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lemotmo · 4 months ago

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Some of them clearly got the point of Tim's call-out.

Q. What did you make of Tim's interview? I realize the bulk was Lonestar but the fandom stuff was interestingly phrased. The fact that so many people involved with the show, and now the showrunner himself, are openly discussing how bad things are cannot be a good sign. I know we had some fans who were saying we could 'bully' Tim and the show into giving us more Tommy but I think that was a massive mistake in hindsight. I think certain people got carried away and went way too far. Weather their intentions were ever bad or not I just think some people took the bullying idea too far. I'm a little worried we may not see Tommy at all now.

A. The bullying idea was always going to be a massive mistake. Normally you can take Tim's interviews with a bit of 'lol, why is he so dramatic' because he's not immune to getting his feelings hurt, and using his interviews to tell people that. In this case though it was definitely a direct callout. I have been here from the beginning and the show has never experienced anything close to what they have experienced this off-season. It's one thing to root for a particular show ship it's another thing entirely to openly send, and openly encourage others, to send hate to the cast and creators of a show. Then those same fans dragged the lighting director, director of photography, show directors and professional media members who have covered the show for years into their bullying game as well. It was insane, pathetically immature behavior. At times it was also incredibly disturbing. And every single bit of it can be traced back to the cameo videos. The second the storyline they were paying to be told didn't match the storyline we were actually watching they revolted.

And unfortunately because I think Tim, and ABC, just didn't think they were anything worth paying attention to initially, he was allowed to do them way too long. The more he did the more obsessed with him that particular group of people became. This has nothing to do with 911. Those people aren't at all interested in 911. Their entire interest is Lou and Lou alone. It's a small group of people. A small sick group of people who created a bunch of separate accounts in order to appear to be more people than they actually are (and they were stupid enough to openly admit that is what they did). Then that small group of people got together and from every single one of their many accounts they attacked as a group. They started with Oliver. They pointed out that Oliver wasn't interacting with Lou or engaging with any of them, or B/T content, and decided, at least initially, that he was solely to blame for B/T not getting the attention they thought it deserved, again the Buck part they don't care about. They were upset that they weren't seeing more of Tommy and they blamed Oliver for that. Suddenly Oliver was being tagged in posts that were calling him unprofessional, immature, bratty, selfish, and because of course, homophobic (they're really not a bright group of people). However instead of taking their bait and engaging with them, Oliver, rightly, blocked them. Meaning they needed a new target. Briefly it became Tim because their moronic leader screenshot a message she sent him that he, stupidly, responded to. She took that and spun and ENTIRE relationship theory and spread it through her many accounts. Tim then admitted in another comment that he actually didn't know what she was talking about but didn't want to be rude by continuing to ignore her so he responded to her. He then said that was a mistake and he wouldn't be responding to anything else. And he hasn't (she should be very embarrassed by his interview today because he may as well have used her name). And the show also continued to not align with her/their theory and they got more upset. Then found a new target.

Throughout the season Oliver did what Oliver has always done. Oliver posted, liked and promoted Eddie/Buddie/Buckley Diaz family content. He has always done this. This was nothing new. But it infuriated Lou's fans and they turned their anger on Ryan. Suddenly Eddie was the worst character in the history of television. He was an abuser (to Buck especially), he was a user (of Buck especially). He was a terrible friend (to Buck especially). Depending on the day he was either a deadbeat dad or obsessed with his kid in an unhealthy way (they couldn't ever really decide which way to go on this one. That opinion was dependent on how the poster felt about Chris). When that attack didn't really get the attention they were begging for, they changed direction and made it personal. Post after post, that Ryan was always tagged in, calling him racist, a deadbeat dad, an asshole, unprofessional, manipulative and controlling of Oliver (wtf, god they really are a stupid group of people), a whore (I actually read that one myself, it was a trip), a terrible actor that only has a job because Tim thinks he's hot. And so on and so on. At first Tommy didn't kiss Eddie because Ryan is homophobic and refused to do the storyline, then Tim, very publicly, corrected that lie so Lou's fans had to pivot and said Lou actually refused to do the Eddie storyline because he knows Ryan isn't a good guy ( a special kind of crazy that makes me need to drink ). Then they sunk to their sickest, lowest, most pathetic, vile, disturbing, and inexcusable moment. Ryan did a podcast where he discussed his past mental health struggles and suicidal thoughts. They went into the comments on the podcast and told Ryan that they wish he had committed suicide. That if he had killed himself then Tommy could have his screen time and they wouldn't have to see Buck have scenes with Eddie. Not only did they leave those comments (the podcast has since deleted most of them, thankfully), they sent similar messages directly to Ryan on Instagram. Knowing he would see them. It was appalling and very, very disturbing. The cameo videos ended fairly shortly after. These people are sick. They get zero sympathy or understanding from me. It's a fucking television show. Tommy is not a real person. Ryan is a real person.

As for maybe not seeing Tommy at all, I would imagine conversations have certainly taken place. He was never sticking around permanently. The conversations most likely involved deciding if they needed him at all, and if they did, how many actual scenes did they need him for. I don't work on the show, but if they decided he wasn't necessary to the storyline, and they could get away with his stuff happening off screen I would imagine he's been dismissed. They probably decided they needed him at least for a few scenes though. Unless other things happened behind the scenes we're not aware of he will be around the first few episodes at least and then and probably no more. He can take his tiny army with him when he leaves. No one will miss them.

Okay, just ... yeah, all of this. It's crazy how these people did all of these horrible things in the name of... a ship? I mean, what?

