to prove her point, she takes a slice of the pancake and chews through it, ignoring how her taste buds are malfunctioning somehow and all she’s able to taste is sponge and nothing else.

He blinks at her. “Uraraka, you literally fainted thinking about it. In front of everyone, too.”

Ugh. Ochako, you anxious failure of a human being. She fights the embarrassment and tells him, “Please don’t worry about that anymore. You told me that I was okay earlier, right?”

He hums. “I just meant that it didn’t look like you had brain damage or anything like that. But I have to make sure that you’re really okay with... this whole arrangement with me.”

She makes an effortful swallow . Geez, did Chef Satou just mess up today, or something? What kind of universe is this that Uraraka Ochako suddenly can’t enjoy free food? But it’s really hard to enjoy the blessings, not while Dr. Todoroki Shouto looks downright miserable.

“Doctoroki--I mean, Dr. Todoroki,” she tells him carefully, sincerely. “I--”

“Todoroki’s fine. Or Shouto,” he tells her.

“Okay…” she attempts, and chickens out at the last minute, “Todoroki-kun.” She tries to ignore the drumming of her heart as she feels his name in her mouth. “I was really, really honest when I told you that I wanted to help you. But… maybe, tell me why you… had to do this in the first place?”

“All right.” He takes a long moment to reflect on his words silently, tenting his fingers in front of his face, drumming them against each other. Ochako quietly pushes the dessert spoon in her parfait, smooshing all the strawberries anxiously as she waits for him to sort through the mess of his past.

When he finally opens his mouth, it feels like she’s watching him pull out his own teeth with a pair of rusty pliers, and she almost regrets asking him anything. “My father and I… well, we don’t have the best relationship, contrary to whatever you know about us from the media.”

Ochako tries to remember what the media has to say about Endeavor. She knows all about his heroics, but when it came to his family life, absolutely nothing comes to mind. An odd thing, indeed, considering he’s the biggest public figure in the country next to the prime minister.

“I’m one of his biggest disappointments,” he tells her flatly, like he’s describing the weather and not his potentially messed-up childhood. “Because even though he trained me and I took a heroics course in high school, I didn’t go pro.” He makes an odd sound through his nose, and clarifies, “… at least, not for long.”

She nods quietly. She’s heard this being talked about in the hospital grapevines, how he only lasted as a pro for a week before he quit the agency for an unknown reason, and how he applied for a pre-med course and finished it a year ahead of the others.

“I’m not going to bore you about the details of why he’s… the way he is about quirks and power.” Ochako can tell that he’s putting a lid on his emotions then, keeping the annoyance from bubbling to the surface. “But because none of his four kids became pros, he’s keen on producing at least one strong grandchild, good enough to inherit the title of the next number one hero. He’s putting the pressure on all of us.” He sighs. “Me, especially, since I’m his so-called masterpiece with both the fire and ice quirk.”

Ochako remembers the fierce dragons decorating his back. Before, she wanted to sing praises about its beauty and perfection, but now she knows about the heavy meaning of the design. All she wants to do is give those dragons a big comforting hug, strangely enough.

“So he’s actively looking for a woman he deems worthy enough of bearing my children. As disgusting as it sounds.” His fingers are tapping incessantly against each other, hot and cold, forming little contrasting puffs of steam that fades in the air between them. “I don’t want any poor woman to go through that hell again--”

“Again?” Ochako asks.

He pauses. “Never mind that.” He shifts in his seat and stares at her right in the eyes. “The thing about Endeavor though, he cares about his public image. Now, more than ever. He thinks he can corner me into an arranged quirk marriage in front of the country, starting with this ridiculous gala. So if I show everyone that I have someone that I like… a woman that I chose for myself, regardless of the quirk--”

She feels the pink rising to her cheeks again, feels her pulse rushing at the phrase woman that I chose. Ochako, it isn’t true, it’s just pretend, get a grip--

“--then there isn’t anything he can do about it. Whoever he’s planning to pressure into marrying me will get away from our family scot-free. And… no-one gets hurt.” He nods, as if to convince himself that there’s no other acceptable outcome to this.

Ochako nods numbly all throughout his explanation. She’s overwhelmed, definitely. She wonders what the heck happened to him for things to end up this way. She thinks of the gap between him and his father, and how different her life is from his--growing up poor, but with loving parents, a loving father who only wants her happiness--and Todoroki…

Simply put, she’s worried for him. “Todoroki-kun…”

He looks up at her, and then at her hands. Which reached out to hold both of his, across the table, seemingly on their own.

Ochako tries not to blanch too much when she realizes it, but to her relief, he doesn’t pull away. “I’m okay with this. Promise. I’ll help you.”

He blinks. “… you sure?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in her voice. No urge to faint this time, although there’s a little nausea at the back of her throat, when she thinks about how this mission is bigger than it seems. “I’ll date you for as long as you need me to, Todoroki-kun. I’ll be there for you. And… no-one gets hurt.”

He looks right into her eyes again. Piercing blue and onyx, shooting into her heart like laser beams. A smile slowly forms in his mouth, very small and subtle but very real, like the tremors in her heart.

“Okay.” He pulls away from her hands briefly, only to take her hands into his own. She’s encased in contrasting temperatures, and all she wants to do is melt. “I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you. So…”

She smiles warmly at that. It’s the sweetest thing that a pretend-boyfriend has ever told her in her life ever. Even though she isn’t sure that it’s true. Because she knows the media, and now she knows about Endeavor.

“Thanks… Uraraka.” That smile can cure disease, no exaggeration. She wonders why he needs to do neurosurgery at all, if he can just smile like that to every sick patient he sees.

You are fucking ridiculous, girl. And lovestruck. “Ochako. Please,” she tells him, as a strange current of courage pulses through her.

