#and she wasn't particularly shitty so she gets the cat

[dragon-swords-prophecies]

ah yes, the best way to name fictional cats:

look through your ap world history binder from last year and pick a random name and give it to the cat

[smallenoughtopurr]

I know when it comes to male shipping treating female characters who "get in the way" like shit is nothing new but when it comes to Chainshipping it makes no fucking sense whatsoever.

Like why do we need to demonize Alison Gordon? She did nothing wrong.

Because she "gets in the way" of Adam and Lawrence? Well first of all that's a shitty reason to villainize her, and second of all, Lawrence literally did not appreciate her as much as he should have. He visited another woman behind her back and their marriage was already crumbling before the bathroom trap.

Or is it because she argued with Lawrence? Uh, couples do that. And what she said wasn't even particularly mean or wrong. She just said that Lawrence was lying to himself and pretending he was happy (which he absolutely was) and she was also upset that he was distant towards her and Diana.

(Like, I love Lawrence but HE was the bad guy in that relationship.)

Also, Adam would not openly hate her or act shitty towards her for any reason. Some of you guys claim to love Adam but don't seem to understand how kind and empathetic he really is. Adam was incredibly sweet about Lawrence's family. He wanted to see those pictures when Lawrence started talking about them, and he called Alison a "lucky lady". God he was even angry on their behalf when Lawrence was acting disturbingly calm after knowing they were being held hostage, and he seemed at least a little disgusted at Lawrence's cheating. Even after Alison said "Don't believe Adam's lies" Adam didn't say anything nasty towards her in retaliation. He just acted guilty at his own actions. I imagine he'd act the same in other situations if chainshipping were to happen. This man was an only child who wanted siblings and feeds stray cats and complimented Amanda's hairstyle, you think he's gonna act petty to a woman who has been through so much shit she never deserved?

Yes, I could definitely see Alison not feel Diana is safe with Lawrence anymore. I could see her feeling bitter that Lawrence would leave her for yet another person in their 20s. I could see her not trusting or even liking Adam. But like, so would literally anyone else in her situation! None of that makes her a bitch, it makes her a normal fucking person having a normal human reaction.

[aloy-sobek]

Vet Bills and a Sick Kitty Boy

Hello all, over the past month and a half I have incurred some medical bills for my cat Alistair, that while one bill hurts but isn't world ending. Multiple have put us in a bind.

Our Total: $430/$1176.86

My Paypal: tielfingriley or paypal.me/tieflingriley

The Story:

So my sweet yet very hungry boy Alistair, had been having stomach troubles. He's 12 years old, so not uncommon for a cat his age, and he has always had a bit of a sensitive tum, but this was different. He was projectile vomiting mostly water, and I had noticed he was loosing weight. He is a long cat, and his healthy weight sits at 15-16 pounds.

So we take him to the vet and the do a initial blood panel with a special panel to check a for a heart protein, it is here that I learn my asthmatic cat also has a heart murmur! But because of the special check it had to be sent to THE ONLY LAB IN THE US THAT CHECKS FOR IT, which meant it was pricey

Good news, blood came back fine. His heart and kidneys weren't failing but he was still vomiting water at this time. At this point we were moved to a different vet who noted his long term tum issues. Informing me that long term inflammation can lead to Gastrol Intestinal Cancer. (Maybe) They only DEFINITIVE way of checking was to slice him open and do biopsies, which wasn't ideal. Instead we opted for an Ultrasound, it would check for inflammation, which would say absolutely yes or no on inflammation, but would still be a maybe on the cancer (however its the same treatment either way). But could also check Liver, Pancreas, and Gallbladder. I of course chose this because it was far less invasive to the boy. Alistair did need to be sedated. He isn't a violent cat, but he is a squirmy noodle.

This is when things got really spicy for us financially. You see this happened RIGHT before my birthday. Like legit I found out my cat had maybe cancer the day before. And my husband a few weeks prior had bought me a rather nice gift of storage drawers? IDK what you would call it but furniture for my art supplies to be stored in. It was a bit pricey but I was having a rough time and a history of astronomically shitty birthdays. (As you can see, the universe has a sense of humor)

So the Ultrasound came back. Yes there are signs of inflammations, so cancer is still a maybe. However, what had the doctors eyes and was concerning her more was the pancreas. It was, extended and incorrect. She believed that it wasn't producing a enzyme to help break down food, particularly fat, for absorption. Essentially, on top of the inflammation, Alistair was slowly starving to death. However before just popping some pig panceas pills inside my boy, she wants to make sure. So more blood work, TO THE ONLY LAB IN THE US OF COURSE, an another bill.

Now we are waiting on this information. He is on some pro and prebiotics that have stopped the vomiting entirely. However his weight is still quite thin. I am unsure if we will have more hefty bills. For reference a checkup at this vet is 50 bucks. So normally its not to rough on us, and check up plus vaccines is 100 which is a planned event. None of this was planned to say the least.

AND NOW THE SAPPY SHIT

Alistair saved my life. I know logically getting a cat as a means to not kill yourself isn't the best thing to do, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. Ive had him since September of 2012. I love that fluffy biscuit stealing bastard with my entire heart. I have a tattoo on him on my arm, my first and currently only tattoo. Because of him, I was able to live a longer and healthier life and I want that for him.

Despite being a cat, he loves biscuits, potato chips, and the tops of muffins but only the tops. He can and will open cookie jars for cookies. I have explained he is an obligate carnivore and he has explained like a good southern he cant turn down a carb.

He will fist fight you for cheese. Love to play fetch with a hair tie. Isn't a lap cat with the exception of me. LOVES NAPS, and likes to watch Markiplier.

He's a very good boy with separation anxiety, and tummy issues who just wants to nap and eat and I think we can all relate.

Oh...and he has a little mustache

Thank you to all who donate and to everyone who spreads the word to help us get out of this debt.

[lovekenney]

if you could rate the gallagher’s from worst to best what would your rating be? (only the siblings)

i wanna be able to rank them js in a list but idk if i can. So I was trying to decide if you were asking me if I could like, rank my personal favorite to least personal favorite.

but I eventually decided to do this, have it go from the worst person in general to the best person in general. And not have the answers simply be "I like debs the most so she Is gonna be last"

i have a whole list of reasons why i heavily dislike Fiona. it is honestly pretty long. so in my head i want to put her first but i also want to put lip first. but thinking back when i watched shameless I remember js being baffled by the shit she did. so i think i will go with Fiona as number one and lip js right behind her. like right behind her. or maybe js put them both in the same ranking.

1: Fiona & lip

2: whoever goes next

now i am trying to decide between Ian or Debbie for the next one. i love debs don't get me wrong and will almost always defend her. (key word: almost) but she has done some stuff that could be deemed as not very good.

soo i was thinking back on shitty things Ian Gallagher has done and then shitty things Debbie has done, and a lot of ians lead back to his bipolar. so for this i am gonna put Debbie as 2nd. (or third?) but part of me thinks she should js join lip and fiona. (/j)

i love debbie so much she is on of my all time fav characters (the other being mickey) but sadly this isnt a ranking of my favs but a ranking of shitty shit they have done. so debbie is gonna go there. (i do understand exactly why she does everything she does and how it is all mostly linked back to her parents plus fiona.)

so next i am gonna say ian. i never disliked ian while watching shameless he was always one of my favs. but getting more into the fandom after finishing shameless made me see him in a new light and not particularly a good light. ian has done some shitty things but thats the whole point of the show. so ian for 3rd (or fourth?)

bringing me to carl! carl wasn't that bad of a person if you just cut out white boy carl. in the first few seasons he is really painted as this just sociopath but also not at the same time. like cancer carl was so sad cause he was also sweet. but also he blowtorched cats. buttt he really was a sweetheart. like when Fiona was in jail or getting the house back. so, number 4th. (or fifth?)

and last but not least Liam. what a sweetie i love him with every bone in my body. And I mean, Liam is just a kid, he hasn't done anything wrong, he's like 11 in the last season.

so the list would be

1: fiona and lip

2: debbie

3: ian

4: carl

5: Liam

[emeritus-fuckers]

For the match up event please 💙

1. Identify as a cis woman. Use she/her pronouns and am panromantic aceflux. Call me Piff.

2. I would like to be paired with one of the Papa's please!

3. I'm about 5'5" and am plus-sized. I have long unkempt dark blonde hair. It's nearly longer than my back and I kind of just let it do whatever. Blue eyes and thin rounded square glasses. I wear a lot of dull/muted colors and my style is very grunge. Most of my clothes are baggy as well as I feel very constricted in form fitting wear.

4. I'm incredibly standoffish and shy. Very anxious to try anything new and I like routine. I don't talk a whole lot and am more observant- very sensitive to the world around me. Whenever I have the ability to stay in and in bed I take it. Bit of a pushover, particularly around angrier people as I don't have the bravery nor energy to stand up for myself. Once I feel safe around someone I'm a completely different person. Goofy. Cynical. Laid-back and a little lazy. I have quite the temper and allow myself to get angry and irritated around them. I need someone who can handle my harshness.

I also have quiet BPD and my moods can flip drastically in a second over anything or for no particular reason at all. I can make rash and reckless decisions.

5. I'm a huge sucker for anything horror, whether that be watching, reading or playing a video game about it.

Obsessed with cats, am frequently called the crazy cat lady by family. I have a beautiful bombay named Dot who's just as standoffish, anxious and aggressive as me. Would love if she's able to bond with you because she also feels safe.

I listen to a lot older rock when not listening to Ghost. Scorpions, Blue Oyster Cult, Ratt.

In my spare time I like being lazy. Watching TV and screwing around on my phone. I'm a waitress and am very exhausted and sore by the end of every shift- so I just enjoy doing nothing. I do occasionally like to get out and will follow, even if it's for groceries.

6. I love those shitty unhinged Garfield comics. Will laugh at them for hours.

I love the ocean. Surround myself with memories and decor of the few times I was able to visit it.

This post is part of the 1000 followers match up event. Entries for the event are now closed.

Your match is...Papa Emeritus II

With you being so shy he was confused at first why you didn't approach him. He realises he needs to open up a little to you, so you can see he isn't really that scary and grumpy. He is actually very caring and loving, he too also has a fun goofy side that people only see when he's at parties unless they are close to him.

He can deal with your harshness, he understands it's you being comfortable around him. He is also very good at standing up for himself and other people. If someone is being angry towards you he will be at your side in seconds looking incredibly intimidating. No one will ever bother you again.

He's really supportive when it comes to your BPD. He'll do anything he can to help when your mood flips. If you make any decisions you regret or want to change he will 100% support you to do that. It's amazing what Secondo and his Ghouls can pull off.

Secondo enjoys reading as well. He loves sitting on the sofa with you in his arms, each of you lost in your own book. He is just so content to know you are there next to him. He also loves painting, as a suprise he painted you in a scene from your favourite book.

If you need to let off steam he'll take you for a walk round the gardens, they are the most calming and soothing place in the Ministry. He'll listen as much as you need, and do what he can to help.

He'll buy you anything you want. He notices your love of horror and buys the best sound system and TV he can find. He sets it all up in his living quaters. He had a spare room that wasn't really being used. He gets the most comofrtable sofa for you to sit on and when you are watching films there together (or you can go there by yourself whenever you want) he makes sure there is fresh popcorn and drinks.

He also takes you on trips to the ocean whenever he can. He'll pay for and arrange everything so you can just go and be by the ocean with nothing to worry about.

~

Written by Nyx

[being-worthy]

Guns N’ Roses - 3½ hour concert (and a long Slash guitar solo)!!

(This is my 2nd attempt writing this because Tumblr's automatic saving is shitty.)

I know, I know... I'm soooooooooooooooo freaking late with this...

But I had some issues, health and mostly to do with work, and my dumb manager who changes his mind more than a Kardashian changes her clothes in a day. (I hope to quit it soon and hopefully with a new/better job in the horizon.)

But without further ado, let's get to the GNR concert.

The concert was at the Cívitas Metropolitano on Friday, 9th June 23 in Madrid. The weather was nice and warm, a bit cloudy but no rain thankfully, since it had been raining cats and dogs at the beginning of the week. Although there were around 40,000 people present, the home stadium of Atlético Madrid was not fully filled, sadly.

Let's start with the negative parts...

The music started, and I don't mean GNR, but the opening act was not until almost 4 hours later(!!) than its scheduled time.

Apparently, and this is just a rumour. Still, I heard this from many many many security staff members, volunteers, and last but not least, even GNR staff members that it was because Axl was being a little diva and didn't show up until like an hour later after everyone had already been at the venue for rehearsal. The security staff couldn't even have their lunch break on time but only 2 hours later! Imagine these people are on-site since the wee hours of the morning and might have water and a snack here and there, but not proper food in them and you've to wait an extra 2 hours for your lunch and the guys for the next shift. Once I was at the entrance of the venue, I could hear Axl practising which was great but I wanted them to get some food and to get to the main event already!

Moreover, they were supposed to practise the day before but this was cancelled due to rain and I WAS THERE to check out the venue (and totally not because my silly butt mistook the dates 🤣) and the supposed "rain" was like a few water drops and some wind. Now, I'm not an expert, but I don't see that for a little water, which I wouldn't even consider rain, it'd be necessary to cancel the whole band practice, especially if the whole thing is under a roof and the venue is known for being one hell of a place to get the sound right. I don't consider this very professional, particularly, the part that Axl was late which I was also told that it wasn't the first time (the previous one was that everyone was at the place in the morning but he said that he had to finish his lunch and didn't appear until way after lunchtime). I could've overlooked this if anyone not even necessarily Axl, just anyone had apologised right when the concert started. Nevertheless, it wouldn't be a GNR concert without its shenanigans, I guess.