I've been in fandom for a very long time and I have been shipping characters for a very long time, but I've never seen behaviour like this. Behaviour where people think they are justified to bully, harass and vilify the actors playing a character on a TV-show. To the point where they get blocked by the actors and crew.

I don't understand what would drive someone to do that? I genuinly don't.

These are the kind of people that need to put down their phones forever, go outside and touch all the grass they can touch. After that they should never watch 911 again. If you don't like something, just walk away. I have done that before. Shows don't always go where a fan wants it to go.

Look. I want Buddie. You all know that. I'm 99% certain that we're getting Buddie in season 8. But, if it turns out we won't, which is always a possibility since I don't know what Tim is cooking up, I will be disappointed, but I won't start spewing hatred all over the place. I will just take a step back and focus on other things in life. I'll keep shipping Buddie and read fanfiction. I'll be fine here in my Buddie corner of the Internet with my Buddie mutuals.

So yeah, this is insane behaviour to me. I truly don't get it.

Thanks Nonny for dropping this in my inbox!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting these anon OP updates instead of reblogging. Don't get mad at me. There is a reason for it and it's all done with consent from the OP. You can find out more about that here.

Remember, no hate in comments or reblogs. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of the anonymous OP’s posts, you can find all of their posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

#anonymous blog I love #insight into 911 fandom & season 7 and 8 #BT fandom #oliver stark #ryan guzman #911 abc #nonnies galore

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 3 months ago

Text

The hills turn crimson as I take your hand in mine (part 1)

Detective!Shanks x reader. Modern AU. As usual, NSFW!! This is part one of two.

Title inspired by a verse of Left on Mars by Marko Hietala & Tarja Turunen.

Discussion of child kidnapping and child abuse but nothing graphic is shown. Characters deaths (not Shanks or reader), two past and one in the course of the story. Luffy and Zoro are both nine, Shanks is in his late twenties.

Animanga characters who have not (yet) appeared on the show are mentioned; Shanks is Roger’s and Rayleigh’s son.

*****

Shanks realises he’s not in his bed even before he opens his eyes.

First of all it’s the mattress. He chose a relatively hard one when he moved into his flat, not to the point that he might as well have been sleeping on the floor but almost, but the surface he is lying on now feels much softer, his body literally drowning in the foam; Shanks is not even sure of how he’s going to stand from it, given the fact he now has only one harm to heave himself up.

Then there’s the music. Not live music, courtesy of his neighbour Yorki, a talented musician who sometimes starts practising with his violin at dawn, but on the radio, the notes of a soft jazz piece gently wafting towards him; not at all unpleasant, but not something he’s used to hearing, especially in the morning.

And then there’s the smell in the air; not of coffee, but of tea - something Shanks hasn’t drunk in years and is pretty sure he has never bought to keep in the pantry.

No, the one he has just awoken in is not his bed, and he is not in his home; even in his half-awake state, it takes Shanks a minute to realise whose bed he is currently occupying and how he got there, and a happy, excited smile opens on his lips. Ah, if only he had known deciding to go for a hamburger last night would have such delicious consequences…

“Are you awake?”

Startled for a moment -he has never liked being snuck up on, especially after his accident- Shanks turns on his back and then sits up; as he had guessed, it requires a decent effort, but he manages. “Just woken up. Hi, (name).”

The woman that greeting is directed to smiles warmly at him. She’s walking into the room, a tray in her hands, that she places on the bedside table before walking to the closest window to open it, and let the cool morning air envelop the room.

“I was wondering if you’d remember my name.” (name) confesses as she sits on the edge of the bed; she’s wearing the same shirt she had last night when she and Shanks met at the hamburger kiosk, without a bra underneath, and a different pair of panties, her lovely legs, that felt so good intertwined around his hips as they fucked, left bare.

Shanks smiles; he’s completely naked and doesn’t bother covering up, both because he sees no use for it and because he has every reason to believe the woman in front of him appreciates the view. “I found your passport in the drawer.”

“Ah, that explains everything…”

They share a smile, natural and relaxed despite the potential embarrassment of the morning after, just like easy and friendly was the conversation they found themselves engaged in as they queued at the kiosk -the best among the many in the city, they agreed- both famished at the end of a long work-day but unwilling to cook. Both planned to go enjoy their food at home, but they somehow ended up sharing one of the few tables near the kiosk, eating and then drinking and talking about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing natural and pleasant even though they had just met.

Shanks told her about him, of how he had left the Police Department a year ago after the loss of his arm to work in the investigative agency of his best friend; (name) told him about her passion for photography, that was also her passion as both a professional photographer and a teacher. He thought she was vivacious, funny, with a nice smile and lovely legs; it was good talking to her, like he had seldom experienced with a person he had just met.

Shanks can’t say who kissed who first; what he remembers is that he offered to walk (name) to the bus stop, both because it had gotten very late and because he genuinely enjoyed her company, and suddenly he had his back pressed against a wall, the woman’s lips pressed against his, his arm wrapped around her waist. They had been kissing frantically for several minutes when “Do you wanna come to my place?” (name) whispered in his ear, and Shanks had never nodded faster, or more enthusiastically, in his life. He held her hand while on the bus, and clothes started flying off as soon as the flat’s door had closed behind them. It was the first time Shanks had sex since the loss of his arm, but he had no time to reflect on it, too busy kissing the warm skin he had just exposed and listening to the lovely moans (name)’s equally delicious lips were producing, half of them of his name.