“Okay. Ochako.” She tries not to die on the spot then. “But you have to call me Shouto.”

She steels herself and gives him a smile. “Okay. Shouto-kun.”

He hums. “Good enough. For now.”

“Ohhhh my gosh~~ This is a dream, isn’t it…???”

Ochako blinks, wondering if she gained a new telepathic quirk and everyone can hear what her mind is saying out loud, only to realize that the voice isn’t hers and that it came from a floating maid uniform set, who came by with glasses of water.

“Oh,” the waitress--Tooru, according to her nameplate--falters in embarrassment, as if she accidentally said her words out loud. “I’m sorry!! I’m just really surprised, Doctoroki! This is the first time you brought a date here, and I just can’t believe it! A lone wolf like you, being so lovey-dovey… You just… look so cute together, I can’t…!! I might explode oh my god--”

Ochako feels her cheeks burn up. She looks down on their hands, making sure that Todoroki--no, Shouto--hasn’t accidentally activated his quirk on her.

Okay. No actual fire. Only real and palpable embarrassment. Ochako puffs her cheeks to get a hold of herself.

Shouto, as usual, appears unfazed. “Yes. I think this is the first time we went here together,” he tells Tooru naturally. “This is Ochako, by the way. She’s a nurse from Hosu Gen.”

“Oh~ yeah, I see you here sometimes, Ochako-chan! You like Satou-san’s chiffon cake too, right? Right?”

The invisible waitress is nothing if not perpetually overexcited, it seems. Ochako thinks it’s terribly cute. “I do! I also like the crepes, the parfaits, the cafe liegeois, the madeleines--”

“Yes, yes! And the eclairs, the tiramisu, the creme brullee--”

The girls sigh in unison. “Yeah, Satou-san’s just that good at making pastries,” says the waitress dreamily, before snapping back to reality. “Ah, sorry, I totally went off the rails again. Doctoroki, I was supposed to check if guys needed anything more…”

Ochako looks across from her, and sees an uncharacteristically warm smile on Shouto’s face for a split second, before his face goes back to normal. “We’re good. Just the check, please.”

Gosh… I must be dreaming, huh. She looks down on her hands as Tooru chirps and turns away to get them the check.

An unnatural silence falls over them immediately. Ochako dares herself to look up, and sees that Todoroki is staring at her unabashedly.

“So,” he starts, suddenly awkward. “I’ll pick you up later? Is seven okay?”

Oh. In her lovestruck haze, she almost forgot about the actual mission. “Yes. Seven is okay.” She looks at her watch. It’s already past four. Fuck. “Yeah. I can… make it by seven.”

She has an old rose-coloured jersey dress somewhere in her closet somewhere, hidden among her mess of scrub suits and sportswear. It’s a little outdated, and she’ll smell like naphthalene, and she isn’t sure if she gained weight since she last wore it, but it’s better than nothing. Doctoroki, you should have really pretend-asked-her-out to the biggest gala of the year a little earlier!

“Okay…”He’s a little uneasy when he tells her, “If you want--I mean, only if you need help, that is… I asked someone to help us out.”

She gasps happily. “Oh, that’d be so great, Doc--I mean, Shouto-kun! I mean, if it’s not a bother for them, of course… I mean, I don’t want to smell like mothballs…”

“It’s okay. They owe me,” is all he says, not even bothering to look confused at what she said. He takes out his phone to send them a message, most likely. “I’ll drop you off there and come back for you at seven. Don’t worry about anything else.”

“Okay,” she says, breathily.

Todoroki stares at her with concern. “It’s still okay to back out, Ochako,” he says carefully.

His left hand reaches across the table and touches the back of her right hand. Warmth fills her from the inside out.

She nods. “I’m… okay, Shouto-kun.” She smiles at him. “Let’s date Endeavor’s brains outta their frickin’ minds! Or something. Yosh!”

He laughs for a grand total of five seconds, and Ochako thinks that it’s worth it to faint and to listen to his childhood fears, if it meant hearing that lovely sound again.

*

Is this a good idea?

Shouto finds himself asking this question over and over as he drives Uraraka to their next destination. At their first stoplight, he catches the pensive look in her eyes from the reflection of the window on the oftentimes-empty passenger seat, and he wonders if she’s thinking the same thing too.

Can we pull this off, Uraraka? He thinks of this as he appreciates how well she fits in the seat next to him, but doesn’t voice it out.

(No, not Uraraka. Ochako, her name is Ochako. Tea, like his favorite drink. And child, as childlike as her bright eyes and round cheeks are.)

The drive doesn’t take long, and they make it with exactly two hours for her to prepare. When they get to the place, Ochako stares at him in disbelief. “Oh… we’re back here.”

“Yes,” he says, helping her out of the car and to the entrance of Illusion Ink. She reaches for his hand, and again he feels the soft fingerpads pressing into his palm.

Pink. Soft. Round.

“Um,” she says with clear hesitation as they walk in the cool, pink-and-purple interiors of the tattoo parlour. “Am I… getting another tattoo, Doc--I mean, Shouto-kun?”

“I’d love to ink your awesome bod again, fam, but not tonight.”

Utsushimi Camie saunters out from the back, wearing her usual form-hugging dress that shows off her curves and exposed enough of the skin of her arms, legs, and chest to show off her arsenal of tattoos. She’s a beauty, a walking canvas, and you know she knows it by the way she moves. A lazy smile is on her face as she spreads her arms in front of the couple. “Hey, Todobroki and Ura-rocka~ I feel like I haven't seen y'allz for an entire day!”

“Oh… Camie-chan,” the nurse stammers. Ochako’s mouth is open wide in astonishment, as if she’s looking at an actual work of art. Shouto doesn’t have time to wonder why this bothers him before they’re simultaneously engulfed in a half-unwelcome hug (on his part only, much to his chagrin).