The organisation left a lot to be desired (again). It was the same story that the GNR staff didn't communicate with the venue staff like last year which I don't understand why this is something so difficult to do? And hundreds of people didn't know where they had to go in order to wait to get inside.

There were some sound problems, especially, because they didn't practise enough and this stadium is known for being difficult and requires a lot of rehearsal (at least, a full day), but it wasn't as bad as last year despite most opinions I've heard, mind you I was front row, like literally in front of the horn which Axl always toots right before Nightrain.

And the last thing, the stage was way too high up compared to the previous year. I could barely see them when Duff and Slash sat in front of the drums and play. I’ve got no clue why they’d raise it up so high. 🤦🏻‍♀️

Now about the positive aspects...

The opening was done by The Pretenders and they were a G-O-O-D F-R-E-A-K-I-N-G choice! They were amazing and brought me many children's memories back 😊.

Chrissie Hynde's voice was so ethereal and she sounded so great!! I loved them so much as a child and I'd like to see them again.

Once the stars of the event appeared, I wanted to smooch Axl sooooo badly!! He started greeting my home with his enunciation in English saying "Spaaaainnnnn" with that "n" nasal typical of him.

There was a moment when Slash was lying on top of the equipment and I wanted to throw myself on top of him 😂 - don't blame me for this, I know I'm not the only one who probably had the same thought.

I loved that they played Yesterdays, Patience, and You Could Be Mine which are some of my favourite songs of them. 😭❤️

But what really really made this event so special and unique to me was when I blew a kiss to Duff and he gave me a full-teeth smile from ear to ear and he look so good and sweet!! I was trying not to pass out of how delicious Slash was with his shirt wide open, glistening from all the sweat (I never wanted to be a drop of sweat so bad in my life like in that moment) and his arms and hands and veins, god dammit his arms!! YUMMY!!!! 🤤 And when I blew a kiss to Slash too... I thought I was done for it for real!! 😍😍😍 He gave me a sexy and devilish smirk combined with a wink and made this gesture but showing his long and big tongue fully out:

I was ready for heaven/hell to take me.

And yes, my loins were very on hellfire at that moment!

The concert ended around 0.57 am and it was quite an adventure to get back to my accommodation and fight my way through thousands of people to get to the last train of the day.

Here's the list of the songs they played:

It’s So Easy

Bad Obsession

Chinese Democracy

Mr. Brownstone

Slither (Velvet Revolver version)

Welcome to the Jungle

Pretty Tied Up

Reckless Life

Double Talkin’ Jive

Hard Skool

Absurd

Live and Let Die (Wings version)

Wichita Lineman (Jimmy Webb version)

You Could Be Mine

Estranged

Down on the Farm (UK Subs version)

Rocket Queen

Anything Goes

T.V. Eye (The Stooges version) (and baby boy Duff sung! He should sing more!)

There Was a Time

Don’t Cry

Shadow of Your Love

Civil War

Long Slash guitar solo

Sweet Child o’ Mine

November Rain

This I Love

Locomotive

Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door (Bob Dylan version)

Nightrain

Extras:

Yesterdays

Patience

Paradise City

I'd have preferred it if everything had been better organised and if there had been some more interaction from Axl and the rest with the audience. I mean, it's not that difficult to include your audience one way or another. We didn't even get a 'thank you' at the end, but one thing I want to tell everyone is to stop comparing then and now, whether you've had the honour to see them in the past or not, just enjoy it as much as possible and stop saying crap like "he sounded better back then and now he sounds like a chipmunk" or "they've gained so much weight", or any other nonsense like it. To everyone saying shit like this, bugger off!! 🖕

Overall, I give the concert a solid 9/10.

Last picture credits to Guns N' Roses.

[specialagentartemis]

clonerightsagenda said: please tell me more about the clone @consolecadet said: 👀

Reel you in with Clone Angst huh :)

YEAH this was kind of a spinoff of an old NaNoWriMo novel that never got finished about a kind of shitty run-down cyberpunk future + a recent idea about treating body-mods like tattoos, in that there are Trends and very different connotations based on what kind you have and how rich you are

The four main characters are,

Tanith, the fabled "good cop" who saw police as upholding Law and Order in an increasingly corrupt and crappy world, and then when on the force tried to challenge the police abuses she was seeing actually happen. She got fired real fast and then the police have been hassling her ever since. Now she's a dockworker or something similar. She has tough, strength-augmenting cyborg mods from her time as a cop, though, because that's the next step in the Militarization of Police; on a police officer it's tough and scary and Respectable in a threatening I-have-power way, but they're similar mods that a lot of working-class physical-labor people get, so not on a cop, they're kind of a, oh you're sort of trashy and lower-class look. But her job pays fine, there's a union even if it's not a particularly effective one, there are long stretches of time she can listen to mediocre podcasts as she does her job, and it's not existentially fulfilling but it's respectable work that's not existentially soul-killing either unlike her old job as an officer. Her hobbies these days include keeping her head down and minding her own business because she will still get hassled if any of her old cop "buddies" are around.

Abby, her roommate and de facto best friend. Has a humanities degree in a world that does not value those at all. Works part-time in the local public library trying to keep it afloat, but they get hardly any funding; does freelance captioning/copyediting/video editing gigs to make ends meet, trying to stay ahead of machine learning that can do each gig more cheaply. She is trans and is saving up for gender affirming surgeries; this is like, Type 2 of body-modifications here. Not cyberpunk cyborg stuff, just... trans body modification for Gender Reasons that is also out of reach. (Dream goals also include cat ears, though. She's trans, she's been body-modding slowly through hormones for ages, if she gets up the money for surgery she is also gonna try to get cat ears.)

Tanith's Ex-Police-Partner, still on the police force, considers what Tanith did a betrayal and really resents her. Has cooler, tougher cyborg strength-augmenting body-mods. Cyborg cop because ballooning police budgets get put somewhere. On-and-off in contact with Tanith, trying to get her to repent. Apologize. Absolve her.

And Clone Girl who I haven't settled on a name I like for, 17 and cute and who Abby meets when she seems to be living at the library. She has no obvious mods at all, but has rich-people genetic tweaks like flawless skin and hair, and she looks distinctively like one of the Obscenely Wealthy CEO Types in the city. So, she's from a rich family, but also homeless and afraid. What gives.

When it becomes obvious Clone Girl is living at the library and refuses to go to any of the (underfunded, understaffed, overcrowded) shelters in the city, Abby offers to put her up in the apartment she and Tanith share for a while.

However, Tanith's Ex Partner (and whole Ex Force) is looking for a suddenly Missing Person, the daughter of Rich CEO.

Somehow it comes out that Clone Girl is... a CLONE! (shocking twist). Not Rich CEO's natural daughter, but a clone, who was created and raised so that aging Rich CEO can transfer her brain into Clone Girl's body and be young again. Clone Girl is a body mod. Or... was. She found out about the plan somehow, and understandably not wanting her brain to be scooped out before her 18th birthday, ran away. But having grown up relatively secluded, she wasn't encouraged to develop a personality because she'd never get to grow into it anyway, or much knowledge about the world because a docile idiot is the ideal Clone Body, she doesn't really know what to do about that. (The reason they have her awake at all is that previously they tried to grow a body in a vat but it turns out to have a healthy body humans need to like... move, and exercise, and get sunlight and touch.) And now there's a statewide missing person case because Rich CEO wants her unwilling body donor back and also doesn't want news of this plan to get out.

And uh Tanith and Abby are now harboring a teenager who will be killed if they send her back but they will super duper get arrested for kidnapping if they get found out. And Tanith's ex-policemates have no love for her and would LOVE for her to turn out to be a criminal and absolve themselves. Tanith has been avoiding doing things that would get her in trouble but she can't just avoid making decisions now.

It'd be a story about autonomy bodily and otherwise and also Clone Rights. I'm not sure where it goes from here but. I think about them sometimes.

[electrasev5nwrites]

Ninja Daily: AIC 10

"I don't want to be here all day, kunoichi."

Aiko resisted the impulse to snort and looked up from the rolls of bandages she'd been trying to juggle. "What other equipment do you need?" It wasn't like she was the one they were waiting on.

Zabuza looked like he wanted to push her out of the way to get at the shelf. His jaw clenched. Instead, he stepped around her and took an entire box of the rolled bandage. "Basic medical supplies." His eyes darted to her, small and resentful. "Small weaponry. Rations. Soldier pills, if we can get them."

It felt like he regretted every syllable he had to say to her. Like he thought she was taking something from him.

She didn't take it personally. His shoulders had begun to hunch as soon as they'd entered the town, but now, he was keeping his chin up aggressively and giving dark looks to anyone who came too close.

He seemed like a half-feral animal in the peaceful, normal space of a small-town pharmacy. Zabuza was like a cat that had been kicked before, and viewed consenting to being fed as an admittance of weakness.

'That might not be far from the truth. Mist has never seemed particularly nurturing.'

For the first time, she wondered about his background. What kind of childhood made someone a killer without attending an academy or any sort of comparable training system?

Well.

'A really shitty one. He's been desperate and hungry for a long time. I doubt he even knows what he's hungry for. But he wants to be a leader and fix it. That's… kind of inspiring. I doubt he's doing it out of sentimental love for his childhood home.'

"Hmm." She tossed the bandages into a basket and curled her fingers around the handle lightly. She kept her thoughts off her face. Aiko wasn't thick enough to think Zabuza would want her sympathy, even if she was the type of person who initiated those kinds of conversations. "The pills will be hard. Unless you know a supplier off hand?"

He gave her a withering look and walked away to disappear down another row of splintering shelves.

Aiko rolled her eyes.

'I didn't think so.'

Villages had that kind of thing on a tight leash. There was probably big money in moving those kinds of performance drugs, but the formulas were state secrets and the actual items were regulated and watched. It was a rare example of a time when the risks and annoyances outweighed the potential for profit in smuggling. Bit like the difficulty in getting other types of shinobi equipment outside of a village.

At least the other supplies shouldn't be impossible. Rations really weren't going to be a problem at all. With hiraishin, she was never cut off from supply lines. It was unfortunate that she might have to play delivery girl again, but hardly the end of the world.

Zabuza rounded the stacks again, expression tight and body language impatient.

'If he wants to go so damn badly, why doesn't-'

Oh.

'I have the money. He doesn't want to ask me for an allowance like a child.'

Right.

Aiko yawned, closing her eyes to stretch. "I think I need to recoup." She didn't quite look at him. "Would you get Utakata from next door? I'll go through the line so we can get out of here. We'll make camp tonight, and figure out how to retrieve Haku and deal with Gato tomorrow."

Being tired was a convenient excuse, but it wasn't really a lie. She was still low on energy from reviving Zabuza. Sleep would be best, at this point.

'And isn't that strange? Fuu's body was in much worse shape, but I was still fighting fit after that revival.'

She couldn't entirely explain what the difference was. She'd thought that the main chakra expense correlated to the amount of repair that bodies needed. But if that wasn't true…

'Maybe it's time that matters, instead of damage. Zabuza was dead for at least a week longer than Fuu. Maybe… maybe his soul was more reluctant to leave. More acclimated to death.'

Aiko shook that thought off, creeped out. No. That was ridiculously superstitious speculation. It was below her in every way to spook herself so stupidly.

"Fine." Roughly, Zabuza dropped everything he was carrying into her basket, never mind that it didn't really fit. A bottle of pills rolled off to the floor with a clatter, but he was already halfway down the aisle.

She tried not to roll her eyes again. Aiko bent to pick that up without sending anything else flying. With a little difficulty, she hauled her burden to the clerk. The man gave a watery smile when he saw her. He repeatedly glanced over her head as she worked.

'Probably looking for Zabuza. He does make that kind of impression.'

Somehow, she didn't snicker.

'We need to get weaponry next. That isn't going to be easy, either. Might have to risk making a commission with a weapons smith who can work with shinobi-grade metal. Either that or scavenge. Both options risk bringing contact with a village in some capacity. Not optimal. But of course he wants a full kit if he's going to go take on the Mizukage's forces. That seems so… troublesome. Can we not do that?'

Aiko stilled, eyes losing focus as she had an idea. She'd mostly just been whining, but she might be on to something there.

'When Kisame thought I'd killed Pein, he didn't even think to ask questions about anything other than how I would be as his new leader. Is that… mist-normal?'

"Here you are." The clerk pushed her bags across the counter and managed to look at her long enough to bow properly.

"Yeah. Thanks." Absentmindedly, she slid the supplies off the counter and tried not to hunch under the weight. She wanted to talk to Zabuza. He wasn't in the mood now, but once they were out of town, away from crowds, he might be more amenable.

She tried at the first opportunity, perched close to the campfire. "Hey, Zabuza. Is there anyone other than the Mizukage who needs to die?"

"Lots of people need to die," Zabuza grunted dismissively.

'Stupid and dramatic.'

Aiko huffed. "No, I mean, anyone in specific."

He made a rude sound. "Anyone who gets in my way when I go for the Mizukage."

"Right," Aiko agreed with patience she didn't feel. "But is anyone going fight in his name after he's already dead?"