And now this: the morning after. There are some decisions he has made Shanks regrets, or is not particularly proud of, but the one of letting (name) take him home is neither of those things; he only needs to look at her, at her smile, at the hopeful look in her eyes, to be sure. It’s far too soon to make plans, but who knows, this could be the beginning of something beautiful…

“I had a lovely time.” (name) murmurs after a while; she doesn’t seem shy exactly, rather… cautious, as if still not fully sure of how her confidence might be received “I mean, I do think you’re very handsome, but… I don’t know, it’s like I had known you forever; It’s been nice talking to you, as well as everything else.”

Shanks’ smile feels almost too large for his face. “It was indeed.” he says, and then he can’t help it, he kisses her again, and (name) kisses him, sweet and passionate and with her hand resting on the back of his neck, and God, Shanks is ready to beg her to let him spend the rest of the day in her bed - preferably not alone.

“I brought breakfast.” (name) points out after a while; she takes both mugs from the tray she had brought from the kitchen -because there must be a kitchen in the flat; Shanks can’t say, since last night she dragged him directly into the bedroom- and offers one to Shanks, who accepts it gratefully… before the already-perceived smell reaches his nostrils.

“This… is tea.” he realises, observing the crimson-coloured circle of liquid in his hands.

“Exactly; an old family recipe, I literally can’t live without it… what’s wrong?” (name) asks, suddenly crestfallen as she notices Shanks’ expression “You don’t like tea?”

“No, no; I do like it, but… I usually drink coffee in the morning; I can’t wake up otherwise.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I don’t drink coffee.”

“So… you don’t have any?”

“No.”

The idea of starting a day without coffee is almost unbearable, but Shanks knows it would be highly ungrateful to complain about something that is being offered to him, so he takes a sip of his tea, and is pleasantly surprised by the rich, strong aroma. “This is… very good.”

“Isn’t it? I’ve probably drunk more tea than water since I was twelve.”

(name) has also prepared pancakes, two generous portions with maple syrup just like he likes them. They eat sitting on the bed and feeding each other, quietly enjoying each other’s company and the soft jazz music enveloping the room; it’s a lovely moment that, Shanks reflects, will end soon, like lovely moments are wont to do.

“Listen, I’d love to stay longer, if you’re not busy, but I need to be in the office in less than an hour.” he murmurs after a while, and (name) nods, clearly disappointed but not surprised: after all working on a wednesday is the norm.

“Of course; I have a few things to do as well.”

“Right. And, err, I know we have agreed the kiosk’s hamburgers are the best in the city, but I was thinking that if you’re free you’d let me take you…”

(name) has lit up, clearly anticipating an invitation she’s sure to accept; Shanks is thrilled… at least until his phone’s ringtone fills the room, completely, if not definitely, ruining the mood.

“Are you late for work already?” (name) asks, clearly disappointed “It’s only seven-thirty…”

“I… don’t think so; just give me a second…”

Their clothes are scattered around the room; (name)’s panties are hanging from the foot board, while Shanks’ beloved straw hat has been placed neatly on a chair, the only item that wasn’t simply abandoned on the floor or thrown on top of the furniture in the heat of passion. “You look so good with it on.” she told him last night as they kissed, stark naked on the bed “I want you to fuck me wearing it…”

He did. Shanks allows himself a moment to savour the memory before retrieving his phone from his leather jacket’s pocket. He looks at the name on the screen, and for a moment he’s brought back to almost exactly a year ago, when he could still clap, and easily tie his shoes, and was still a promising police agent who would probably become a Bureau Chief by the time he’s thirty-five. “Commander.”

“Shanks. I’m sorry, I know it’s early.” the gruff voice of his old superior, Monkey D. Garp, admits.

“It’s alright.” Shanks lies; they haven’t spoken since he left the force a year ago, and no matter how well they got along Garp would not call simply to inquire about his health, especially not this early in the morning “What happened?”

Garp hesitates for a moment before answering - unusual, for such a direct, no-nonsense man; Shanks can almost see him, already in his office despite the early hour, staring at the city’s skyline out of the wall window behind his large desk, phone pressed against his ear.

“A child has gone missing.” the commander explains in the end “I need you to take care of it.”

Shanks blinks. A child’s disappearance is a serious matter, but… “Sir… I resigned from the force.” he points out, feeling a bit foolish since Garp is well aware of the fact “And you know several qualified people for a case like that. Captain Belle-mère of the Missing People Department could…”

“I’m asking you, Shanks; as a favour, if you will, since I can’t put anyone here on the case. And I want you to keep this for yourself; no one else has to know.”

Shanks is quickly briefed on the case: the child’s name is Luffy, nine years old; twenty-four hours ago his parents went to wake him up for school, and found his bed empty. The child has virtually disappeared in thin air, leaving no trace; the family hasn’t received a ransom demand, but Garp himself is convinced that Luffy, an adventurous soul with the desire to travel the world, left of his own accord, unaware of the dangers he could meet.

“I still don’t understand why you’re asking me.” Shanks insists as he returns to sit on the bed; the mental image of a nine-year-old vanished from his home, either at the hands of unscrupulous criminals or in any case alone in the world, does not leave him indifferent, but he has already decided there is something very fishy about this, a police commander asking a former agent to investigate a disappearance case in secret, and as much as he still respects and trusts Garp, Shanks wants no part in it.

“I thought you were a detective.”

“I am a detective.” he clarifies; and a pretty good one at that, he mentally adds, now that he and Benn had started making a name for themselves “And something I like is my clients being honest about the reasons they hire me. Tell me the truth and I… may do it.”