“Utsushimi-san is also a make-up artist,” he explains to the still star-struck Ochako, once they’re released from her embrace. “I also asked for her help for your formal wear, since I know it won’t be easy looking for one on short notice.”

He tries not to mind the way that Utsushimi is circling Ochako, looking at the smaller woman from all angles. His pretend-girlfriend doesn’t seem to be bothered by her hungry eyes, so he really shouldn’t be either. Right.

“Ya~ Really, Todobroki, you totes shouldn’t put your new day-old bae through so much trouble,” she tells him with a playful pucker of her lips, as she makes a show of fluffing up Ochako’s soft-looking strands. He sees her long, manicured claws gently brush soft, reddening cheeks. God, just stop being so flirty, won’t you, Utsushimi? She isn’t yours, she’s--

He stops that train of thought right in its misinformed tracks.

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Ochako says with an overwhelmed laugh. “It’s so awesome of you to lend me a dress, Camie-chan! My old one’s going to stand out in a bad way…”

“Oh no, bae, you’re gettin’ new duds, ‘kay? When Todobroki texted me a couple hours ago, I just went wild and bought the nicest thing they had on the shelf.”

“Huh?” Ochako looks at him with another look of disbelief. “Shouto-kun, I can’t just--”

“It’s fine.” He promised Utsushimi that he’ll pay her back for all of Ochako’s things, plus interest for making her go out of the way. The artist texted him the prices--just a little under 100,000 yen. It’ll be no trouble at her to compensate her for her efforts.

Well, it isn’t so bad. But maybe the two of them shouldn’t tell Ochako the price. She looks distressed enough as it is. “It’s the least I can do. Don’t worry about it.” He gives her the most comforting look he can muster. He isn’t sure if it works to ease her discomfort.

“Yeah, it’s just chump change, fam! Anyways, time’s a-wasting.” She pushes Ochako towards the washroom, and finally gets her claws off of her. “Now go and wash your face, so we can start workin’ on your make-up. This is going to be lit AF!”

Dazed, Ochako can do nothing but do as the artist says. When she shuts the door to the washroom, Utsushimi huffs and turns to him. “You can go home and get ready, Bro. I got this.”

“Okay. Thanks again, Utsushimi.”

“Mhm. Always here for you, fam. You really helped me out that one time, with all those kids, after all.” There’s a mischievous smile on her face when she saunters closer to him. “You know, Todobroki...”

Her tone is a little too teasing. He rolls his eyes. “What is it now?”

A shit eating grin is on her face when she declares, “Jealousy isn’t a good look on most people, but you wear it well.”

He scowls and looks away in annoyance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She flicks the skin of his right cheek, making the thickening layer of frost that’s formed on it crack under her manicured nail.

“... shut up.” Thoroughly embarrassed and cursing his quirk, he puts his left hand over his cheek, making the ice melt. Utsushimi cackles victoriously.

“I’m not going to steal your girl, Todobroki, and from what I’ve seen, she ain’t going anywhere without you. Different story though, if you don’t treat her well. That’s all I wanna say.”

“Right.” Noble words, but at that moment, Shouto makes up his mind that Utsushimi absolutely mustn’t know about the fake-dating scheme. He won’t ever allow Ochako to fall in the clutches of her ridiculously painted claws. “I… should go.”

Without sparing a second glance, the dual-toned man leaves the parlor, with a quiet anxiety residing in his heart.

*

Shouto comes back to Illusion Inks at exactly 6:58 PM, with an ostentatious limousine that his father sent for him. He steps out and leans against the door, waiting for his date. For the meantime, he adjusts his cuff-links, his navy-blue silk tie, and smooths the contours of his dark dress suit.

He stares at himself in the mirror: he’s combed his hair back and styled it as best as he can. He doesn’t look too bad, he supposes. Although, like this, his scar is unforgivingly exposed for all to see. He doesn’t care that it is--in fact, he’d flaunt it in front of all of Endeavor’s admirers, but…

I hope Ochako won’t be too uncomfortable seeing it like this, he thinks. And then stops himself. He’s sure she has seen it before, so he shouldn’t be worrying about stupid things like that.

Yes… she’d be okay with it. They’re not really together, but somehow he’s sure. She’d be okay with what he really looks like.

Not like the rest of the world who’s come to see his father, probably. But he doesn’t care about them. And they shouldn’t care about him, an ex-pro hero who retired at the age of 17. Whose father, the top hero of the country, beat him up and bruised him up and made his mother hate him--

No. Stop. Your hands are trembling. The night hasn’t even begun yet.

Deep breaths, Shouto. His breath comes out as a fog in the humid air.

Deep breaths.

The door to the shop opens, interrupting his reverie. Utsushimi steps out, gives him a smug little smirk, and calls out over her shoulder, “Ochako? Babe? Your bae’s here, looking like an absolute snack~”

He hears her voice, bright and a little awkward and warm. “Coming~ Sorry, the dress is a little tight--”

Shouto raises his eyebrows in concern. He doesn’t know what he expects from Utsushimi’s fashion sense, and he momentarily worries that she got her a gothic-lolita type of garment, with those Victorian-style bony corsets that were notorious for making women faint. And Ochako has fainted enough for one day...

“It is not. It is perfect on you. Come on, let’s blow his mind already!” The voluptuous woman is absolutely giddy as she waits for the smaller woman to come out, and Shouto’s worry escalates.

Oh.

He blinks seeing the vision before him. He knows that logically, it can only be Uraraka Ochako, but he’s never seen this breathtaking version of her before. Her hair is done up in an elaborate bun. The skin of her face and her bare shoulders shimmered and glowed under the neon signage of the parlor. Utsushimi dressed her up in a deceptively simple tube dress, the colour of which reminded Shouto of peonies. When she moved, light reflected of it like pinpricks, giving the illusion of starlight.