Zabuza snorted. He finally deigned to look at her, eyes yellow in the firelight. "Doubt it. Fucker's not popular."

"Good." Aiko chirped. She relaxed, nearly melting against a large rock. "That'll make things easier. We'll just go directly to the Mizukage and not bother with anyone else. We don't need to raise an army, if it'll be yours as soon as he's dead. Right?" She made a thumbs up.

Her mist-nin companions exchanged looks.

"Yagura-san will not meet an enemy outside the village," Utakata pointed out. "It will be necessary to fight through most of the village, unless they are persuaded beforehand to stand down. That is likely Terumi-san's plan."

'Do they think I'm an idiot?'

Aiko scowled at her companions, which took some doing, since they were positioned on opposite sides of the fire. Neither of them seemed remotely impressed by her glower, but they registered it. When she was certain her displeasure had been expressed, she put her hands on her hips. "Obvious things are still obvious, thanks for the update. If we're done with that, you happen to know a person who can take you directly to the Mizukage, so that we don't have to fuck around with making friends or killing perfectly useful people. Does that change anything?"

Zabuza opened his mouth. Then he closed it. He became very interested in wrapping his arms back up with bandages that didn't have maggots in them.

"I see." Utakata looked away. "Your backup plan is to sidestep all of a nation's highest security and assassinate the most powerful man who lives there, to save time and effort." He shook his head, lips pulled into the shade of a smile. "Perhaps Zabuza-san would find such information useful."

Aiko blinked. "You're not planning on coming?" She'd thought it had been weird that he'd wandered off when they'd gone on an equipment run, but she hadn't realized his participation was in doubt. He was reliable. Dependable. Familiar.

'Stupid. I got too used to relying on him.'

As soon as she thought about it, it seemed obvious. He wasn't really her teammate. He didn't have to do whatever she wanted. He probably didn't want to go back to the village that had failed him.

His expression indicated all that and more. "Indeed." Utakata tucked his hands inside his sleeves and closed his eyes, earlier amusement gone.

Aiko took the hint: the conversation was over. She passed out easily, eyes closing on distant stars instead of wooden beams. Maybe Utakata wasn't going to stay, but she trusted that he would watch her back while they were still working together.

She woke up with the sun. Zabuza was already up- or perhaps he hadn't slept. She didn't care either way. Aiko stretched, first the lazy, satisfying muscle movements common to the morning. And then she stretched for flexibility, tuning her body like the weapon it was. If they did go after the Mizukage today, she wanted to be in good shape.

He was almost certainly Obito's creature at this point. Maybe it was foolish, but she couldn't help but feel that this would make the Mizukage even more dangerous.

'It's not impossible,' Aiko reminded herself. 'Mei did it.'

Of course, Mei was a completely different type of fighter. It could be that she'd had some advantage that Aiko and Zabuza lacked.

'If I'm completely honest, I think Mei is a lot more powerful than Zabuza. And more observant. I couldn't have taken her down as easily as I did Zabuza.'

Aiko gave the Mist-nin an evaluative stare, even as she worked her small kit of kunai against a whetstone.

Would he be able to do what Mei had done? Even aside from defeating the Mizukage, could he hold the respect of a village?

She didn't know.

He certainly looked imposing, even if he did look a bit like he'd dressed in the dark. That was kind of an admirable caveat to overcome. It could be useful. It was stupid bullshit, but people did react differently to enormously muscled and angry men than they did to people who looked like Aiko. Ninja weren't immune to that silliness.

'Should I even be doing this? I have no idea what kind of leader he is. It's hard to see how he could be worse than Yagura, but…'

Aiko wrestled with her conscience. If she got involved in Mist's internal affairs, didn't she have some kind of moral duty to not fuck them over? It was one thing to shrug, 'oh, that sucks', about people she'd never met. But if she'd been the one to change their lives for a selfish reason, that just seemed- no. She couldn't do that.

'Well. I have some time. I'll see what kind of person Zabuza is. If I don't like what I see, I'll just kill him and deal with Mei. No one else would know the difference, aside from Utakata, and he's not exactly the chattiest bastard around.'

Zabuza's irritated voice broke through her thoughts. "You know, I'm starting to wonder if there isn't a reason that you're staring at me and fondling your little toys."

"Ah." Aiko blinked down at her kunai, which was sparkling in a lovely way in the morning sun. It was perfectly sharp. "I see. Nothing personal." She slipped the weapon away, frowning at the necessity. She didn't like wearing the makeshift weapons pouch. It was either difficult to access or terribly unsubtle over civilian clothing. But she couldn't go to a fight like that completely without weaponry.

'I would do terrible things for a real holster and my shin and arm guards,' Aiko reminisced. 'And that mesh body armor. And boots. I wouldn't even care if the shirt and shorts were just flimsy crap. I'd feel more like me.'

Her companion must have noticed her frowning at her uninspired equipment and gear. "Don't you have that hunter nin outfit?" Zabuza gave her slacks and short-sleeved top a disdainful once-over. "What you have on is shit. It's not a civilian disguise, but it's not armor. Didn't anyone tell you that you need to do one or the other?"

'He's absolutely right.'

She couldn't let him get away with that.

Aiko gave him a condescending look, flipping her hair back. "What are your plans as Mizukage, other than critiquing my outfits?"

"Valid policy decision though it may be," Utakata added. He sat up. His hair lifted behind him in a cloud of knots. He blinked gummily. A hand went up to start picking out knots, as though this was routine.

'Oh.' Aiko felt her face pull into a demented grin without her permission. 'It was worth it. Sleeping on the ground like an animal was worth it, just to see that bedhead.'

"What is that awful face for?" Zabuza sounded like he didn't really want to know.

"I was worried that he was prettier than I am," Aiko explained vaguely. She let her expression settle into a haughty smirk. "He is. But my hair's better. It never does that."

"It frizzes in humidity," Utakata said mildly. "And your split ends are terrible." He was slipping his fingers through his hair quickly, tangles nearly defeated already. No wonder she hadn't seen that before. "I remain superior."

"Fuck you," Aiko rebutted pleasantly. "Zabuza?"

"I don't care about my hair," he spat. He hunched behind his sword defensively.

'I feel like I roll my eyes a lot more in the day I've known Zabuza.'

She valiantly kept her thoughts out of her tone. "Policies. I was asking about your policies. Goals. That kind of thing."

He narrowed his eyes at her. He pressed his lips even tighter together, until they formed a hard line.

Aiko let it drop. "Alright then." She gave one last stretch, and then swiveled her spine back to a more natural position. "We need a plan on how to deal with Gato and get Haku back. Don't you have some chuunin somewhere, too?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. Her hair brushed over her shoulder. Oh. Right. She needed to tie that back still. She slipped a hairband off her wrist and-

"We leave him." Zabuza bit out. He hefted his sword. "I don't give a shit about Gato. The Konoha fuckers can deal with him. As for Haku, he's useless to me."

Aiko stared, hair forgotten.

'That seems harsh.'

"He is your student, is he not?" Utakata surged to his feet, looking more like a wave than man. "As his teacher, you have a responsibility to him."

'Utakata's taking this personally.'

Zabuza snorted, an ugly, rough sound. "Teacher? I was never his teacher." He tapped his fingers mockingly against the hilt of his sword. "There's a reason I never trained him in this. He doesn't deserve this legacy. Besides." He turned away. "Little fucker moved in with Konoha as soon as I was gone, didn't he? He's a useless tool."

Something clicked in her head. Oh.

Utakata's pupils turned to slits, and the air began to smell like saltwater. "You are the disgrace. Traitor. Embarassment-"

"Catch up to me when your dog has calmed down," Zabuza shot over his shoulder. Then he leapt away.

Utakata snarled, twisting impotently.

Aiko reached out and didn't quite touch him. "It's fine."

"Fine?" He wheeled on her. Coral was crackling down his jaw. "He is a low and abhorrent creature. How can you condone this?"

'He looks like he's about to loose his demon.'

Carefully, she raised her hands to show her palms. The pacifying gesture seemed to shock Utakata. He blinked, focusing on her empty hands with intensity. Then he subsided, the pale fury beginning to recede. His pupils swelled. The coral fell away. Morning songbirds began peeping again. Aiko hadn't even noticed that they'd stopped.

"I apologize," he said stiffly. "I was… not myself."

'I think you were.'

"Zabuza is proud," Aiko said, instead of acknowledging Utakata's loss of control. "He views emotional attachment as a weakness."

"That does not excuse his behavior," Utakata said quietly.

She nodded. "It doesn't. But I'm not making excuses for his coldness. I'm saying that he wasn't telling the truth, because he doesn't want us to know that he cares for Haku."

Utakata blinked. His mouth opened the slightest fraction. His brows furrowed.

"He doesn't want to take Haku to Mist." Aiko crossed her arms. "He's glad that Konoha took him in. Haku is young and strong, and Konoha is notoriously soft. He thinks that Haku will be happier and better treated there than Zabuza can promise him."

The reasoning made an uncomfortable amount of sense. If Zabuza were to lose his fight against the Mizukage, his companions would die as well. Zabuza didn't want that for Haku. Zabuza recognized that even if the coup went perfectly, Mist was still dangerous and volatile. People who might not dare lash out at Zabuza might think Haku was a fair replacement. It was sort of traditional to kill the vassal to send a message.

Utakata relaxed, but he managed a scowl. "Zabuza-san is still an ass."

Aiko blinked twice. Um. "That's fair," she agreed. "He's not particularly charming. But I'm starting to think that he generally means well."

He focused on her, eyes narrowed. "Perhaps he will not be an abominable Mizukage. Do you care? Or does his ascension merely support your aims?"

'I could stand to be honest with him. It won't matter.'

"I'm trying to find out what kind of leader he is," Aiko admitted. "If I don't think he'll do well enough, I'll kill him and let Mei take over. I'm not interested in putting another violent lunatic in charge of people's lives."

Utakata hummed incomprehension. He closed his eyes. "I see."

She shifted her weight uncomfortably. She rolled her ankle around, digging her toes in the dirt.

He still didn't say anything.

"Right." Aiko bent over to pick up her pack. "I suppose I should get going, then." She cleared her throat, feeling strange and unhappy. "It was… You weren't a terrible partner. 6/10, would do again if I had no other options."

"I give you 5/10," Utakata replied. His eyes flicked open, dispassionately watching her gather her belongings. "Your strange competency is at odds with your occasional bouts of lunacy and inexplicable decisions that seem to have no basis in situations at hand. However, you have some time to improve your score."

She stilled. "Oh?"

Utakata looked away. "You and Zabuza-san will need someone of reasonable intelligence, if you truly insist on leaving behind Haku-san. I shudder to think of what you might inflict on the unsuspecting populace without supervision."

Aiko flung an arm over his shoulder. "I like you too."

He reached out and tripped her.

Konoha, two months later.

"This Hikari-san was a kunoichi, you say?" The Sandaime frowned. "An associate of Zabuza's?"

'If so, she was a terrible ally. Digging up his body indicates investment in his death. Maybe a bounty hunter. Of course, that doesn't explain getting involved in Gato's affairs.'

Kakashi shook his head. "I didn't get that impression. I believe that she was the one who killed him, though I did not receive confirmation." He glanced at his genin. "What did you think?"

Sakura squeezed the fingers laced behind her back. "Hikari-san seemed very competent," she started uncertainly. "She did express sentiments that- that might make more sense in the context of a kunoichi. She attempted to advise me."

The Sandaime's face was dark.

"Nothing strange!" Sakura hastened. "Nothing, um. Treasonous. Just little things, about not letting the boys run off and leave me with chores."

He didn't say anything, but the oppressive air lifted. "I see. Naruto?"

The boy shrugged. "Hikari-san seemed alright to me. She was clumsy a lot, but she liked to help Tsunami-san. She was always cooking or something when she was at the house."

"Clumsy?" The hokage seemed slightly amused.

"Yeah." Naruto put a hand on his hip. "The first time I met her, she dropped her tea. And one time, she was bringing food to us while we worked and she almost fell down."

"That wasn't clumsiness," Sasuke retorted, rolling his eyes. The 'idiot' was unspoken, but heard loud and clearly. "Her eyes lost focus and her body leaned forward. She was lightheaded, probably from overexertion."

Kakashi sighed. "Sasuke-kun believes that Hikari-san was likely a civilian," he explained dryly. "Sasuke, I fought her. She's definitely a kunoichi."

"Ehhh?" Sakura perked up. "When-"

"Why?" Naruto burst out.

Sasuke's eyes narrowed. "The night you walked her home. She didn't come back after that."

'And isn't that strange?'

It had been what he wanted, but he hadn't really expected that she would never return. But the bridge was finished, and she had never shown her face again. If she'd truly been invested, why?

"Was she any good?"

Everyone looked at Sakura for that question. She flushed pink and looked at her feet.

"She was…"

'Fast. Angry at me personally. She fights a little like I do.'

Kakashi trailed off. Then he plastered on a bright, fake smile. "Maa, she beat me."

The Sandaime fumbled with his pipe, nearly dropping it onto his desk.

The room was dead silent.

'It's highly suspicious that a shinobi of that level was completely unknown to me. How? Who trained her? A Konoha nin?'

Kakashi rubbed at the back of his neck. "She stopped when she realized I wasn't going to dodge in time. Then she called me names." He frowned, faintly puzzled. "Including a vegetable." That still didn't make sense.