A sigh. “I’m sorry, Shanks; I can’t.” Garp explains, and he does sound sincerely regretful “But I need you to trust me, and do this. I know you’re no longer part of the force, but I thought you’d be willing to help, given the fact a child is missing. Of course, if you’re happy investigating cheating husbands and serving legal papers, I’ll let you go back to your work…”

(name) is now kneeling on the bed behind him; she starts kissing his neck, her hands moving up and down his sides, and Shanks sighs, dearly wishing he could just close the call and focus on her. “This is -hnnn- playing dirty, commander.”

“You’ll be paid for your trouble.”

“I don’t care about the money.”

“Then I won’t.” the older man retorts, not missing a beat “There’s something else; since the child left no trace, I need you to contact someone who will find the child.”

“You’re not saying...”

“An Hound. Yes.”

Shanks has never been so close in his life to hanging up on someone; his whole body has tensed, not as a result of the tender ministrations of the woman behind him, but in the wake of an unpleasant, painful memory that has suddenly filled his mind. “No.” he states; he has to control himself in order not to shout “No Hounds. You know I don’t work with those people, with those… scammers. Garp, Hounds are con artists who prey on the fear and pain of others. I’m sorry for this child, I really am, but I don’t work with scum like that; find someone else.”

They discuss about it for a while more, and no matter how determined Shanks is to stand firm in his convictions, Garp is well-known for his tenacity and has clearly taken the case of little Luffy’s disappearance at heart, enough not to take no for an answer, even if it means resorting to emotional blackmail. In the end, Shanks hears himself capitulating; he’ll work with the Hound his former commander has tasked him to contact, and do his best to retrieve Luffy. I’m doing this for the child, he tells himself, already ashamed for having accepted, I’ll find him, make sure he’s safe, and then I’ll never have to talk to this guy again. I don’t have to make friends with him, I don’t have to like him: the only thing that matters is that he can actually find Luffy.

“I’ll send the child’s things to your place.” Garp says; though still tense, his former commander doesn’t even try to hide his satisfaction at having won their verbal skirmish, and for a single moment Shanks really, deeply hates him “And you already have Luffy’s picture and the Hound’s address; make sure not to mention me, and find a way to ensure she’s collaborating.”

It takes Shanks a moment to decipher the meaning of those words. “You mean this guy doesn’t know yet?!” he asks, and now he is screaming “And why shouldn’t I mention you?”

“Good-bye, Shanks.”

“Wait a moment! Garp, why shouldn’t the Hound…”

“I’m sure you’ll do your best as usual. Thank you.”

His former commander, it turns up, has no qualms about hanging up on people, unlike him. Shanks swears under his breath, and as he looks once more at the screen of his phone he notices he has a new text, received almost ten minutes ago: Garp sent him the address before even calling to ask for his help, already confident Shanks would accept the task.

Ok, now I really hate him. It doesn’t change the fact that I gave him my word, but I really do…”

He gently taps the screen to open the text, and find himself face to face with the sunny smile of a dark-haired child, sitting on the grass in his white shirt and jean shorts; a happy, apparently healthy normal child, who has disappeared from his bed leaving no trace behind, and whose family is now fearing the worst. Shanks has seen, or heard of, several cases like his during his years in the force, and not all of them had a happy ending - far from it.

Shanks knows Garp has been less than honest with him; why has the commander contacted a former agent to search for the child? Why doesn’t he want the Hound to know he is involved? He doesn’t know, like he has no idea of what happened to Luffy; but looking at the little face on his phone, Shanks decides he will - he will find the child, hopefully safe and sound, and return him to his parents. Police matters are no longer his concern, and Garp can’t force him to work on the case, especially if the older man wants his involvement to remain secret, but Shanks has to admit it, he can’t simply forget about it: a child is missing from his home, potentially because he has been kidnapped, and he has to do whatever he can to find him, not because he has promised or will be paid for it…

He has to; even if it means having to work with the sort of people he normally would cross the street in order not to meet.

With a sigh, he touches the screen again to return to the text the picture is attached to - no message, just the address Shanks has to go meet the Hound and ensure his cooperation. An address Shanks quickly realises he knows already…

He blinks, for a moment too flabbergasted to believe his own eyes; but he’s seen the street sign as he -they- got off the bus, and while he was too focused on the soft, warm body pressed against his as they crossed the building’s door, he’s pretty sure he remembers the small number next to it.

And then the name - first and last. Not particularly unusual, but on top of all the rest, it turns what could have been a simple coincidence into… what? A sign of destiny?

Focused as he was on the conversation con Garp, Shanks has momentarily forgotten he is not alone in the room; he is still coming to terms with the revelation as he turns, facing the person who has just heard him heavily insult and disparage her kind.

Shanks has already lost an arm, but right now he would happily sacrifice the other, and both of his legs, for the floor to open under his feet and swallow him whole.

(name) is sitting cross-legged on the bed, her eyes fixed on him; she doesn’t seem angry -and she would have every right to be, given what she heard him say, Shanks realises- but she has stopped smiling.

Your bedroom is empty when you return to it after your shower, a scene that fills your heart with sadness for a moment even though you can hear Shanks in the kitchen, walking around the cramped room as he finishes his tea.

“So.” she starts in the end, breaking what to Shanks has felt like the most awkward silence of all times “It seems like you have a proposition for me.”

It’s you who asked him to leave, because you needed a bit of privacy for your shower and, most of all, to reflect on what you had unwittingly learnt as you listened to his conversation on the phone, a request Shanks has acquiesced without arguing, no doubt because he still hoped to convince you to help him, and also, just maybe, because he was sorry.

You really wish you could know which reason was more prominent.