Ochako looks back at him with a bashful look on her face. “Um… do I look okay?”

He nods numbly. It’s all he’s able to do. He can’t even look at anything else, much less the self-satisfied grin that Utsushimi probably has on her face at that moment.

“You look more than okay, bae! You’re like, the personification of the 100 emoji. That’s how amazing you look. Right, Todobroki?”

He nods again. Ochako’s cheeks turn a little pinker and begins to descend the steps. It’s only then that he sees the thigh-high slit on the left side, exposing a cream-coloured, toned thigh. "It's a little tight at the hips..." she mumbles bashfully.

“It is not. It is, like. Bam! Perfect gams, perfect yams, all in a pretty pink package. You can thank me later, Todobroki,” Utsushimi says, in response to his astonished silence.

“Camie-chan, stop!!!”

She giggles. “So, I guess this is where I say adios and have fun, my kids. You take care of Ochako-chan now, you hear me Shouto?”

He nods vaguely in her direction. “Okay.” He holds out his hand, and Ochako takes it easily. The soft fingerpads brush against his calluses again, making the air around him lighter.

“Ready?”

The girl nods at him, with steely determination in her wide brown eyes. “Yeah. Ready.”

They get in the limousine, swallow down their nerves simultaneously, and drive off into the night.

[ts3storylines]

TS3 Freedom’s call Gen. I: Chapter II

Heya you! Welcome to this tumblr of mine (or should I call it simblr?). If you haven’t read the chap no 1 here it is! By the way, how ya all doing? The weather is horrible here, north wind and rain ugh. But anyways, it’s 3:33 and here is another chap of this super sexy challenge!

Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

Chapter II:

Cain haven’t slept at all. The thoughts of her new life have frightened her, have sent cold shivers down her spine. She couldn’t sleep nor eat. By the time the sun has shown its greyish rays she would be sitting in the same position on the same chair with the same dog called the same horrid name.

The hope from yesterday was long gone.

Bipolar disorder behaves that way doesn’t it?

The knock was very real. She stood up to open the old wooden door.

“Hello, Miss.” A vamp in an NWO officer suit.

She’s been informed about everyting that was to happen. Like Arthur Trin, like Genevieve Desttra, like all of ‘em, she will obbey. They said it’s only a matter of time.

They have tried.

And now they weren’t even sad. They thought themselves lucky.

“We lucky we alive!” was their idea. The idea that kept them going. “You don’t give up!”

The officer lifted a hand with a small scanner. “Could I?” What a strict face he had.

“What. Why.”

“I have to add you into partnership database. Just hold your hand this high.” She did and the machine beeped slightly. “That’s it. Thank you.”

The NWO has put a chip inside of her. Now that’s just awesome.

A quarter of an hour later they were standing in front of not so devastated house made of some kind of shiny gray stone. A green steam escaped the air condition boxes on the roof. There was a balcony with a yellow plant growing up from the concrete floor and a police car stood tall under it.

“Welcome home.” The officer said. He gave her a house key card and took one of the boxes from her hands. “Can I ask you a question?”

The dog barked.

“What do you want?” Cain frowned at the small being.

It barked and barked and then ran somewhere behind the house. The sound of water splashing echoed through the small street.

She followed the officer into the house. “Of course you can ask me a question. Or are we forbidden to do that now too?” The house was, well, nice. All black and gray and white. But unlike Abel’s it was full of furniture.

He put the box on a kitchen sink, then walked towards her. After a while of silent looks his voice vibrated near to her. “Can you remember your name?”

“Oh, have I not introduced myself.” She bit her nails. Nervousness and irony splashed her in the face. 

What the fuck is this world all about. A junkyard of supernaturals. No will, no self. Yes obedience, becouse if not, you’re dead. And that does not want anyone. “Cain.. Rodgers.” 

A land of drugged zombies. There must be something in the air or why would everyone resign that soon. A happy place.? Glad to be alive.?

But hell, she didn’t want to die yet.

Maybe sometimes.

But.

Not now.

“Thank you for the box officer.”

“You are welcome.”

As he walked past her to the door, she stopped him for the final time. “Sorry, but noone really told me what to do. Could you maybe-”

“Tommorow is your 1st work day, don’t be late. Till then I advice you not to leave the house.” His eyes traced a monitor hanging above the door. “Don’t say or do anything you’ll regret. The punishment is not worth it.” Then he left.

She looked around. The house was kind of beautiful. Cold, but heart-warming. It’s hard to describe the feeling. There was a man’s shirt thrown over the kitchen table. A voice from the radio babbled something about the new nature-cleaning program. Smooth cracking of fire, an open bottle of should-be-wine-but-no-alcohol-alowed and an opened newspaper on the counter. It felt like home.

Not hers of course. But someone lives here, it seems, for a long time now.

The only odd thing was that there was nothing inside the fridge. Strange but what the hell.

For a bitter second the memories of her family hit her under the ribs.

Another splash from outside. This one she could actually see. She glanced through the glass kitchen door onto the veranda. The dog was swimming breathlessly in what seemed like green-watered pool.

Never gonna swim in that, ever.

She checked every room. There was noone int the whole house. Maybe the guy has gone to work or something. And unfortunately walking up the stairs she found a nursery. She has been told that she is supposed to give a birth to a baby. But now it seems more real than yesterday in that shop.

Abel has been here for more then 6 months and is still in that cabin, still alone. Arthur has been here for several weeks before he was given a partner. The same goes for almost everybody whom she had spoken with yesterday.

It’s because she’s a Gin, isn’t it.