'The fact that she panicked when she thought she nearly hurt me, though. That's interesting. It's hard to reconcile that with the way she took down Zabuza. Does she count herself as a shinobi of Uzushiogakure? We are still technically allied. That might explain why she restrained herself around Konoha nin.'

"I see." The Sandaime was serious, now. "This is no ordinary missing nin, then. If she is a shinobi of such caliber, then she should not be unheard of."

"She claimed not to be a missing nin," Kakashi offered. He continued at the politely incredulous eyebrow his superior raised. "I thought she was lying," he admitted easily. "But now, I'm not certain. I don't believe she's a threat, Sandaime-sama."

At least, not directly.

The old man leaned back. "Oh? And why is that."

Kakashi glanced at his team, wondering again if the hokage would decide to keep the probable relation from Naruto. "She was in Wave for personal reasons that were not disclosed. I believe that she was the masked ninja who opposed Gato before our arrival. I do not feel that I can offer insightful speculation into her motivations at that point. However, she developed an interest in our team."

The Sandaime glanced at the genin. Sakura stood a little straighter. Sasuke continued watching the wall behind the hokage, but he tensed. Naruto was scratching at his leg with the toes of his other foot.

None of them looked remotely ready to risk near dangerous foreigners with unknown motivations.

"Yes, that is why I concluded she had to go," Kakashi elaborated carelessly. He stuck his hands in his pockets. "Maa, she admitted to my face that she was attached to one of the genin because they shared similarities with someone she used to know."

And didn't that just open all sorts of possibilities? She hadn't even claimed it had been someone she'd loved. She could have been out for vicarious revenge on an Uchiha, or Minato-sensei, or Kushina-san. They'd all had bitter enemies.

The Sandaime easily caught his insinuation and hid whatever surprise he felt. "That sounds like an excellent reason not to trust this person," the hokage pointed out dryly. "We do not know her motivations or history."

Kakashi hesitated a little. "I think I know some of it," he said slowly. "I had- the first time that I saw her, I noticed a strong physical resemblance. And in our fight, she used a technique that I am familiar with."

The Hokage held up his hand. He inhaled deeply on his pipe and breathed smoke in to the room. His gaze trailed over each genin, thoughts transparent. Sakura-chan was civilian born. Sasuke-kun had only one living relative, and Kakashi wouldn't fail to recognize Itachi. The Hokage offered a guess. "Was it a sealing technique, perhaps?"

Naruto flinched.

"In a manner of speaking," Kakashi hedged. "Chakra chains."

The Hokage nodded slowly, laying his pipe down. "An Uzumaki, then." He said it carelessly, as though he had never considered hiding the information. He met Kakashi's eye, ignoring the open shock on the genin's faces. "I wonder… You said a strong resemblance- to-"

"Yes, to her," Kakashi agreed quickly. He didn't dwell on the hints of Minato he'd seen in her face. He didn't. It was illogical. Seeing Kushina made some sense, however. "Red hair. Slight build." He huffed wryly. "Temper, too."

"Not the traditional red shade, was it?" the Sandaime asked, leaning forward. "A little lighter, perhaps?"

A line appeared on Kakashi's brow. "Yes."

He didn't ask how the Sandaime knew, but the old man answered anyway. "I believe that you are not the first Konoha team to encounter this young lady." He nodded at the door. "Sakura-chan, would you mind asking my secretary for the mission report filed by Maito Gai four months ago, regarding an encounter with two rogue ninja?" As the girl left, he explained. "One of his genin produced rather handy resemblances. The male has already been identified. The young lady, however…" He trailed off. "Perhaps."

"Old man!" Naruto burst out, patience tested. "What do you mean? Who does she look like?" He turned his eyes on Kakashi. They were watering.

'I wouldn't have told him. This will only make things worse, if Hikari-san turns out to be an untrustworthy person.'

It was an effort not to wince.

"Naruto-kun," the Sandaime said sternly. "You are an adult, are you not? Surely you understand that there will always be things you do not know."

Against all odds, that did the trick. Naruto closed his mouth with a click of teeth and looked down at the floor. His bangs hid his expression.

'But he should know. He should know his mother's name. He should have grown up with her.'

Guilt settled heavily in his gut.

Sakura walked back into the room, holding a file.

The Hokage nodded to her. "Thank you, my dear. Would you look at the third page?"

She flipped it open. Her eyes widened. "Definitely her," Sakura agreed, angling the paper so that her teammates could see as well. "She wears civilian clothing even when she's on a mission, then?" She narrowed her eyes, glancing between the sketch and her blonde teammate critically.

"I guess," Naruto agreed softly. He was staring intensely at the sketch, fingers nearly reaching out to touch.

Sasuke huffed. He was looking away. "That seems impractical."

Unless a ninja had no need for armor or traditional gear.

Kakashi met the Sandaime's eyes, wondering the same thing. The jounin shrugged casually, even though no one was looking. "Maa, some shinobi do that. Tsunade-sama, for instance."

"As well as Hikari-san's partner," the Sandaim added slowly. "She was seen with a former Mist-nin known as Utakata."

'The rogue mist jinchuuriki? That's concerning. Could he have been around? Could it be that she has an interest in jinchuuriki?'

Kakashi startled at that. "I saw no sign of him."

"Perhaps they separated," the Sandaime proposed doubtfully. "However. Two incidents gives us a bit more to work with in terms of constructing a personality profile. Team seven. I would like you to complete as detailed a report on this person as possible, then read the account from team 9. See what consistencies and tendencies you can find." He fixed his stare on Kakashi. "You have a month. After that, the village will be otherwise occupied."

Right. The Chuunin exams. They would need all jounin working on security then. Kakashi nodded, even as he herded his genin out.

"Of course, Sandaime-sama."

[disasterghaster-moved]

3 5 7

q’s for muses who had a…  r o u g h   childhood 

3. what triggers does your muse have from their childhood?

I've mentioned before that Dekronian society has a 'native' and 'non-native' distinction that affects sociological class divides. It's not as concrete as our world's modern distinction between 'white' and 'non-white'. Particularly if the individual is wholly native or wholly non-native. Those groups are just seen as different, but easily integrate provided traditionally positions of authority aren't infringed on by any non-native that has not be fully generationally integrated.

This explanation to say that for some fucking reason native dekronians (and some particularly conservative non-natives) view intermixed proginay as something awful or unnatural. There's a sentiment that the streams shouldn't cross. Particularly if the non-native side of things hasn't had that generational integration.

And all that ONLY applies if you have the backing of those that are in power or care about you as offspring. Alanna gets away with being mixed with a very new non-native population only because of her mother and the authority and power behind the native half of her family. She still has to prove herself frequently to those that disapprove.

And Devang, who became and war orphan and then a slave, was just considered an undesirable. Lacking those 'protections'. So if you call her something derogatory like 'mutt' or 'mongrel'--it's triggering. Even after all this time, it inspires a certain sort of feral and visceral reaction. Because she was treated even worse that most others around her in an already shitty situation. It was often thrown at her even when she was finally a free-person in the military. It's a flash point word.

Thankfully, most people on Terran Earth don't have this same way of treating people. And when she tells people her background enough to explain her mixed heritage--no one really cares. Hell, half of them seem to just boil her down to, inaccurately, a weird cat space person. Which suits her fine.

In some ways, not being called derogatory things about her heritage on a regular basis has probably made her more sensitive to it than before. Because it's more of a shock. No longer having to brace against it.

She also doesn't wear chokers or bracelets as such items would likely remind her of her time enslaved. Oddly, though, she sometimes ponders wearing a muzzle for comfort???

Possibly, if someone forcefully cut her hair she might have a triggered event of some sort, but none has ever tried. She's always had control of her hair since she was a free-person.

Most other things about her childhood are long faded and replaced with more recent traumas from her young adulthood to present. Time doesn't heal, but it does make for a fuzzy memory and mind.

5. has your muse ever been officially diagnosed with ptsd, c-ptsd?

She has. She had seen all of two seperate psychologists for short periods of time. Though at least one of them was out to harm her, they both offered insights that were accurate to avoid suspicions.

She absolutely has Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and has Schizoaffective Disorder. Before that point she had been aware something was wrong with her, but never had the words for it.

7. how old was your muse when they realized they had childhood trauma?

About Roka's age, honestly. Or a little after. You would think she'd realize it as it was happening, but she'd shut down in a lot of ways until well after she was a free-person AND AWOL from the military.

She knew she wasn't alright and that she'd been through a LOT of adversity up to that point, but she didn't start looking at it (rather than just blurting out to other people) until she got enough roots to sit down and think about it. And when she did, she didn't know what to do with it. So she coped very poorly--much similar to Roka.

She understands it a lot better now. Not because of the therapists, but because she has looked into books and such in her own time. Google searches and things.

Everything mostly sits there in boxes she's made for it mentally. But she doesn't have the skills or the real know how to do more than that. Or more than how to manage it better than if she didn't read books and articles. It's a flawed situation for her.

But it's also hard to find a psych doc or therapist that she can both trust and can capably handle nearly 10k years of extreme fuckery both from my backstories of her and the 20ish years of RP events, lmao.

[medicus-mortem]

chatcambrioluer: @chatcambrioleur

"Law... Law..." Nami simpered against his neck, her hands searching over familiar, warm skin. Her palms landed at his cheeks, cupping his face --- brown eyes finally landed on him after a moment of being clenched tight. He looked different. He looked tired, although she couldn't blame him. His facial hair wasn't kempt, as he liked it --- and as she liked it. His outfit wasn't his recognizable blacks and yellow --- his jolly roger was nowhere to be seen. Really, it was amazing Nami recognized him at all, in this state, but perhaps she was particularly in tune, due to missing him so badly. Her hands wandered upward, and she realized right away what else he happened to be missing. He looked naked without his cap --- but none of that mattered. What mattered was that he was here, he was alive, and he was okay. Nami found herself searching his features with frantic, hungry eyes, ensuring her assumption true --- no new scars, no missing limbs? Everything appeared to be in tact, from what she could tell. Her name sounded so lovely coming from his mouth. Especially when she hadn't been sure she'd ever hear him say it again. However, his words did give her pause, and Nami only pulled back so she could furrow her brow.

"I've been worrying myself sick over you, and that's the first thing you manage to say to me?" Had it been any other time, she might have feigned a little anger, or twisted her mouth, or a dramatic sigh. She probably looked awful, she knew. No point on dwelling on it. "Are you okay? What about Bepo--- and the others?" She realized, they should probably work their way out of the crowd --- maybe she could convince him to come back to the ship for a meal. They had some extra supplies they could spare, as well --- a razor, for one, in case he wanted a shave.

She repeats his name as her hands explore him, touching him like she thought she'd never get the chance to ever again. He doesn't blame her for that. The newspapers pronounced him dead, sunk to the bottom of the ocean with his ship. He almost was dead. If Teach hadn't decided to gloat, hadn't chosen to try to steal his devil fruit, then Bepo wouldn't have had the time to act as he did. Bepo wouldn't have been able to save him and drag him through the freezing ocean to safety. If Bepo wasn't there when Law needed the help he would be dead. He owes that mink so much. Bepo wouldn't like that mindset.

Law finds a small smile of amusement on his features as Nami looks him over, frantic gaze taking him in as her hands move from his cheeks to the hairline peaking out from the tattered, workman cap he'd stolen. He can see that small glint in her eyes that shows brief grief, the cat thief feeling the loss of his hat more keenly than he thought she would. It was the last piece he had of Flevance, of his origins, and now that's gone, too. He doesn't really feel like himself without it, but he has to move forward, somehow.

She pulls away, a frown on her features and indignation in her tone. His small smile grows bigger as he takes in the crease between her eyebrows and that sassy stance she takes up when she's upset with him. He's been so focused on so much loss, on what has to be done and his own survival to realise it, but seeing her now, in this moment, Law knows he really missed Nami. How a part of him wants to just pull her close again and find comforting oblivion in her very presence. Instead, he shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"I'm a doctor. You expect me not to show concern at the declining health of someone I care about?" he says, a little teasing entering his tone.

Then she asks those questions and Law's features darken. His jaw tightens, teeth grinding. Head lowers, brim of this shitty hat hiding his eyes. His shoulders sag, a sigh passing his lips. Gaze drifts to their surroundings, to the people in the crowd who are pretending to go about their business but are still listening in. Law moves then, stepping past Nami to get to her dropped bags. He scoops them up, pushing anything he can back into them. Then he comes back to her, his free hand wrapping finger's around Nami's hand.

"Bepo's alright. His injuries were less severe than mine and honestly he's handling all of this better than I," Law says, voice soft as he leads Nami into a dark, more private alcove away from the crowd. "I think he's trying to be positive for me." A pause and a breath, a hand balling into a fist. His nails dig into his palm, gaze still averted from Nami. He tries to keep his tone even, not wanting to worry her more with his struggle. "As for my Hearts ... I don't know. I ... left them behind and I don't know if they're alive or not. I'm hoping but ..."

[bakubub]

In which racer!kuroo is your roommate, and seems to only like it when you treat his wounds... (word count: 1.9k)

Ngl quite proud of this one!!

Warnings: 18+, a whole lot of swearing, a whole lot of blood, innuendos and implied nsfw, reader almost vomits (NOT from pregnancy chill, I know we're all scarred but its going to be just fine) and if you're squeamish perhaps skip the scene where reader stitches his wound?