With a sigh, you leave your bath towel on the back of the chair before walking to your closet to unenthusiastically pick the clothes for the day; you feel melancholic and self-conscious, which is disappointing, because you had started today better than any day in the last few years, happy and satisfied side by side with an handsome man you had immediately felt a connection with, even though you had just met him. Talking to him had been pleasant and exciting, the sex just as much; he was even more attractive, his smile even more charming, in the morning light than he had been last night as you kissed passionately near the bus stop, and when you realised he was about to ask you out, you felt your heart burst with joy…

And then that damned phone call had to ruin everything you think resentfully as you choose a comfortable pair of jeans and an old shirt; you have better clothes, things Shanks would appreciate seeing you wear, but you’re not in the mood to doll yourself up.

You can’t blame Shanks; not about that, at least. He did tell you he had been a police officer once, and Garp’s call had clearly taken him by surprise; also, since the case concerned a missing child, can you really blame him for wanting to do whatever it takes to find him, including asking for your help?

Whatever it takes. This is the most embarrassing, most humiliating side of the whole matter; that Shanks considers working with you a sacrifice to be made, an ordeal to bear for the sake of the child. It was so mortifying to hear him bad-mouth you over the phone, you felt the impulse to run away from your own home, even though you had done nothing wrong.

Well, clearly the problem is not you personally, you reflect as you get dressed and then quickly retrieve your shoes from under the bed, rather what you are; after all Shanks hadn’t known about your ability when he spoke to Garp, so there isn’t much you can accuse him of, given that lack of timing is not a crime.

A Hound. This is what you are, a term you don’t necessarily like -after all you’re not a dog, it’s not your nose you rely on and what you find are people, not truffles or badgers- but that you must admit clearly describes what you can do, and this no one knows it better than commander Garp. You’re not surprised that he asked for your help, but after what happened years ago you did tell him you wanted to stop, that you could no longer take responsibility for what you did, and now a child is in danger, a child that for all you know might have been kidnapped and sold into slavery, or worse, but you can’t do it, Garp and Shanks can find someone else, there are other Hounds in the country, you just want to go on with your life and forget what you never stopped feeling guilty for…

In the end you stand in front of the full-length mirror, looking at your reflection as you vainly try to fix your clothes; you’ve looked better, but you can’t linger, not with Shanks in your kitchen who waits for, and deserves, an answer. Who knows if he’ll still want to see you after you’ve refused to help him, and after discovering what you are; probably not, and this saddens you enormously, even though you have barely known him for twelve hours, a few of which you spent sleeping.

“Come on; you can do it.” you whisper, and the woman framed in the metal blue rectangle nods in response, still afraid but determined to do what she needs to.

When you reach him in the kitchen, Shanks is looking at the numerous pictures pinned to the plywood panels on the walls, portraits and landscapes and much more, that you took in the course of your career as a photographer, since you were barely a child. “Did you take these?” he asks excitedly, ponting at one of your favourites, a close-up of a fox drinking from a stream, that you happened upon during a walk in the woods six months ago “This especially is amazing, but they’re all very good!”

“I’m glad you like it; that picture specifically won me a competition.” you admit; you were quite satisfied with your success, even though the prize money was barely enough to pay your rent for a month “To be a photographer is what I have always wanted; I will never be famous, but I can support myself with it, and share my passion with other people who appreciate it, and that is more than enough for me.”

“Good for you…”

You share a smile, vaguely shy on both sides; Shanks is wearing his straw hat once more, and looks more handsome than ever, his boyish smile making your heart flutter. You thought you were too old and wise for crushes at first sight, but the man in front of you proved you wrong without even trying… and this makes the conversation you need to have even more potentially painful.

“Shanks, I…”

“I’m sorry.”

He has turned serious as he looks at you, the now empty cup of tea on the table. “I’ll listen and accept whatever you decide to do, but please, (name), let me just say this: I’m sorry for what you heard. I… I had no reason to think you were a Hound, I would have never said those things otherwise, but I did, and… and I hurt you, which I’ll never forgive me for. I met a person like you, years ago, and they did something so horrible and despicable that… well, I guess it led me to hate the whole category, which is obviously wrong. You have nothing to do with all of this, so… I’m sorry; truly and deeply. I’m not perfect, but I like to think I’m better than this.”

“I’m sure you are.” you murmur as you move towards the closest chair, pull it out and sit on it; a moment later Shanks has done the same, taking his place in front of you “Many people are suspicious about those like me, and… well, you’re a former policeman, I can’t blame you if you consider Hounds a necessary evil, people who get all the credit with little effort while normal agents do the work…”

“My problem with Hounds dates back to before I joined the force; but it’s very sweet of you.”

“I’m just being honest; I’m not particularly happy about this gift I’ve been given myself.” you admit with a sad smile. Once again you wonder if this, discovering what you are, has changed Shanks’ opinion about you, but once again, you lack the courage to ask; he’ll probably never want to see you again, no matter how passionate the sex between you was and especially after you refuse helping him with his case, and you can’t blame him for it, but it’s so unfair…

“You know Garp.”

“I do; I did.” you confirm “It was him who… recruited me. I discovered I was a Hound when I was fifteen, and at the end of my training I was assigned to help him with a case, a woman who had been kidnapped by her husband; we worked well together, and from then on he asked for my help for many other cases.”

Those were good years; at least, so they seemed back then. You didn’t do it for the money, even though what you earned was a lot for a teenager who still had to pay for photography classes, and you sincerely thought what you did was important, and useful: people kidnapped for ransom, elders who got lost, criminals who attempted to escape justice… you could find them and help the police bring them back, ensure they were safe or they paid for their crimes. Sometimes you got there too late, and by the time you were called the missing person was beyond help, but that was important as well, you told yourself, because their loved ones could mourn them and find closure, rather than hanging on to hope.