The experiments.

Cain went straight for the bathroom and after a five minute try of looking for pills she threw up.

Would they experiment on a baby?

It was past 5pm when Cain heard the door open. She was laying on the most comfortable mattress she has ever touched. Her nerves were having a party in her stomac.

There was no I’m home honey.

She carefuly walked down the stairs but stopped midway through.

There he was. Sitting on a silver bar chair next to a counter, reading newspapers, perhaps also listening to the radio guy, and drinking a canned juice. Still wearing the NWO officer outfit. Still a vamp.

You must be kidding.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

[scatteredfangirling]

Beijing 2022 Men’s FS: holy fk

by god this has been a rollercoaster of 4 years

nikolaj did some good shit...it was such good packaging, and he gets so much airtime on his jumps

crying at donovan having the most stylish fs of the night

brendan just delivered the crap out of that freeskate

adam’s fking step sequence...this daft punk program is so fking powerful

matteo fought for the rest of that program and he did such a good job with that

boyang having the most redeeming performance in front of a home crowd...got me emo

kevin and keegan just being the artists they are...truly wonders to behold

alsjdfdf yuzu 4a fall 4s fall...that salchow really hates him T-T it was a good fight (fking 3rd in the fs, going from 8th to 4th overall...just standard yuzu craziness)

jason’s clean af all-triples schindler’s list program...exquisite. so glad he was able to perform this on such a huge stage

junhwan giving me my dose of turandot

dude i had way too much fun with all the cute green room scenes

shoma fighting his way to 3rd...my guy !!

yuma just doing it all....on his olympic debut. he truly is the leader of japan’s next gen

nathan getting such a solid redemption showing in 2022...he skated today like i haven’t seen in years...like you could see him getting into the choreo and enjoying himself as opposed to being a jump machine

it wasn’t the exact podium i wanted, but this men’s event was honestly full of such good energy and vibes, so many people were getting seasonal or personal bests...just...blessed

[kae-and-boi]

day i: poisonous

cloud (unwillingly) fights a morbol. he wins.  genesis is understandably Not Happy.

“Your mission will be a piece of cake,” Cloud’s sergeant had told him.  “Just a quick look around near the Gongaga Reactor and that’s it.”

With the promise of an easy assignment, Cloud’s unit left for Gongaga and scouted out the ruins of the reactor.

The mission brief had mentioned that the townsfolk were seeing more Touch Mes and Kimara Bugs lurking around the outskirts of the town, so Shinra decided to send in someone to check before the bigger monsters like Grand Horns started to show up.  The ‘someone’ ended up being Cloud’s squad and one Third Class who spent every moment on the transport bragging about how he was up for promotion for Second once he finished the current task.  He was annoying, but if he was as great as he said he was, then they’d have an even easier time with the mission.

Their arrival in Gongaga was a simple affair, and as soon as the mayor gave the go-ahead they started their exploration.

“Hey, can you guys hear that?” The Third Class asked as they poked around the reactor.

Cloud exchanged glances with his squadmates and they shook their heads.  “...No, sir.  Maybe it’s just a minor quake?”

“I definitely hear something coming.  Whatever it is, it sounds big.”

A minute later found Cloud holding the 3rd Class’s sword, looking down the gaping maw of the largest morbol he’d probably ever see while the rest of his unit hid in trees and behind nearby rocks.  It might be funny if this were a story being told to him, but it certainly wasn’t amusing when he was the one standing in front of the monster.

“Watch out for that thing’s breath!” The 3rd Class shouted, cowering behind a large hunk of scrap metal left over from one of the reactor walls.  He wanted to hit the man with the sword, but instead focused on the malboro in front of him.  Beating up his superior officer could come later, if he could survive that long.

---

Approximately twenty minutes later, Cloud woke up on a gurney inside the transport to the sound of the SOLDIER bragging about how he single-handedly took down a fully grown Great Malboro while the infantry members ran away screaming.

Cloud’s unit were rolling their eyes and shaking their heads, knowing full well that the morbol blood on the SOLDIER’s sword was put there by Cloud.  The 3rd Class had run back to Gongaga immediately after Cloud engaged the morbol, leaving the infantry members to fend for themselves.  

Luckily, all of the swordsmanship tips his four boyfriends had given him proved useful and Cloud managed to defeat the mass of writhing green tentacles.  He’d only gotten gassed once, ending up in him being poisoned and subdued.  If the morbol had hit him a second time, Cloud might not’ve made it back without near immediate medical attention.  

It was hard to force his limbs to move, but with the help of one of his squadmates, he was able to retrieve the PHS Sephiroth had given him a few weeks prior.  Taking a quick shot of the IV in his arm, Cloud pasted it into the group chat captioned with ‘guess who got poisoned today?’ and hit send.  Before any of his boyfriends responded to the image, he passed out in a poison-induced haze.

When Cloud came to, his mouth was drier than the Midgar wastelands and tasted even worse.  (On a dare from Zack, he’d eaten some of the dirt and won twenty gil.  Tasted strangely like regular dirt, what a surprise.)  Bright lights blinded him from above, and without a doubt Cloud knew he was in the infirmary.

Distantly he could hear the familiar sound of Genesis angrily arguing something with someone down the hall, possibly one of the nurses, and the pages of a book crinkling as they were turned.  

“Seph,” he croaked, turning his head to the side.  Cloud was greeted with the sight of his green-eyed boyfriend, dwarfing the plastic chair he sat in with a copy of LOVELESS open on his lap.

“I’m glad to see that you’re conscious.  Genesis is trying to convince the medical staff to heal you with materia, lest he do it himself.”  Was all the man said.

“Doesn’t Gen have a fully mastered Cure on him at all times?”