Also bit of a disclaimer: I am in NO WAY a med student and literally all of my knowledge is from movies and other fics... so if you acc know what to do in this situation this may be a torturous for you :D

All due credits go to @aikk00​ for this AMAZING fanart!!!!

I watch as my roommate enters the penthouse, once again scratched up and bleeding, covered in so much blood there is no possible way that it was all his- if it was he would not be standing.

I launch myself off the couch- where I was sitting for the past hour nervously waiting for his return- and slip my arm under his, supporting him as we inched towards the bathroom.

"I can do this by myself you know," he grumbles, his grimace revealing just how much pain he was actually in.

"Mhm, I'm sure you can. Just like you boiled that poor egg by yourself last week, hmm?" I say sarcastically, trying to keep my mind calm and clear, because oh my god it looks really bad this time...

"Oi, its not my fault it fuckin' exploded," he mutters, voice laden with pain.

"You put it in the microwave because 'the shitty water wasn't doing its job.' Of course it would explode," I say, gently seating him on the closed toilet seat and taking out my supplies that I unfortunately have become rather accustomed to using. He's made it a habit to get himself injured.

"Where's the injury?" I ask, setting down my half-empty bottle of antiseptic and box of bandages. He peels off his shirt, cringing at the pain it brought him as the fabric was stuck to the gash that went from his left pectoral down to the middle of his chest.

"Pissed off a bidder after winning a race, fucker took out a knife once he realised he couldn't beat me up," he huffs out, arrogance still lacing his tone even with sweat dripping down his brow as he leans the back of his head onto the tile wall behind him. His Adam's apple bobs down his bloodstained neck as he speaks, and I quickly look away, focusing on the injury at hand.

Not his blood soaked, but nevertheless well defined pectoral muscles, nor the abs that my hands occasionally brush up against and know how hard they really are, and definitely not the trail of black hairs that lead down, down, down...

"What's wrong, the view too hot to focus on the work at hand?" He asks suggestively, raising his pierced brow, even in this state.

I'm quick to reply, having gotten used to his flirtatious remarks from the second I moved into his penthouse, "nope can't even see the view from that massive head of yours. Not to mention your permanent bed head."

He huffs out a laugh, then proceeds to flinch from the pain it must have caused.

"Stop moving, idiot. You're going to exacerbate the cut!" I say, quickly grabbing a damp towel and beginning to clean up his abdomen, whilst simultaneously pressing another rag to his wound to stop the bleeding.

“At least you admit that there is a hot view,” he says in his low voice, gazing at me from his position.

I simply roll my eyes.

No falling in love. That was the deal we had made on the day he offered me a place to stay in exchange for my services as a maid and apparently, a nurse. I cook, clean and basically keep the house running while this moron goes out and acts like the idiot he is. In my defense, dorms are expensive as hell, and his penthouse is nearby. Plus, I don't have to pay rent. It's a win-win situation.

But the feelings stirring up inside my heart might just ruin the dynamic we have going on and simultaneously take out a whole lot of cash out of my pocket.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Once his skin isn't completely saturated in blood, and the wound has (thankfully) stopped bleeding, I add some antiseptic onto a make-up pad and begin to dab at his wound, earning winces and slight grunts from the massive man.

"The cut looks deep, Kuroo. You need to go to the hospital," I say, worry lacing my tone as my eyebrows crease and earn yet another huffing laugh.

"Do you want me to rot in prison for the rest of my life?"

I roll my eyes at his response, deliberately dabbing just a little harder which earns me a yelp and an attempted glare in my direction.

"First off, illegal street racing won't send you to prison for your entire life, just for like, half a year. Second, this wound needs stitches, and believe it or not, I'm not a fucking licensed medic. In fact, the only experience I have is with you!" I say, immediately regretting my choice of words as I wait for his remark.

"That's what she said," He says, chuckling at his own innuendo.

I sigh in frustration, pouring more antiseptic to make sure there was no chance of infection from whatever grimy ass knife stabbed him, and beginning to gently scrub the wound with a soft towel, so as to make sure there was no debris left in there.

"You're gonna have ta do it," he mutters, his hazel eyes boring into mine.

"I- I can't Kuroo, you can't possibly think-"

"Fine. I'll do it. Go get me a needle and thread," he states, struggling but nevertheless, sitting upright on the red stained toilet.

I stare at Kuroo in disbelief as he utters these words. Was he dumber than I thought? Does he have some sort of head injury too?

I examine his face and all I come up with is unnerving determination. I exhale out of my nose sharply, "fine, dammit. I'll sew your fucking wound shut."

I am extremely handy with a sewing needle and thread, used to really be into embroidery back when I had the time so...it should be fine.

He just shrugs, leaning his head back against the tiles and closing his eyes.

"Fucking asshole. Can't believe I'm saving your damn life," I mutter, leaving the bathroom to dig through my wardrobe for my sewing box and taking out a gold silk thread that I was saving for a special project.

Well, I guess that will never happen.

"Hey, I found some silk thread. It's literally known for its strength and durability in high temperatures, so it should work like a charm!" I say, walking back into the blood stained bathroom and trying to psych myself up.

He grunts in response. I sigh as I begin with mopping up the excess blood and sanitising the needle and thread before chucking on gloves.

I wipe the antiseptic over the wound once more, and examine it carefully.

Well, if his condition worsens, I can always knock him out and call an ambulance...

I decide, screw it, and thread the needle, pretending it was just another embroidery project.

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I chant as I puncture his skin with the thin needle.

Kuroo gasps in pain, and I place a hand on his knee, telling him to suck it up and deal with it, half talking to him but also to myself.

To my surprise, he listens, stretching his head back once more and gritting his teeth.

"Don't do that, here put this in-between your teeth," I say, grabbing yet another towel and shoving it into his mouth.

He obeys as I continue to stitch. I feel my gag reflex kicking in as I think about how stitching skin feels as though I am stitching leather, it feels hard and tough while pushing the thin needle through.

Must hurt like a bitch.

Once I've completed my neat stitches down the wound, without vomiting, I tie it off as I would with any embroidery, and clean the area free of any remaining blood. After rubbing some antibacterial ointment over the gold stitches, I stick on a particularly large bandage over the wound and start tidying up.

"Thank you," Kuroo mutters, still seated on the toilet seat and practically panting for breath.

"Ah, the criminal knows his damn manners!! Now get up and get in the damn shower. You ruined my pristine bathroom!" I complain, putting the last of the materials away before walking to the door.

"Wait, I- I can't get up." I turn around and look at him incredulously as he utters his next few words, "will you... shower me?"

My eyes just about pop out of their sockets at his request. "Are you insane?! I'm not your mother, nor your wife! Call your pudding haired friend and tell him to come shower you!"

He shakes his head, a rare pleading look taking the place of his usual arrogant smirk, "Kenma's too lazy to shower himself, Y/n, please!"

I contemplated it for a moment. Sure, I've seen him naked before, accidentally of course, and so what if I have to scrub him clean. God knows he can't do it himself with that damn injury.

Fuck this shit.

"Fine, get up right now." I bark at him, leaving to change out of my blood soaked pjs into a pair of shorts and a tank.

"...I just said I can't."

---

"Ow, y/n, you're scrubbing too hard!" He complains, his exfoliating glove around my hand as I rub his toned back clean of any dead skin-cells and blood remains.

"But look how much stuff is coming off!" I say gleefully, enjoying this a little too much.

Kuroo, seated on the built-in bench in the open shower with his red boxers on, looks back to see the satisfaction dripping from my features.

"Are you secretly a sadist?" he whispers. In response, I begin to rinse off his raw back with hot water, causing him to screech like a cat.

"It burns, it burns-”

“Shut the fuck up, moron! It's 4 in the morning, you’re going to annoy our neighbours. I tried very hard to get in their good graces, and Mrs. Suzuki still doesn’t like me! She definitely thinks I’m some kind of hooker…” Kuroo laughs at this, and I can’t help but watch as his whole face brightens up from his usual emotionless expression. I find myself smiling in response.

I grab his expensive shampoo and pour some into my hands, beginning to massage it into his scalp. With wet hair, his raven strands are for once flat on his head and reach down to his defined jawline. Kuroo groans under my touch, leaning into my fingers. I snatch my hands back and pour hot water over his head.

"ARGH! Y/N!" He screams, hastily getting up and wetting me in the process.

"Ah- what are you-" I don't get to finish my question as he grabs my arm and yanks me next to him under the hot water, soaking my clothes and my hair.

"You asshole!" I screech as I reach up to pull his hair in defiance, but he only grabs my arm and hooks it around his neck, leaning down to look directly into my eyes.

Our noses brushing against one another, he mutters, "You look pretty with your hair wet and your shirt see through."

It takes me a moment to get past the compliment and to hear the perverted comment that he just uttered.

He sees my look of confusion and laughs, bends over, clutches his stomach and laughs, before bellowing in pain because of his injury.

Smiling smugly down at him as he grimaces, I force him to sit back down and continue massaging the shampoo into his hair, warning him that if he so much as moaned I would leave him in here, dripping wet and in pain.

"That's what he said," is his reply.

I smack his head in response.

Notes, interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

[beneathashadytree]

STAY-AT-HOME HUSBAND DUTIES - REINER BRAUN X READER

Warnings : one very mildly suggestive comment, modern AU, Reiner is a dad to two kids, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : domestic fluff, I'm melting---

Word count : 1.1K words

Synopsis : Reiner, being the perfect stay-at-home husband, made his spouse look forward to coming home to him every night after a shitty day of work.

Requests : Are open! Check the rules over here.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

"Long day, huh."

Looking up from the shoes I was removing off my aching feet, I saw my husband leaning against the wall with a sympathetic look on his face. In response to his observation (which was probably based on the exhaustion apparent on my face), I nodded, pushing my shoes aside and taking off my coat.

"Here, let me help you," his voice was soft, a stark contrast from the loud cacophony of noises I'd been hearing all day at work, and I sent him a grateful half-smile as he took the liberty of hanging my coat up on the hanger.

I followed him as he walked into the kitchen, pulling out something from the oven. Stepping back to take a good look at him as he scooped some lasagne onto a plate, I just noticed that he was wearing that god-awfully-cheesy apron of his that had the words 'Kiss the cook!' inscribed in cursive at the front.

"Reiner, c'mere for a sec," I called out for him as soon as he was done setting up the microwave.

Leaning up and pressing my hand against his broad chest, I gave him a long, hard kiss that had him flushing red in seconds flat.

"Someone must've missed me."

I hummed, wrapping my arms around his torso, pressing a chaste kiss to his pecs once again, "Kept thinking of going back to my stay-at-home husband all day."

He chuckled lowly, ruffling my hair playfully, "You're just happy you have someone to cook for you and take care of the kids all day."

"Yeah, I don't need that kind of stress on top of my job," I grumbled as I jokingly admitted to my laziness, before we were interrupted by the microwave beeping.

My late dinner consisted of steaming food and having Reiner sit beside me, chatting idly about our day. It wasn't particularly eventful on either of our ends, but we were both equally tired, though for entirely different reasons.

Reiner, after he'd made the choice to never work again after returning from the military, had a much more difficult job, if you asked me. Taking care of two kids, cooking and cleaning, running errands, handling all bills and official documents---if anything, it felt as though I were nothing but a mere homemaker. I only paricipated in housework on weekends, and my sole input throughout the week was purely financial.

At first, it had put a certain strain on our relationship when we'd first moved in together while dating, but time and time again we'd reassured each other that---contrary to popular belief and stigma---this arrangement was the perfect compromise and set up for us. As long as our marriage and family grew happy, we were fine, so many nights were spent in this fashion as right now, but we had little to no complaints about it.

Lost in Reiner's story about what our youngest had done at pre-school today, a brush against my calf startled me a little, before a glance at my feet warmed my heart.

"Cherry must've missed me, huh?" I cooed, picking up the chubby snow-white cat and placing her on my lap, where she innocently blinked at me with blue eyes, before curling onto my lap.

Reiner smirked as he watched her paw at me teasingly, "Takes after me, I see, she likes your thighs."

"Exercise restraint, love."

The blonde laughed, kissing my cheek as he got up, taking the dishes with him, "You go ahead and shower. I'll get these done."

Feeling bad that he was taking care of a fully-grown adult, I followed after him, scooping a lazy Cherry in my arms, "Can I help?"

"Nah, it's fine. You deserve some rest before the kids wake you up at the ass crack of dawn like every Friday morning."

Dropping Cherry on the floor as quick as I could without waking her up from her half-slumber, I rushed out, groaning, "Shit, I forgot that tomorrow's Friday."

A good and long hot shower later, I was padding quietly across the floorboards in the kids' room. They were fast asleep in their beds (as expected of them; Reiner always made sure to tuck them in before 9, and it was near midnight now), and I felt my heart clench in my chest at the knowledge that I had yet again missed out on kissing them goodnight because of my stupid boss. Lowering myself over their still bodies, I pressed soft kisses to their foreheads, brushing the stray hairs back fondly as they slept on soundly, before retreating back to my room.

Reiner had already tucked himself to his side of the bed, and seemed to be invested in the book he was reading by his lamp light. Upon my entrance, he placed the bookmark where he'd paused and switched off the lights, settling down under the covers after setting the book down on his bedside table.

Climbing into bed, I scooted closer until I was nestled safely in his arms, with him tugging me closer to his chest until his heartbeat rested under my ear. Sighing in a mix of content and tiredness, my eyes shut of their own accord, and he kissed my temples gently, before adjusting his position.