You were good at what you did, and you did it often. You lived a normal life, attending school, spending your weekends wandering around with your camera looking for inspiration, and hanging with your friends, plus this, a sort of part-time job you were proud of; you were proud of yourself, of the help you, one of few among billions, could give, of the difference you could make.

If only you had stopped to talk and listen to the people you tracked down… in that case, maybe you’d have realised that sometimes people have a good reason for disappearing, and escaped criminals are not the only ones who dread being brought back…

“You really don’t know why Garp asked you to take care of this case, rather than the police? It’d be the most natural choice, especially for him.” you point out, and Shanks shrugs helplessly; he has no idea, he admits, and he does find suspicious that the commander himself wants to keep the force off the case, but he’ll find out… after he has found Luffy, hopefully safe and sound, and returned him to his parents.

“(name)...”

“I can’t, Shanks.”

“Please, if you only let me explain…”

“There’s nothing to explain; and you said you’d accept my decision, whatever it may be.” you remind him; your voice has taken a pleading, almost begging tone you don’t like but can’t avoid using “I know there’s a missing child, and I don’t even want to know what could have happened to him, but… I can’t help you. I’m very sorry, I know it’s egotistical and cruel, but I really can’t. There are other Hounds…”

“Not as good as you.”

“... you can ask one of them; I’m sure Garp can contact them. There’s a woman in Cocoyashi City, a captain Belle-mère, who is exceptionally talented, she once found the remains of a man who had died half a century before simply touching his watch…”

Shanks listens patiently as you make excuses for what you once considered a sacred duty to pursue whatever the cost, no trace of blame or judgement in his brown eyes; he looks so kind, so handsome and understanding, you wish you could stop talking and just kiss him, take his hand and guide him back to your bed. You’d spend the rest of the morning making love, forgetting everything and everybody else, including a missing child who needs your help and could be killed -or worse- at any moment; it’d be easy, and like most easy choices, it would probably end up being the wrong one, and filling you with shame and regret.

“First of all, captain Belle-mère is dead.” Shanks informs you gently “She was killed two years ago, in the line of duty; I went to her funeral.”

“Oh, no!” you exclaim; Belle-mère had been your trainer at the Hound Preparation Centre -most commonly known as The Pound- and in the four months you spent together a deep friendship was born between the two of you; you wish you could ask after her daughters, Nojiko and Nami, who you had met several times, but Shanks is still talking.

“I looked you up online while you got changed; I hope you don’t mind, there are databases one in my profession has access to.” he admits as he lifts the phone in his hand, and the way he’s looking at you is… unexpected, somehow; most people react with curiosity, tinted with either admiration or suspicion, when they find out what you are and what you can do, but Shanks is different. He’s trying to secure your services, but he’s not only focused on that… he’s still thinking about what has happened between the two of you in the last twelve hours, the amazing sex and the deep and relaxed conversation that you shared. If you knew him better, if you had known him for years or at least months, you could even say he actually cares about you, for more than the help you can give him in his search for Luffy “And you… you are exceptional, (name); even among the Hounds, you are one in a thousand.”

To your shame, you feel yourself blushing. “That’s not true…”

“It is. You completed your training at the Pound -this is what you call it, righty?- in four months, the third shortest time in more than a hundred years since the Institute was founded; you received two special commendations for your role in the finding and recovery of dangerous criminals…”

“Shanks…”

“In the course of your collaboration with the Police you found almost a hundred missing people, in some cases after your fellow Hounds had been unable to help…”

“Shanks, please, stop it…”

“Not to mention that your tracking radius is incredibly broad, in some cases you chased people who were hundreds of miles away from you, and you found them nonetheless…

“I said STOP IT!”

You hadn’t meant to shout, but you did, loud enough for your voice to fill the room and probably be heard in the whole complex, and unlike what happens in the rare cases you end up losing control, letting it all out doesn’t make you feel better - quite the opposite.

“I’m sorry.” you murmur, fingertips pressed to your lips as if it were still possible to stop your outburst “I shouldn’t have shouted; you didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s alright, the fault is mine; I shouldn’t have insisted.”

“Maybe not, but I should have kept my cool. Shanks… I’m sorry, I really am; no matter how good a Hound I may have been in the past, I stopped doing that years ago, and I promised myself I would never do it again. I told Garp, which is probably why he suggested you keep his involvement secret; maybe he thought a person with no apparent links to the force would convince me to collaborate, but I won’t; it’s… it’s too dangerous.”

You see Shanks frown for a moment. “I know I may not look like it.” he begins, nodding towards the empty sleeve of his jacket “But if things go south I can protect you; I have a gun -and a licence- and I’m an excellent shot. The last thing I want is to put you in danger.”

“I believe you.” and you really do. “But it’s not me I’m worried for.”

Your sigh fills the room; Shanks’ brown eyes are still fixed on you, and you know, as surely as you know you own name, that if you asked him to stop insisting and to let the matter drop, he’ll respect your wishes and search for another way, and another Hound, to find Luffy. Maybe he’ll even also ask you out like he was about to do before Garp called, having perceived you haven’t refused to help him simply because you didn’t care a child had gone missing.

You could do it; you could close the matter there and then, and never speak of it again. But no matter how painful it is to discuss the darkest moment of your life, you know Shanks deserves an explanation for your refusal - and maybe, just maybe, you want to give it to him, you want him to know the truth.

You want him to know you.