Sephiroth sighed and closed his book.  “I’m sure that if he can’t get a nurse to heal you, then he will himself.  It’s only a matter of minutes, if I’m to be honest.  Gaia knows that if Genesis wants something, he’ll get it.”  Both of them snorted at the statement, knowing all too well that it was accurate.  

Genesis came in not a minute later, scowling and materia already glowing in his hand.   Before Cloud could even say hello, the man was casting a high level Cure that fully healed him.

“I take it that the nurses said no?” Sephiroth asked.

“Some nonsense about materia is reserved for injured SOLDIERs and that Cloud would be fine after a week or two.  I’m not about to let my poor chickabo suffer for ‘a week or two’.”

“Mm.  Thanks, Gen.” Cloud mumbled.  The Cure had made him a little drowsy, and he barely registered the feeling of Genesis gently ruffling his hair.

read on ao3 ll day ii

[sending-the-message]

My third-great grandfather kept a journal with him as he fought in the Civil War by CapnThugwash

I was visiting my grandparents’ house a couple months ago in New Hampshire, where my dad’s side of the family has lived since the 1700s. One night while we were having dinner, my little brother asked my grandpa about a black-and-white photo hanging on the wall. The picture was of a lightly bearded man with dirty hair and an old-fashioned uniform on.

My grandpa knew all of the family history, as well as every name on the family tree living and dead. He explained to my little brother that the man in the photo was his grandfather's father Rufus who fought in the Civil War. He joined up with the 2nd New Hampshire regiment in 1861 at eighteen years old and fought through nearly the whole war.

After telling a little bit about him, my grandpa went into his room and brought back a ragged binding of old paper. The papers were what was left of Rufus' journal that he kept during the war. My grandpa read the first few pages, which were mostly about his family and the friends that joined with him in his company, and then he read the entry where Rufus described his experience in the first battle of the war, the Battle of Bull Run.

Everyone at the table was captivated as my grandpa read from the journal, and we all asked if he would be willing to read more the next night. At this point my grandpa got very serious. He said we probably didn't want to hear any more, and didn't clarify what he meant by that.

The day after, I asked my Grandpa if I could look at the journal. I feel bad to admit it but the only reason why I wanted to see it was because I love war movies. I wanted learn more about combat from somebody who had actually been in them, especially since he was a relative, and he had been around my age when he fought. I didn’t tell my Grandpa that; instead, I told him that I was interested in the family history and loved what he had read the night before. My Grandpa handed me the journal and told me to be careful with it, and not to read it to my younger brother.

I’ve transcribed a section I think you guys will be interested in.

TTTTT

May 31

Gens. Grant & Meade have been at the rebels like a hammer to an anvil this last month, and the fighting has turned every uniformed man and boy here into ghosts. I am with my regiment near the left flank of our line, and there is much talk about fighting although we have assumed defensive posture as of now. The johnnys are so close that we saw the smoke of their fires early in the morning. I have heard no word on orders yet but I will assume they are forthcoming. I doubt our leaders will slow their hard earned momentum.

June 1

I am hardly able to sleep. There has been much action today, of which I have been but a small part. We were marched for the greater part of the day in one direction only to be directed in another, and then found ourselves back at our original position on the line when word came down that we were to advance on the rebels. It was late in the afternoon at this point and we had been worked very hard, however as soldiers we were required to do our orders as was necessary.

We approached the rebel line as their bullets began to whistle past our ears. A ball hit Eyre’s buckle and bounced into the grass, which he claimed was a sign of providence and committed to pray aloud for the entire following part of the engagement. The occasional whine of the rebel shot soon turned into a howl. We were ordered to stop and return fire but we quickly fell out of rank to avoid the blistering ordnance from the rebel line and were only able to return two volleys before we were ordered into retreat.

I am no stranger to the havoc and deafening violence of a fight however it has been wearing on me for about one year now and today my weariness for it has hit its highest point. I suspect I am not alone, however, our company being composed of seasoned soldiers, none admit our complaints to the others for fear of wounding spirits.

June 2

No fighting today. There was whispered rumor this morning of a charge upon the rebel works in front of us but that has been officially postponed until tomorrow morning. In the meanwhile we are camped in a small wood near to where we are to form lines before sunup.

As the evening set in we were visited by a chaplain from a nearby NY regiment. He had been doing rounds up and down the line for the greater part of the day and we were among the last he spoke to before retiring.

He began by putting forth the question as to why we were there and fighting. The response was varied. Generally the feeling was that we were engaged in the war for the sake of the Union, and that secession went against what our revolutionary grandfathers died for. One man stood and passionately stressed to us that it was enslavement we really fought against. He went on and stated that the Nation had been founded by free laborers, that slavery was anathema to our National principles, and further that those aristocrats who participated in the cotton trade fashioned themselves as feudal rulers over kidnapped savages who had no right to be here in the first place. This speech brought applause from the men which had to be quieted by the visiting chaplain before he continued his sermon.

Nay, the chaplain said. He used the same antiquated biblical wordage characteristic of Congregationalist clergy which brought out some crude mimicry and stifled laughter from a number of the soldiers. For my part I paid attention and listened as the chaplain opened his pocket Bible and read from Revelations. The passage concerned Abaddon and his army of locusts come to torture those without the mark of God on their faces.

Following the morbid reading he started to preach in that way all good preachers do. He slowly paced among the many seated or reclining men, most with their coats or even shirts open and braces off their shoulders in preparation for sleep, and spoke quietly enough to attract rapt attention yet loud enough that his voice carried to every pair of ears present.

The chaplain proclaimed the war to be divine retribution upon our whole Nation. A curse not unlike those the God of Moses cast on Egypt when the Israelites were held in captivity. Instead of frogs and locusts the Lord in His wisdom had sent Jeff Davis and John Brown and even Quantrill and McClellan. Some men laughed and others stomped at the mention of McClellan. After quiet had once again been established the chaplain went on.