"Love you," I mumbled, already half-asleep and on my way to dreamland, earning a small chuckle from Reiner.

"Love you too, sleepyhead."

***

Hours later when they were fast asleep and completely unaware of anything happening around them (probably thanks to the sheer exhaustion they'd been feeling since they'd stepped inside the house), Reiner was being shaken awake by a small hand.

"Daddy?"

Bleary eyes opened as he tried to blink away sleep (being a heavy sleeper himself), pulling himself away from his spouse's cuddles and pushing himself up with one arm at the sound of the weak voice calling him.

"Yeah?" he blinked twice and saw his youngest all teary-eyed, sniffling as they tugged at their comforter, "What's wrong baby?"

"I," they paused, rubbing their eyes in hopes of clearing the tears away, "I had a nightmare. Can I sleep with you and mommy tonight?"

Reiner could almost physically feel his eyes soften at the words, and he nodded wordlessly, scooching and making space for his rattled child, picking them up gently and placing them between him and his heavily-breathing partner.

"We'll protect you from anything bad, alright bud?" he whispered, waiting for their nod in understanding before he kissed their tear-stained cheeks, "Get some rest."

Obediently tugging the covers up to their ears, they snuggled between the two adults, falling into an easy slumber, with their loving dad following soon after, happy knowing that his children would always seek comfort from their parents, no matter the reason why.

Taglist: @blondeboyfriend

[kerie-prince]

We’re Worlds Apart (1)

Draco Malfoy x American No-Maj/Muggle fem!reader

Post-Battle of Hogwarts

warnings: language

series m.list | general m.list

summary: Draco Malfoy is a pureblood wizard. Magic runs through his veins and has been since his birth. You're a Wiccan No-Maj; a non-magical being with ordinary blood through your veins, but practices what you call magick. And this very practice upsets your neighbor.

(gif cred)

"They want... me?"

Draco Malfoy sat across his supervisor in his office at St. Mungos. His eyes widened at the offer he was given.

"Well Mr. Malfoy, you've certainly shown us around here that you do well at your job. If I must say so myself, I believe you're ready for the job," his boss has explained. Draco had recently finished his Fellowship and became a remarkable Healer. So much so that the Santa Marie Hospital for Maj Persons in Buffalo, New York contacted his supervisor to offer him a position as Head Healer. It was an incredible opportunity, one that a person could only dream of.

Draco sat still in his chair, shocked that of all Healers from his department, Santa Marie wanted him. After the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco was determined to change the views people had of him. He was no longer the prejudice prat that he was at school. Draco Lucius Malfoy is now a matured, capable young man. He worked hard and was proud that he did everything on his own. No help from daddy dearest, no pressure of the Malfoy name. It was all him.

"I would love to take this job. When would I start?"

Draco finished filing his paperwork at the Ministry of Magic that was to be sent to the Magical Congress of the United States containing his work permit and all the necessary identification. Walking around London, he grew excited about it. It was a feeling he hadn't felt since he got his letter for Hogwarts.

The next thing he has left to do was to find housing. There was an office located in Diagon Alley that specialized in international real estate. Draco walked into the brightly lit office. Much to his surprise, Daphne Greengrass stood at the reception desk.

"Well, well. Long time no see, Malfoy," she said with a smile on her lips. He was quite relieved to see a familiar face. "Good to see you too, Daph. I'm checking in to see Ms. Moreau. I'm moving to America soon." Daphne was both shocked and impressed that Draco would be making such a big move. They chatted momentarily about the reason for him moving and she congratulated him. Soon enough, the real estate agent walked out and called Draco into her office.

She sat at her desk and gestured for him to take the seat opposite her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Malfoy."

"The feeling is mutual, Ms. Moreau," Draco had slightly bowed his head.

"Please, call me Gwen," she smiled as she reached to shake his hand, "I see from your paperwork that you're moving to America, correct?" he nodded his head in response. "Fantastic! Now, looking at the locations for Buffalo, we have quite a bit of selections from houses to flats. Of course, in America they're called 'apartments'. With your budget, you would be able to get this nice house that is just a 10 minute drive to the Apparition office to Santa Marie's." She showed Draco pictures of the house. It was quaint. An all white, one story house that had three bedrooms, a lifted porch, small kitchen, two bathrooms, trimmed green grass in front and a dark stained wooden fence that went around the house. Draco nearly fell in love with it. Its contrast to the Malfoy Manor was warm and inviting.

Gwen had shown him pictures of the other places she had gathered for him, but none of them peeked his interest as the first house did. It was quite silly as he thought about it. Most likely, he would be working long hours at the hospital to even be able to appreciate the home. It made more sense to get an apartment as he would most likely just use the space to sleep and eat. But the house was begging for him to live there. After about an hour long session, Draco made his final decision on the small house.

"Excellent choice, I had hoped you'd love it. Now, before I contact the sellers about your offer, I must let you know this before you sign anything," Draco shifted in his seat. Of course there had to be a catch. A house this perfect needed one thing to go wrong. Was it busted windows? A terrible neighborhood? Shitty pipelines? He nodded for her to continue.

"This is an integrated neighborhood. Both muggles and wizards live around and you might not know which are which for a while." Muggles. He sat in silence, staring down at the photos of the house. Did he really want a muggle neighbor? No, you're past this Draco thought. The old Draco wouldn't even give the place a second thought. But he wasn't him anymore. "I don't care. I'll take it."

—

You woke up in the morning, stretching your arms and legs out of the thick blanket. It was currently 8:47 am, your alarm clock beside you still had 13 minutes to alert you to wake up. Deciding to just get a head start on the day, you walked into the your bathroom and started your shower. The water was at the hottest you took and you went about your daily routine. You said your repeated incantations in the shower as you lathered yourself with soap:

Water, water, wash away. Water, water, cleanse today.

Walking out your shower, you grabbed your towel and recited the next spell as you dried yourself:

By the earth in the soap,

by the air in the steam,

by the fire that heats the water,

by the water that cleanses,

I am cleansed, clean, and ready for the day.

When you were 12 years old, you used to watch your grandmother perform Wicca in her bedroom. Your mother didn't particularly join in on the belief, but also didn't oppose to you starting alongside your grandmother when you turned 18. Now, you were almost 26 and still kept on the same practices.

On the contrary to people's interpretation or views of witchcraft, you called yourself a White Witch; someone who performs good magick upon selfless reasons. You never hexed anyone nor wished any ill fate. The Laws of Nature was surely watching at all times and if you did, expect to get the same fate but in threefold. Not that you even had any reason to do such things, anyways.

After getting ready, you grabbed your bag, keys — which held a protection charm — and went on your way to work. Your cat sat in her tower located in your living room and she watched you walk out. Getting into your car, you noticed movement next door. A big, moving truck was parked and a crew of movers carried furniture into the house. Finally, someone new you thought.

Feeling nosy, you sat patiently to figure out who it was moving next door. Was it a family? An elderly couple? Maybe newlyweds. Right when you were about to pull out of your driveway, a handsome blond stepped out of the house guiding the movers where things were going to be placed. You couldn't hear his voice, but could tell from the distance that it had to be attractive.

He looked around the street and caught you starting from your car. You hesitantly raised your hand to wave at him but was cut off by a man walking up to him with a clipboard gesturing where to sign. You looked at the time on your watch and nearly panicked at how the time passed, leaving you with only 15 minutes to get to work. Hauling ass, your car let a screech out as your foot punched the gas pedal. You'll be able to introduce yourself later, Y/N.

—

A few days passed and Draco was headed for the Apparition office to his new workplace. He had leased a new car to drive there. According to the Magical Congress, wizards and witches that lived in integrated neighborhoods must check in at Apparition offices to not raise suspicions from No-Maj. Seemed quite silly at first, but it really wasn't that big of a deal. He remembers the first time he went to Diagon Alley with his father through the Leaky Cauldron, finding it hidden with a wall that required taps against it. Behind it, a magical alley hidden from muggles.

He pulled into the office building lot with ease. It was clean on the outside and had a sign on top that only read MCA Co,. At the front door, there was a pin pad with numbers on it that kept it locked. Draco pulled the paper from his pocket and dialed the number. The door made a clicking noise which signaled that it was unlocked.

In the front was a young man sat at a reception desk typing away onto a computer. It was a strange sight for Draco as he's never seen one before. He walked up to the desk and waited for the person to acknowledge him.

"Hello, sir. Welcome to the Magical Congress' Apparition Office. May I see your ID pass, please?"!the accent was unfamiliar to Draco, but he nonetheless reached for the pass clipped to his trousers and gave it to the receptionist. He scanned the pass, handed it back to Draco and raised up from his chair to guide Draco to the door which had a direct line to the hospital. "Have a good day, sir!" were his last words before he went back to his desk.

Draco looked at the address once more before appariting into Santa Marie's. Here goes nothing.

—

It was a long day at the office. Setting up appointments with new clients, greeting all the new people he'd be working with, and a surprise welcome party to end it. Everyone he met had different variations of American accents. Some from Chicago, some from California, and some from the native state of New York.

A man by the name of Ian Parker helped Draco navigate around the building. Draco was quite relieved to hear that Ian had lived close by, just two blocks and a turn away. They had lunch together and talked about just simple things about each other. It felt nice to meet somebody and they not know who you are and things you've done in the past.

Once he got home, the first thing Draco did was start to run the shower, gathering his sleepwear as the water heated up. Not meaning to, Draco noticed how his bedroom window had perfect view of yours. To him, it was extremely odd.

You had faux vines that curled around your four-poster bed, a couple of plants that hung against the wall and posters of movies that Draco knows for a fact he's never seen in his life. You walked into your room and went up to a small drawer and dug through it. After a few seconds, you grabbed out some incense sticks, lit them and stood them on the stand that laid on your dresser. Afterwards, you sat on the floor with your legs crossed and started taking deep breaths.

Draco caught himself staring for too long and was about to head into the shower until he saw movement from the corner of his eye. There you sat, but this time, you held items in your hands. One held what Draco thought to be just some colorful rocks. The other hand held a bundle of herbs on fire at the tips. Your lips moved and it had Draco curious. Your hand with the herbs moved in a specific pattern, creating smoke around you. Once you finished, you set the rocks and herbs down at a table and left the room. That was odd. Draco thought. He passed it off and went on about his night.

—

"It was the weirdest thing I've ever seen. And trust me when I say that Hogwarts has its fair shares of odd moments," Draco sat in the break room with Ian and two other people, Ashley and Blaine. They laughed at the description Draco had of you and settled after Ian began his explanation.

"It seems that your No-Maj neighbor is considered a Wiccan." What in Merlin's name is that?

"Pardon? What's do you mean?"

"It's what they call witchcraft," Ashley added, "it became a popular thing after the Salem Witch Trials. Of course, there's no real magic to it like what we can do, but they nonetheless believe it works."

Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing. Muggles are trying to be witches? This was probably the last thing he ever thought he would hear. Inside, a familiar feeling had ignited. A feeling he had, or he supposed still had, for a certain species. He didn't like it but to find out that what he is had become a fantasy to be was upsetting. He was born into this life, not them. Not you.

—

It had been a really nice day at work. People had been kind and you sold out of a new oil you made. As you entered your home, your cat ran up to your legs and purred against you. You smile down at her and made your way to prepare your dinners.

She nibbled away at her bowl and you watched in content.

Outside, you heard a car pulling in. It's probably him. You peaked out the window in the living room and your guess was correct. He stepped out of a black car and walked to his door. You tried catching his attention by waving your arms about, hoping he glanced your way. When he did, you waved excitedly to him.

He stared at you with a straight face, no hint of any feeling. It was odd, people usually like you and wave back but this guy was just looking at you. Not doing anything. You looked around to see if there was something behind you, only to look back and see that he was gone. Ooo...kay?

You grabbed your sweater and decided to introduce yourself to your new neighbor. It had been almost a week and it seemed that he still hadn't acquainted himself to anyone on the street. The cool, spring breeze sent a pleasant chill down your spine as you walked on the sidewalk.

Once you stepped in front his door, you knocked three times. No answer. Three more times. No answer. The lights that were on had turned off and curtains had been shut in almost a blink of an eye. He had made it clear that he was not in a mood to talk to anyone. It slightly hurt your feelings, but you told yourself to not dwell on it. He's just tired from work. Just then, an idea popped in your mind as you headed back home.

—

"Stupid fucking muggle clock," Draco cursed as he was running around his bedroom getting dressed. He overslept by an hour and had 10 minutes to be in the Apparition office to go to work. Damn American laws.

He grabbed an apple, not his usual sour green one but a sweet red one this time, grabbed his bag and ran for the front door. Something taped to the door caught his attention and he halted his movements. It seemed to have been a note someone left. He unfolded the paper and read it to himself;

Hello! My name's Y/N and I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood! I hope we can become good friends~ if there's anything you need or if you'd ever like to get acquainted over coffee, please feel free to knock on my door! It'd be nice to get to know you :)

At the bottom of the note was a small drawing of a witches pointed hat and Draco immediately knew who left the note. Almost on instinct, the note caught on fire in his hands and the ashes fell to the ground. He dusted his hand off and went to work. As if we would ever become friends.