“You need to understand that even at the end of my career as a Hound, I was little more than a kid; capable, and in full control of her ability, but probably more naive than she realised. Because of this, I… I think I never stopped thinking that sometimes, just sometimes, people have a good reason for wanting to disappear. Criminals had to be brought to justice, people kidnapped for ransom needed to be saved, the same with children and elders who got lost, but there were other cases, people who simply wanted to escape a life they were no longer happy, or safe, in. I worked with the Police, I told myself, so I was one of the good guys; I never thought what I did could put someone in danger. To be honest I never thought about it, and this was my mistake.

There was this lady here in the city; her name was Makino, she was the same age I am now. She lived with her husband, and one day, after -I was told- a fight with him, she packed a bag and left. Garp brought me a brush with a few of her hair still on it, and asked me to find her, and I… I did; Makino had acted quickly, and bought a plane ticket for a country far away, where both she and her husband knew no one, under a false name, but as you said, my tracking distance -that is, the furthest point from me I can locate someone without losing the trace- is particularly broad, and it took me a moment to feel where Makino was, even though she had put hundreds of miles between her and her hometown. We took a plane, Garp and I, and in less than a day we found her, in a shabby hotel on the outskirts of a large city; the commander convinced her to return home.

Now, I like to think I wasn’t completely stupid. I knew Makino had decided to run away after a fight with her husband, and that violence between spouses was something that existed; I had also heard on TV about how for a woman is much more likely to be abused by someone close to her, like a partner, than being assaulted in the streets at night. I could have reflected that a woman of average intelligence and maturity wouldn’t choose to leave everything she knows and loves behind simply because her husband has said her cooking sucks or that new skirt makes her look fat, but there had to be a more serious reason; but I didn’t. The thought that Makino might be better off on her own than with her husband never even crossed my mind. I had seen the tears on his face as he begged me to find her, and the pictures of the two of them, happy and smiling, in their home; I never doubted what I was doing was the right thing, I never suspected something bad could come out of it, not even when I saw Makino’s face as she boarded the plane back home with Garp and me, the empty, hopeless expression of a woman who has seen her last hope disappear and is now resigned to whatever is going to happen to her.”

Shanks’ hand finds yours across the table; there is nothing in his eyes but understanding and pity, emotions you feel you don’t deserve and that therefore fill your heart with shame.

“Her husband hit her.” he easily guesses “Didn’t he?”

“He did; her diary was found in the end, and the extent of what that poor woman had to suffer… both mental and physical abuse, from being forbidden to leave the house without her husband and to have her own phone, to the slaps and the punches and… her life was hell; she didn’t run away because she had fallen for another man or to escape creditors. She wanted freedom, safety, her own life back; she deserved it, and maybe she would have succeeded, if I hadn’t got in her way.”

“(name)...”

“She killed herself a week later; her husband had locked her in the house to stop her from running away again, and she slit her wrist with a kitchen knife. The last entry in her diary said simply: I can’t take it anymore. She decided to kill herself rather than be with her husband, and if it wasn’t for me… if I hadn’t found her, if I had reflected that perhaps she had a reason to do what she had done, she would be still alive…”

Shanks sighs; he has to perceive he has no way of absolving you from your guilt, since it’s been years since Makino’s death and he barely knows you, but he tries, and you appreciate it nonetheless.

“They would have found her in any case. After all there are Hounds all over the world, and those who lived in the country where Makino had run to would have tracked her down sooner or later. It’s not your fault, (name).”

You shake your head silently; the fault is yours, no matter that someone else might have pushed Makino to the same, dramatic choice only a day after you did, yours and of your childish naivete and short-sightedness, and for this you’ll never forgive yourself.

“This is why I can’t do it anymore.” you murmur, eyes fixed on Shanks’ hand resting on yours; it’s warm, soothing, and you allow yourself to find some comfort in it, even though you’re pretty sure you don’t deserve it “I stopped that day. I swore I would never do it again, and I never did, even though Garp insisted for months; there are other Hounds in this country, and I know what we do can be important and useful, but I can’t take responsibility for another person like Makino. People deserve to decide how to live their lives, and sometimes disappearing is the best, safest choice; what right do I have to take it away from them?”

Silence falls on the room; when Shanks’s hand leaves yours you find yourself mourning the loss, but you force yourself to be strong as he stands, still looking at you with that emphatic, blameless look you don’t know how long you’ll be able to sustain.

“I’m sorry for what you went through; it must be a terrible guilt to bear, especially since you were still so young.”

“I deserve it; and even with it I’m more than satisfied with my life, so I don’t have much to complain about.” you admit “I really hope you’ll find that child, Shanks; but I can’t help you.”

“I understand; but, (name), what that poor woman went through… it doesn’t necessarily have to happen again.”

“You can’t rule it out; I’d rather not risk it.”

“What if I promised you we’d both be careful? I’m not with the Police anymore, and this is technically a job I’ve been assigned in secret, nothing official; we’d have much more leeway than in the cases you worked on with Garp.” he points out gently “Luffy has disappeared from his bed, which in my experience suggests he’s been kidnapped, but if we were to find out he’s fine and better off where he is now… I’ll leave him be.”

You hate the hope that fills your heart at those words; you hate them, and you can’t help clinging to them. “But Garp…”

“I don’t think Garp will want a child to be in danger any more than we do. Also, while I still respect him, he’s no longer my commander; I don’t have to obey him If I choose not to.”

“How simple you make it…”

Shanks assures you he’s perfectly aware things are rarely easy when it comes to a missing child, but he’s determined to make the right choice, whatever the consequences and even if it means lying to a man he sincerely respects.