He had seen the same Abaddon on the battlefield and described him as some avatar of divine wrath visited upon us in this time of war. He raised his voice and told us of how he had seen a rider in a black cloak with a lantern galloping through the thousands of rebel dead in the rifle pits of Antietam, following which several of the torn and mangled corpses rose up and followed him down to Hell. With his right hand held up he swore to the truthfulness of his account and brought a strange silence upon the men there gathered which I have not witnessed before.

The night has been strange since and I am eager to sleep off the wild and unknown feelings that now course through my soul.

June 4

The horrors of the last day weigh heavily on my mind and spirit. As I write this I am laid up in a tent among other wounded or dying men. I call them fortunate. They are not among those whose suffering I was forced to see in the fight yesterday.

We were awoken about an hour before first light on the 3rd for the assault on the fortified rebel lines. One man was quite stricken with terror as he had been with us at Fredericksburg and had no intention of dying in the same way as those in the front lines of that battle. His individual panic had a sobering effect on the other men in the company such that we were sanguine while falling into our lines. Our regiment would bring up the rear of the attacking brigade and we all knew before any shots had been fired that we were to lose more of our men that day than any other day of the war. We were to be marched on open ground for several hundred yards against rifle pits and rebels otherwise fortified. I prepared myself in prayer and in thoughts of my family and of home just before the Cap. ordered the march.

We started off at the general step through the woods. Our foremost lines encountered a group of tricky rebel skirmishers which opened the day by firing only a few dozen shots at us. We stopped to exchange fire which appeared to repulse them for a moment before another set of dispersed volleys seemed to come at us from behind the trees. The engagement went back and forth thusly for a deceptively short span of time which had the effect of badly frightening the fresher companies and sharpening the focus of the more experienced men of my regiment. Nonetheless, our collective nerve was shaken, both green and mature, and as we were again marched towards the end of the tree line I could hear the ever present swishing of blood in my ears.

We were ordered to stop at the end of the woods and the beginning of the dreaded open field. Only a few hundred yards in front of us, over the exposed ground, lay rebel works which stood ready to whip us badly at the very moment we moved upon them. The uncertain feelings which come before any fight visited me with greater vigor at that time than at any time before and I knew I was not alone in my experience. Even among those seasoned in fights there remained a collective anxiousness.

Fire and smoke erupted upon the advancing brigades to our left, soon after which we were ordered forward. Unflinching and without further thought we followed the three regiments marching in front of us into the maw of the waiting rebel line.

Singing balls bit hard into every regiment assembled in the doomed brigade. The fire was so hot that the twelfth at the front of the brigade soon broke into a panicked morass of shouting men running to and fro while the boys in the regiment behind them began to take their place. The same happened in succession to each newly exposed regiment as we approached halfway between the point of our advance and the unrelenting rebel works. Our regiment became exposed at last as the brigade was repulsed to a point close to where we had first begun the assault.

The confusion was spectacular. The brigade became an idle group milling about on open ground while men fell silently or with great shouts from increasingly ghastly wounds. It was at this moment that we were quickly reorganized and our regiment placed at the front of a second advance across the field. As we continued on, we passed groups of men from the other regiments which had just passed through desperately digging in with their bayonets or knives. Soon, we had joined them, as we could advance no further into the mad buzzing of the rebel rifles. Six men from my company, myself included, had just begun to dig a small mound in front of us with our bayonets when the batteries began to fire upon us with even less mercy than the riflemen had been up to this point. The whole of the brigade, carpeted across this open field in tight pockets of amassed companies, had begun to do the same as the men left behind in the initial retreat.

The heavy morning fog and the smoke of the pitiless rebel guns had obscured nearly everything now, and the most I could see through the deepening haze were the flashes from the thousands of dueling guns and the still dead lying uncovered by the many small entrenchments which now speckled the ground.

The group I was with slowly began to open fire from the small cover we had hastily built. We neglected to do so in volleys, rather, it was in whichever order arose out of the relative speeds with which each of us could reload while lying prone in the dirt. All across the field the brigade returned fire at the entrenchments barely a couple hundred yards ahead. In the cacophony of the fire and shouting I did not hear the telltale whistle of the cannonball which tore straight through the fortification I had at that instant been sighting my rifle on.

My hearing went out and I saw a great tower of earth sent up above me while I fell to laying on my back and covered my head. I looked from side to side and saw two men lying some feet from me, both of the group of five which had just moments before been next to me. One was missing nearly his whole top half and the other sat quietly upright with his forearms gone. In his exposure he was hit again and when I turned to see where the other three men had gone I saw two of them running back to the tree line only to be cut down one after the other. I still do not know where the fifth went. Perhaps the cannonball buried him.

I did not know where my rifle had gone and I only searched for a moment before my hand rested on another. To my horror, it had been disembodied, and in revulsion I cast it away. A ball went through my foot and as I flinched in pain another hit my hand which I then cradled to my chest. I learned my little finger had been taken off and to stay the flow of blood I ripped a piece of my sleeve from my shirt and wrapped the hand in it. There I sat among mangled bodies and disturbed earth while more shot slapped against the ground around me.

I began to feel faint as my blood rushed out from the wound in my foot so I carefully pulled my boot off and bandaged the hole in the same way I had wrapped my hand. The afternoon set in many hours later and the fighting still carried on. A Cap. from another regiment jumped into what was left of the fortification next to me and told me that the wounded were being carried out and he would get some of his men to help me go with them, following which a ball entered his head and kept him from saying anything more to me. I took his pistol off him and used the loaded piece on occasion to fire a shot over the top of the mound I still hid under.