—

next chp

taglist: @beiahadid @malfoy-styles-wife @fivenightslaughter

[zalrb]

Confessing UOs to you because you're always amusing about them but never judgmental: 1. Rachel Green is a worse person than Ross Geller and actually by far the worst person of all the Friends 2. I like The Office but kind of roll my eyes at all the gifsets making it seem like Dwight and Jim are actually brothers or close friends despite their rivalry, because aside from like seven or so scenes throughout all nine seasons, their dislike of each other was genuine and deep 3. It makes me laugh that Team Jess vs Team Logan battles are still waging because both guys are AWFUL and Rory is even worse 4. For the first season or two of TVD, I genuinely liked Elena a lot and (even more of a UO) liked her a lot more than I liked Caroline 5. Luke Danes was a good friend but lousy romantic partner in countless ways, and don't even get me started on him inexplicably going from "all in" to "out" over the events in Wedding Bell Blues that were very clearly Emily and Christopher's fault rather than Lorelai's and then lying by omission about the existence of his long lost daughter from his fiance until she happened to figure it out on her own. 6. Andie was my very favorite Dawson's Creek character---even slightly more than Pacey. Thank you for reading!!

lmao i feel like i've gotten this exact list before.

1. i honestly think pretty much everyone is the same on friends tbh, ross does shitty things, rachel does shitty things, joey does shitty things, chandler does shitty things. monica gets worse in the later seasons and phoebe is pretty much the least offensive even though everyone made it seem like ross was a horrible person for not playing along with her delusion that her mother was a cat and not a lost pet and i was like LOL this is fucking ridiculous. her being irritated that ross is trying to push his belief of evolution on her is valid but when she finally gets him to open his mind a little and then insults him for abandoning his beliefs had me like lol k. i'm not saying i wouldn't do that, i'm just saying that's pretty shitty.

2. i just stay away from fandom things relating to the office now because i see all of these things like, yeah no.

3. you seem like a blog regular and potentially a blog OG, i feel like you know how much i hate rory and logan and how much the romanticization of jess makes me roll my eyes. i only understand team jess vs team logan debates when it comes to who is the better boyfriend for rory i.e. not who is the better boyfriend period, not who is the better man period, but who makes the most trash sense for the trash character that is rory.

4. i never particularly liked elena but she is certainly less offensive as a character in the first three seasons even though she started off with major, major character holes. (season 1 caroline ftw though)

5. yes, i've heard this before, i can understand his reaction in wedding bell blues though. because let's face it, going to the wedding of your girlfriend's parents, your girlfriend who you waited like a decade for, whose parents you were already nervous being around because you know they don't approve of you, and then the ex showing up, saying that your girlfriend's mother told him it wasn't too late to be with her all the while reminiscing about history and throwing it in your face that he's the father of your informally adopted kid, then your girlfriend is like oh btw i saw him a while ago and didn't tell you about it, altogether that's pretty bummy. and he needed time to process that. he doesn't actually blame lorelai, he's just like, they're never going to accept me and things like this are just going to keep happening and he was working through his anger and embarrassment but lorelai just wouldn't leave it alone so he says what i'm thinking right now is i can't do this, this is too much and lorelai just took it as a ok well we're going to break up. she didn't give luke the time. but yeah, the whole april scenario was handled extremely poorly. and lorelai's best match was jason anyway. i forgot how much i really liked them together. still like luke and lorelai, though ;)

6. pacey was still my favourite but pandie ftw!

[kitmon]

Keys Are Under the Mat {1/?}

Llewyn Davis x OC

Summary: Struggling singer/songwriter, Llewyn Davis, has faced the rough and tumble world of the music industry as well as the callous hand of life. When an up-and-coming folk singer makes a trip back home and finds herself at the hands of the battered down couch-surfer, her first thought is to offer him a bit of compassion.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sexual activity

“Hold me, while I cry into your coat

Tie the rope round my throat, why don't ya?

Did you even read the note I wrote ya?

Boy, you're my antido-o-o-o-ote

Baby, it's only you I dote"

Her delicate fingers danced along the strings of her amaranth-colored acoustic. It was a fairly new guitar, given to her by a rather close colleague. She used to play at the Gaslight Café exclusively in the late fifties, not because she particularly liked that venue, more so because they were the only ones who gave a fraction of a fuck about her shitty guitar with a few broken strings and a makeshift capo that was made in the bathroom 10 minutes before a show using a sharpie and a rubber band. The crowd was always friendly; never hostile or awkward, just... supportive which was always appreciated on her part. Having people enjoy or at least pretend to enjoy her music was comforting at the time. As of right now, she was only visiting for old times sake, nostalgia purposes.

The new guitar was a testament to the amount of shit she'd been through. I mean signing a record deal is a pretty big deal, right? Having people know your name and buy your album. I mean, she was no Bob Dylan but she'd get stopped in the street from time to time which was unquestionably a step up from the loogies and cat-calls sent her way. Even now, her appearance at the usually humdrum populated café has drawn more attention than anticipated. The seats were all taken and the rather small building held far more people than the fire marshal recommended, but what a turn-out it was.

The audience hummed the chorus, cautious to not tune out her newfangled voice as it continued, nonchalant as ever as if there were only a few unamused patrons sitting in the crowd, but there wasn't. The populace of Greenwich Village loved her. She made a shit-hole like Greenwich something for people to keep their eyes on. And she didn't disappoint.

Her eyes remained lowered as she rather curled into herself and let the song end with a guttural reverberation. There was a silence as her eyelids lifted marginally, letting out a few pants of air to recover. Then an uproar, a surge in applause! She glanced up and flashed a charming smile, one that only showed the top row of teeth and caused her childish eyes to crinkle as she let out a giggle, concealing her laughter from the large array of eyes with her dainty hands. She adjusted herself and lifted a hand to reach the microphone.

"Thank you, you guys are a lovely audience, much nicer than Queens," the crowd let out a dispersed chuckle at her humor and she smiled again at their enthusiasm. She loved this, the feeling of having immense support. It made her feel... alive, to say the least.

"Okay, I'll be back in 20, take it easy while I'm gone." She waved off the crowd, unfurling herself from her guitar strap and handed the instrument to the stagehand, thanking the man afterward. She smoothed out any puckers or creases found in her dress as she stepped down from the stage, heading towards Pappi and another bystander, one who looked as if he'd been sleeping on the floor for days. Poor sucker looked as if he didn't even own a winter coat.

Pappi's arms extended out towards her, inviting her into his embrace. "You did great, kid," her eyes brightened at the compliment as she wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her rosy cheek flush against his chest. The action should have been far more intimate than the two adults interpreted it, and most others would have perceived it that way as well. In fact, most familiars thought Pappi was fucking her most of the time.

Which he wasn't and neither one had ever considered it. Just business partners with an intimate brother-sister bond. Nothing more, Nothing less. The taller man, gripped her by her upper arms to gaze at her, with a gentleness, "Really, gave em a show."

"Aw thanks, Pappi, but I've got to admit that I'd still be singing songs on my back porch if it weren't for this dump." She jested, her hands hanging from her hips. Pappi let out a deep chuckle which was softened by her one-off laugh that wasn't exactly delicate or poised but was attractive in an unorthodox sense. The banter played out until somebody approached Pappi and tugged at the sleeve of his button-up to get his attention. She looked with furrowed brows and a curious expression as the man whispered in Pappi's ear with what appeared to be urgency. Pappi muttered a quick swear under his breath, and looked up at her with an apologetic frown and the same knitted brows she once wore.

"Sorry, kid. There's a few thugs out back making a mess," he patted her on the arm and told her he'd be right back after taking care of the 'mess'. Her head bobbed in understanding as her eyes watched as Pappi followed the man outback and into the fray. Her stare lingered on the door, but it was the serendipitous turn of her head that allowed her to acknowledge the ragged man sitting at the bar. His eyes fixated on the golden hue of the whiskey in his glass. She was almost certain he hadn't moved an inch since she came over, only stayed staring at the same glass of whiskey for at least five minutes. God, he looked like hell. His coat was hanging on by a thread, quite literally. Holes in miscellaneous places, unruly hair that looked like it hasn't been combed in days, shoes that looked soaked by the snow just outdoors and a runny nose that looked like the result of an oncoming cold. His wardrobe fitting flawlessly against the backdrop of the monochromatic greys and tans that made up the scene of New York in the Sixties. He looked familiar, she was sure of that. It was likely he'd played a few gigs at the Gaslight, same as her. Then again there were dozens of scruffy looking musicians who sidled into the Gaslight to perform, this one was hardly any different.

She sucked in a breath through her nose and ambled towards him, "So, you a friend of Pappi's?" Her elbows supported her weight against the hardwood bar, her fingers interlaced with each other as she peered down into the swirling rings of the once tall-standing oak. It took him a bit longer to register that she was speaking to him, "Oh, um, yeah, I guess..." His hand slipping up towards his face to rub at the skin, waking him up. His hooded eyes look over to her and away from that untouched glass of whiskey. Her laugh startled him, unexpected as it was. Her giggle was an unfamiliar sound. It shattered through the blaring car horns outside, the chatter of the audience, even threw the bullshit that spewed out of the radio sitting on the counter across from them. He just stared at her, unaware of just how ignorant someone would have to be to notice all the shit that's taking place everywhere around them and still have something to laugh about. It was selfish, but who wasn't these days. Everyone wanted others to be as devoid of joy as they were. Of course, there were a few stragglers who managed to keep a pep in their step and a smile on their faces. Those are the ones who get broken. They break down so quickly in a place that loses hope quicker than a bucket with gunshots loses water. But, she wasn't ignorant, and he knew this. She just decided to not take anybody's shit. And when nobody gives a fuck whether your dreams are accomplished or not, you learn to say fuck off right back. I guess that's what separates the losers from the winners. Her demeanor and the way she carried herself, with the balloon-sleeves and ruffled collar of her dress shirt, the way it was neatly tucked into her pinafore, it gave the impression that she was... incapable. But she was ten times more capable than almost everyone in that Café.

"If you don't mind me asking," she lifted her hand to wave down a bartender, not making eye contact with him until she knew someone was coming to attend to her request. "Got a name?" Her bright brown eyes locked with the gray and muddied irises of his own and it ignited a raft in his brain, making him adjust his position in self-consciousness.

"Um, yeah. Llewyn,"

Llewyn, Llewyn... she's heard that name before. She takes a sip from her glass of red wine the bartender had passed to her not to long ago. She takes a sip and contemplates why that name sounds so familiar.

"... Llewyn... Davis?"

It had slipped from her lips before she could even register it. And it surprised him, far more that she knew who he was. He couldn't remember meeting her or introducing himself to her before but then again, he was a performer. Not a very popular or reputable one mind you, but a performer none the less. She'd probably seen him at the Gaslight once before or something.

"Uh..., yeah... Hey, how'd you, um?"

"Oh, um I think I might own one of your albums. Inside Llewyn Davis, right?" The mention of his less than successful solo artist debut was a bit upsetting but he just dismissed it and looked away. "Yup... that's the one." His voice sounded disappointed and beaten but who could blame him. Chasing a dream so far that it only leads you to a dead-end can be frustrating.

"You know, I really enjoyed it," she mused, much to his disbelief but it must have only been out of politeness. "That makes one of us," he mutters, his frown dropping a millimeter or so. She couldn't decipher what he was referring to, but she could tell that whatever it was, it had sucked the rest of his joy and drive out of him. The business will do that to you, take a starry-eyed kid and promise them a dream only to drop them on their ass and tell them they'll never be more than a stand-in gig for a bunch of nobodies.

"I really loved the song— oh, how'd it go?" She pondered, the way her thick eyebrows scrunched up in concentration giving her the wonders of a child. The same way her determination to prove the potential the album had was childish. But it was the truth, she did enjoy the album and even recommended it to a few friends back when she bought it, now it just sits in a blue milk crate next to her record player, collecting dust. He gazed at her expectantly waiting to hear her utter at least a single lyric from his album.

"Oh!" She snaps her fingers in triumph, startling Llewyn once more. "It goes," and she readied her voice with a clearing of her throat and sang what she could remember. "Hang me, oh hang me, I'll be dead and gone," his eyes widened a bit at the surprise of her actually acknowledging his music, and the fact that she enjoyed it, no less. "Hang me, oh hang me, I'll be dead and gone," the lilt in her voice echoed through the Café and a few patrons stopped their chatter to cherish her sweet voice. The silence stuck around for a beat and her eyes fluttered open after her display.

"Yeah, that's it!" Her outburst wasn't expected and nearly knocked Llewyn out of his seat for about the fifth time.

"Yeah," he muttered, letting his eyes linger on her form a moment longer than he'd like to admit, brows furrowed in thinking. "Whad'ya say your name was again?" He questioned, curiosity getting the better of him. And there was that damn giggle again, opening his eyes to a whole new world of possibilities where you can giggle and laugh about things without having to feel sorry about the lack of a difference it makes. She answers and it's just nothing special but at the same time it feels like... a novelty. "Dorothy.”

[dylanwritesgood]

Ghost of You | 4

masterlist | ko-fi | ask

Part: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

Summary: Eddie was so full of life, so full of fire, Gareth thought he was invincible—until he wasn't. After the accident, Gareth can't let go. He's determined to talk to him one last time. The universe has other ideas though.

Rating: Mature (no sex, just a lot of death and heavy themes)

WC: 2,754

Warnings: Death, nonexplicit missing person/sexual assault/murder, grief, the occult

A/N: If you somehow missed it, there's a lot of death in this fic, and I've hinted that Heather had a violent one. This chapter is Heather-centricish so see the warnings and as always, message me for a TL;DR if you think you should sit a chapter out, okay?

Gareth’s suspicion that Heather would ask for help once Barb was satisfied had been correct. While Barb still had things she wanted to say to Nancy, she was growing more and more stable by the day so the desperation seemed to fade from her. Gareth wants to appreciate the break, but he notices Heather appearing far more often, looking anxious and trying to capture his attention. He’d thought she would have something to say to him, now that Barb had backed off somewhat, but she never actually said anything. He gives her a small smile when he sees her, trying to encourage her to tell him what she needs. He’s afraid she will fade into obscurity like Barb had begun to, especially since no one else knew for certain she was gone.

“You know it’s okay to talk to me, Heather, right?” Gareth says conversationally as he does the dishes one evening. His sister is over at a friend’s and his parents are on a date, so he has the house to himself to speak aloud to thin air. “If you need help, I’ll try. You saw me help Barb, right? I’ll help you.”

He can see her over his shoulder, reflected in the dark window over the sink. She blinks slowly, sad doe eyes soft and wanting, but she doesn’t part her lips. Gareth looks down to scrub a particularly stubborn bit of gunk, and when he looks back up, she’s gone.

He sees her again a few days later, sitting on the swing set in the Emersons’ backyard. Gareth pushes open the sliding glass door and crosses the narrow fenced yard to sit on the other swing. They sway together slightly in silence, watching Marple, his sister’s fat, old tabby cat bathe her paws in a sunny patch of grass. Marple doesn’t seem perturbed by Heather’s presence, though she fixes the dead girl with an unblinking golden stare for a few minutes, so Gareth knows she sees Heather, too. It makes him feel better, even though “Miss Marple’s lost her marbles” is a common joke in his household so maybe he shouldn’t feel less crazy just because the cat says so.

He sways, toes of his Converse still touching the ground slightly, watching the shapes they scuff in the dirt underneath his swing. It’s quiet, kinda nice for a change after the staticky radio background noise of Barb’s presence. He peeks sideways to see the brunette still sitting on the next swing over, looking tired and drawn but very much there. Solid.

“I don’t know what happened to you, but I’m sorry, Heather. I’d really hoped you’d made it out of here and were somewhere far away and happy,” he says, keeping his voice quiet. His mom’s in the kitchen, and while she can’t see him from there, the window’s open and he doesn’t want his voice to carry. Heather doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t leave, either.

“Do you remember Eddie? Y’know, the weird, loud guy that everyone hated? My friend?” He asks, and she doesn’t answer but he can see her face turn towards him from the corner of his eye. “He died. About a month ago. Car accident. I was just trying to see if I could talk to him one last time but, uh… haven’t found him. Found you and Barb, though. Or you found me, I dunno how it works. Guess I just… want to try and make something good out of this whole shitty mess. Maybe I’ll never get my best friend back, but maybe I can help others, y’know?”

Heather still doesn’t say anything, and Gareth is beginning to think maybe she can’t, the way Barb can’t be seen. She gets up from the swing as he watches her, looking towards the forest that crowds up to the picket fence demarcating the Emersons’ yard. One moment she’s on his side of the fence, the next she’s on the other and heading into the trees without a backward glance. She didn’t go through the fence, Gareth was certain. She just… existed in one place until she existed in another and he couldn’t quite find the exact moment in time she moved between them. He scrambles after her, vaulting over the low fence with ease as he tries to catch up. He can see her figure ahead of him in the trees, nearly out of sight, but she never quite leaves him.

Heather leads him for what feels like miles. The woods around Hawkins are both beloved for childhood adventures and sprawling enough that it’s easy to get turned around. Gareth grew up in them and he’s not a hundred percent sure where he is.

But Heather doesn’t leave him. She’s leading him somewhere. He knows she’s leading him because she waits for him after he trips over a root and stumbles. Waits until he’s staggered to his feet and found his bearings again before proceeding. So Gareth winds through the trees after her.

She takes him to a small clearing a few hundred feet into the trees from the narrow two-lane highway that snakes its way past the town and stops. Gareth looks around, but he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Heather holds out a hand to him, fingers outstretched as if inviting him to tangle his with hers like they were holding hands on a stroll through the woods.

Her palm is icy against his, and as soon as he touches her, he’s hit with an onslaught of images, disjointed and distorted. He’s standing on the same highway, closer to town, a thumb stuck out and walking backwards down the shoulder as he watches approaching traffic, looking for someone to slow down. It’s not his hand he’s holding up, his nails aren’t painted bubblegum pink. A green Chevy truck slows and pulls off, Gareth’s leaning in the window. 

The scene jumps, he’s looking over the dash through the dirty windshield. The guy who picked him up—Heather up—is blonde and in his early thirties. He has a hand on Gareth’s knee, thumb rubbing into the skin of his thigh below his—Heather’s—cutoffs. Gareth is being dragged, fingers tangled in his long hair and a hand over his mouth to muffle his cries for help as he’s yanked along. He’s thrown to the ground in that clearing, a hand is fumbling for the button of his shorts, two hands are on his throat, squeezing. 

He’s standing beside the blonde man, looking down at Heather’s lifeless, violated body. He’s still standing there, looking down, as the man drags her body by the wrists to dump her in a shallow grave scratched into the leaf-strewn forest floor.

Just as suddenly as he was in the vision, Gareth’s back in reality, doubled over and emptying his stomach onto the ground. Heather’s quietly standing by, watching him the same way she watched her own body receive an undignified burial. Gareth spits, pants, and then straightens up once he’s sure he’s gotten it all up. He notices vaguely that he’s trembling, but that happens a lot, now. He meets Heather’s eyes.

“I’ll tell Hopper.”

She’s gone in the blink of an eye.

It takes Gareth the rest of the afternoon to find his way back into town. He marked a trail as he walked through the woods towards the highway, taking stock once he’d reached the road and trying to figure out exactly where he is. There’s a mile marker not far from him, so he makes note of the number on it and turns to follow the empty highway back to town.

"Can I please just talk to Chief Hopper?” Gareth pleads with Florence, the secretary-slash-dispatcher of the Hawkins Police Department, “It’s important.”

Flo is unmoved by the teenager’s strained tone. “You can talk to Officer Callahan, young man. He’s more than capable of taking your report,” she says pertly.

Gareth doesn’t want to talk to Officer Callahan—he needs to talk to the Chief, who was the only member of the Hawkins PD Eddie had trusted. He might be dead, but Eddie had been well-acquainted with the entire tiny police force in Hawkins, and Gareth trusts his judgment when he’d told his younger friend to only ever speak to Hopper.

“Look, I’ll wait if I need to, but I need to speak to the Chief.”

“He’s not in and he won’t be in. You’ll be waiting a long time if you’re waiting on the Chief,” Florence retorts.

Gareth tugs at his hair in frustration, pacing a few steps back and forth in front of Flo’s little domain. Hopper was the only one Gareth trusted not to have him fuckin’ committed when Gareth told him that he knew where to find Heather Holloway’s body because she’d shown him.

“Do you’ll know when he’ll be in?”

Flo looks pointedly at the clock hanging in the tiny lobby space. “Well, he was supposed to be here five hours ago and he hasn’t been so—”

Her sharp-tongued reply is cut short by the front door banging open as the man in question steps through. Hopper dominates the space, not just because he towered over Gareth, but in the kind of way authority does to you. Hopper’s the king of this domain, even if Flo’s sour expression leaves him looking at least a little apologetic for his tardiness.

“Afternoon, Flo… kid,” he greets them as he crosses the space to pull open the door leading to the rest of the station—and his quiet office, where he can doze off the rest of this hangover. 

Gareth’s too distracted by the child following Hopper that no one else acknowledges. Okay, so it’s probably just him who sees her, though she hasn’t noticed that Gareth’s noticed her because she’s trailing after Hopper and looking up at his face. God, this is never going to get less fuckin’ weird, is it?

“Nice of you to join us today in the land of the living, Jim,” Florence greets him with an annoyed expression, “This young man here was looking for you. Says he has something to tell you and only you.”

Hopper takes a better look at Gareth, hand resting on the doorknob and the door cracked open as he pauses. Gareth thinks the Chief looks like he’s desperately coming up with an excuse as to why he can’t talk to Gareth so he can sleep off his obvious hangover but he’s coming up blank. Hopper squeezes his bloodshot eyes closed for a moment and blows out a breath.

“Sure. C’mon, kid,” he says as he gestures for Gareth to follow him. 

Gareth does, careful not to tread on the little girl who is clinging to Hopper’s wake. If Hopper notices how Gareth steps around something that isn’t there, he doesn’t say anything. Hopper settles behind his desk, rifling around for a pen to go with his notepad.

“What’s your name, kid, and what was so important you could only tell me?”

Gareth takes one of the seats positioned on the other side of the desk, perching on the edge of it because he really wants to bolt but he promised Heather he’d take care of her.

“It’s Gareth… Emerson,” he adds quickly, “And uh, I know what happened to Heather Holloway.”

Hopper draws in a surprised breath through his nose and sits back in his seat, eyebrows raised as he studies the teenager across from him. Gareth can’t help but squirm. His problem with authority wasn’t as deep-seated as Eddie’s but it was still uncomfortable to be here in Hopper’s office. He forces his chin up a little—he didn’t do anything wrong, there’s no reason to cower.

“And how would you know about that, Gareth?” Hopper’s voice is surprisingly free of suspicion, but he’s curious. Gareth’s still on guard though.

“First off—I wasn’t even in the state when she went missing if you’re thinking that,” he says defensively, “But she showed me.”

“She… showed you?” Hopper says, incredulous. If his eyebrows drift any higher, they’ll float right off his forehead, Gareth thinks to himself. “And just how did she show you? And if she showed you, why isn’t she here with you?”

“She’s dead—you know that. I know she’s officially still missing, but… you don’t think she’s still alive,” Gareth says. He’s not quite sure how he knows that but he just does. Hopper looks unsettled for a split second before his cop-face comes back up. “Listen, promise me you’ll hear me out before you say anything, okay?”

Slowly, Hopper nods, reaching for his pen without breaking eye contact. Gareth takes a deep breath, glancing at the little girl peeking around the edge of Hopper’s desk at him curiously. Hopper follows his gaze and frowns when he doesn’t see what distracted the teenager.

“So, um… I’ve started seeing Heather. Well… Heather’s ghost, I guess, because Heather’s dead and living people don’t show up in reflections and disappear by the time you turn around. It’s been maybe two weeks of her just… lurking around, and I tried to talk to her today. She didn’t say anything but she tried to get me to follow her. Took me out to a clearing not too far off Highway Nine. She’s buried there.”

Hopper hasn’t written a goddamn thing down, he’s just looking at Gareth with that same perturbed expression Gareth gets a lot these days.

“Okay. I’m going to assume you’re not pulling my leg and you’re not crazy here. I’ll bite—why do you think she’s buried there?” He finally replies after an uncomfortably long silence.

“I’m not crazy!” Gareth snaps, before looking chastened, “I’m not crazy. I feel crazy and talking about this isn’t fun, but I’m not crazy, and I’m not lying.”

“Okay. Did you dig her up or something?” Hopper presses. Gareth looks horrified.

“No! Jesus, I’m not stupid enough to go dig up a crime scene. I told you. She showed me.”

“Showed you,” Hopper repeats, brows lowering now.

Gareth wets his lips nervously and tries his best to describe the broken, disoriented memories he’d seen when Heather had taken his hand. Hopper still hasn’t written anything down, he’s just watching Gareth with an impassable expression as the teen talks. When Gareth falls quiet, Hopper makes a decision and heaves his frame out of his chair.

“C’mon, kid. Show me where you found her.”

It’s an awkward, quiet ride out to the mile marker Gareth shared with Hopper. He looks out the windshield of the Blazer, peering over the dashboard and being struck with how similar the view is to Heather’s last hour. His stomach rolls hard at the thought and he needs to throw up, but Hopper’s already pulling over. They’re there. Gareth staggers out of the Blazer, willing his stomach to settle.

“Alright kid. Now what?” Hopper asks. He’s rifling around the back of the SUV and emerges with a full-length shovel slung over his shoulder.

“I marked a path,” Gareth manages, jerking his head towards the woods. “It’s this way.”

He’s unsteady as he leads Hopper deeper into the trees. The air here’s suffocating, pressing down on Gareth like two hands on his throat. He glances at Hopper to find he looks unsettled, too. Gareth’s glad he’s not the only one to notice. After a few more moments of walking—and a brief interlude as Gareth has to search around to pick his trail back up—they reach the clearing. Gareth knows it’s the right place because Heather’s standing in the clearing, looking at the ground at the base of a thick oak tree. Hopper surveys the little space.

“You know exactly where she is or do we just start digging and hope we get lucky?” He asks, taking off his sunglasses and hooking them in the front of his shirt.

“She’s there, by that tree.” Gareth points, still looking at Heather. She looks up to meet his eyes, still so sad, but now there’s a fire burning in them. They’re going to get her justice.

Hopper digs where Gareth indicates, and it only takes a few shovelfuls of packed earth before Hopper swears under his breath and stoops to look more closely at something in the dirt. He looks up at Gareth, who’s been avoiding looking toward the Chief as he dug.

“Kid, I’m gonna need you to make a statement back at the station and, uh, just to be sure, I’m gonna need you to tell us who we can talk to about where you were last summer.”