The night came and I grew weaker and weaker. I began to pray and made an attempt to accept dying while I wrapped yet another layer of my shirt around my wounds. In truth, and I am ashamed to admit it, I had never examined my belief in Heaven and God and following my many engagements which had proceeded without my being wounded I had up to that point understood that I would not have to until old age. On that field was the first time I did. I knew a few Psalms which my father had taught me at home and I whispered them to keep myself awake while the sun went down and the sky became dark.

The sun left us then to a night much greater and terrible than the day. As the gunsmoke had once obscured the phantom rebel line the darkness did now too and in that darkness shone the still thousands-strong duel between men protected by sturdy works on one hand and men uncovered, bleeding, or dead on the other. Wounded men who had for the greater part of the day been shouting and calling out now turned to screaming like women for the names of family or friends already deceased on other battlefields.

It was at that moment, around 2:30 by my watch, that there went up a call throughout the pitifully scraped up line to cease fire. In the new stillness I could hear men I assumed to be officers behind the trees among the rebels ordering their charges to stay the fight as well. The blackness of the night was deep and silent. No other place has felt so far from comfort than that godforsaken field in Virginia in which I lay wounded that night. That cold dark was soon interrupted by foreign lights which teased at the furthest edges of the field and caused even the distraught wounded such as myself to engage in wonderment at their appearance. The lights were like distant fires yet carried no feeling of friendliness.

As I marveled at the phantoms I heard the sound of a horse galloping some distance away. For but a small moment my curiosity was increased at the appearance of this new sound which occurred over the silenced guns. My thoughts then brought to me with such force the words of the chaplain the night before that I straightway began to shake with utter terror. With the morbidity of the circumstance weighing on my shoulders I lost the greater part of my restraint and gave in to the temptation to peek over the small mound I had been hiding behind since that afternoon.

Lit by the strange fires in the distance and by the angry red lantern it held in its outstretched hand, a rider clad fully in black like the pagan priests of older times rode a horse which was blacker than the cloak its rider wore and had eyes which burned like candles. The gallop of the horse was beyond comprehension as its legs did float a small distance from the ground and did not move in time to the sound which reached my ears.

I stared in awe at the sight which lay before me from a world other than our own and felt in that moment like Pharaoh watching the tides of the red sea bearing upon him as he stood helpless with his doomed army before the wrath of the Hebrew God. I watched the black rider for longer than I ought to have and it has become my greatest regret. The spirit turned its terrible visage to me while I lingered on its presence and I saw the lights which burned in its eyes like hot coals and its face which was a mangled husk out of which long teeth grimaced at me with a hatred I have never felt from a living soul.

The thing cried out in a strange tongue and I clung to my hiding place tighter than I had while under fire. As I clutched the disturbed earth like it was my mother I saw the torn body of the man who had that afternoon been ruined by cannon shot sit up as if it were once more possessed of a soul. His body above his legs had been ripped away save his left side, from which his left arm dangled grotesquely. In a blasphemous parody of the resurrection the body followed the rider as he went past the line. I saw that it was not alone as I chanced another look beyond my hiding place and viewed hundreds of bleeding dead and sometimes only parts making their way across the field in a procession behind the rider. I expunged my bowels at the sight but was soon driven further into my fearful state as the dead Captain from which I had taken a pistol from that day rose up and stood over me.

He stretched out his hand to me and spoke no words yet somehow I knew he wanted his pistol back from me. I obliged his wish, following which he holstered the piece and left to join the parade of the dead.

I do not remember when the fight began anew or when a similarly exhausted but more determined Connecticut regiment relieved ours from our line but it was some time much later that I found myself laid up in a tent with a doctor inspecting the wound in my foot with a probe. The pain of the probe was not such that I had to be held down but some hours later they did give me something to drink before they sewed up what was left of the finger.

I hope I will be sent home. I wish to sit with my family and tell them my war stories at our hearth while we eat my mother’s food. My homesickness is nigh unbearable as I sit on this cot but I know I am luckier than most of the men beside me. Already three of the men who were brought in with me have died of gangrene or other ills and it has brought a pallor of despair which is only increased by the callousness of the staff administering to us. If it is my time to go I wish to tell those at home that I have fought as brave as my nature allows and have enjoyed the company of the men beside me. They have brought comfort in times of fear and of sorrow over the many deaths which so often plague us.

I have grown a newfound faith in God yet I know too that there lie darker spirits who wait on the other side of the veil. Abaddon, the great angel of death, in his black cloak and on his black horse, carried dozens of men I knew well as good souls down to an undeserved Hell as I cowered in fear. I pray the saving light of Jesus Christ is enough to bring us to an eternal bliss but as I ponder the true fate of the dead which the black rider carried with him I despair at the thought that our nation and its people are being brought low for our sins. If that is what is happening, that this great war and the pestilence of death and weeping mothers it brings, I fervently hope and pray that we will soon be forgiven.

TTTTT

There are only a few more war-related entries. He didn’t lose the foot or the hand, but was sent away from the front because he contracted a fever just a few days after being wounded. He finally returned home in August of 1864 and spent the rest of the war with his family. Nowhere else in his journal does he mention the “black rider.”

I gave the journal back to my grandpa and told him about what I had read. He barely acknowledged it, and told me again not to tell my younger brother. My family left to go back home the next morning.

This has all come back to me since this last Monday. I was just barely starting classes as a college Freshman, and I got a phone call from my dad while I was lounging around in my dorm room. My grandpa had just died that morning, with my grandma beside him. The news was heartbreaking, considering how close he was to our family. My dad followed up the news by saying that he also thought my grandma might be suffering from dementia. I asked why he thought that, after which he said she was freaking out about grandpa’s last words.

“The horse. I can hear him.”