“You don’t have to help me, but… I’d really like you to.” he admits then softly; you have stood as well, and now you’re face to face, almost as close as you were last night, and your heart is pounding in your chest, loud enough you’re pretty sure Shanks can hear it “We can do the right thing, (name); I know you barely know me, but… I’m a good guy, and I swear I’ll let you decide how to act. If at any point you’ll feel… uncomfortable for some reason, if you think Luffy needs not to be found and brought back… then we’ll stop, whatever the consequences. You have my word.”

A moment later, Shanks is offering you something he retrieves from his wallet; it’s a business card, with the name and the logo of his agency on top. “I need to go home to get changed, talk to my partner, and retrieve Luffy’s things. Why don’t you think about it in the meantime? Whatever you decide… or if you simply want to talk… call me.”

You accept the card with a mute nod, suddenly too shy to speak; Shanks smiles, and then he’s kissing you again, chaste and soft and brief. “I’m glad I met you; truly.” he whispers “Take care of yourself, alright?”

The shirt is small, as it was to be expected since his owner and wearer is also tiny, but Shanks can’t help feeling his heart break as he looks it over: a normal cotton shirt, bright red and with Luffy’s name written on the label in pen. It is clean, fresh out of the wash, without the child’s scent lingering on it, but Shanks knows that a Hound would be able to use it to track down its owner, faster and more accurately than the best search and rescue dog could.

And a moment later he has left, his leather jacket and red hair and straw hat still imprinted in your memory as you stand still in the middle of the empty room, the deceptively harmless card in your hands.

(name) would probably find Luffy in a matter of minutes. Shanks has read about her old cases while he was on the bus home, and he’s not surprised Garp chose her; even among Hounds, whose talent is something one is born with and that can be trained, but not learnt, she is one in a generation, an exceptionally talented tracker able to locate a person hundreds of miles away, with an error margin of ten feet. She’d be perfect for this, maybe she’s the only one who can do it, but even with the life of an innocent child at stake, Shanks does not regret not insisting she helps him - first of all because he’s not a brute, and also because he now knows she hasn’t refused out of disinterest, because she didn’t care about Luffy. That poor girl, Shanks thinks; she only wanted to help, to use her gift to make a difference, and destiny repaid her with a lifetime of guilt and shame…

“I don’t like this, Shanks.”

“I’m sorry, I had promised I’d take care of that surveillance job, but this is…”

“It’s not for that.” Beckman points out; his partner is sitting at his desk, the fifth cigarette of his barely-started day already on his lips, and he stares at him with that sort of concerned, protective gaze Shanks would expect to receive from an older brother, not that he ever had one “Something’s not right. Why did your old commander ask a person outside the force to search for this child? It is inappropriate in the best of cases, and in the worst… there might be something illegal behind it, and Garp wants you to take the fall for it.”

Shanks thinks about it for a minute and is disappointed to realise he can’t exclude it; Garp is an excellent officer and taught him much, but he did have a slightly sinister reputation within the force, mainly regarding his habit of disregarding rules and regulations to take matters into his own hands. Is he somehow involved in the child’s disappearance? Shanks can’t believe it, but his job -both of his jobs- have taught him to expect the worst from the world and the people who live in it.

“I’ll be careful.” he promises; he’s sitting on, rather than at, his own desk, facing his partner as they discuss the case, the morning light filtering through the open windows “I… don’t want to call another Hound, you know why, but I might go talk to Luffy’s parents, search his room.”

Beckman nods in approval; Shanks looks once more at the shirt in his hand, that a courier brought to the office before he had time to return. If Luffy’s been kidnapped for ransom, it is in his captors’ best interest to keep him safe and healthy, but the child is so small…

“Shanks.”

He must be terrified, and what if he tries escaping and gets hurt? Come to think of it, he isn't completely sure the child hasn’t left of his own accord; where could he have gone? Shanks has no experience with children, how can he guess…?

“Shanks, look.”

“What?” the younger man asks looking up at him, and he sees his partner smirk before nodding in the direction of the room’s largest window, opening on the street; the two offices across from the agency are still closed, but there’s a person standing in front of them, as if waiting for the opening, her back pressed against the wall, her gaze raised to contemplate the building in front of her.

When their eyes meet, despite the distance, Shanks knows (name) is blushing.

“That’s her, right?” Beckman asks, openly amused; they have been friends since Shanks was little more than a child, and he found no reason not to tell his partner about (name), how he met her, spent the night with her, and then found out she was both a Hound and the person Garp wanted him to contact “Your friend.”

Shanks simply grins in response; he quickly grabs the bag Luffy’s shirt has been delivered in and his jacket from the chair’s back. “I’ll keep in touch!” he promises happily, and Beckman shakes his head, smiling indulgently at the younger man as he sees him sprint out.

Shyness touches (name)’s smile as he and Shanks meet across the street from the agency.

“Hi.” she murmurs; she’s wearing the same jeans she had put on an hour ago, but Shanks can’t help noticing she has switched her shirt with a better one, and she’s wearing make-up now, and a pair of earrings. Feeling flattered is the last thing he should do now, with the life of a child potentially at stake, but he’s just a man, and he can’t stop smiling “I know you said I could call, but I found the address on your card…”

“Of course not; it’s great to see you.” Shanks reassures her; maybe it’s a weird thing to say, since they were together just an hour ago, but he sees no reason to lie “So…”

“So, I’ll do it; I’ll try tracking down Luffy.” she says; there is determination in her eyes, proof of the effort she’s making to overcome her fears “But you promised; I know a nine-year-old can’t simply decide to leave and live on his own, but we won’t bring him back until we have ensured he’ll be better off at home.”

Shanks nods; he has asked Beckman to run a background check on Luffy’s family while he and (name) search for the child, so that they can decide what to do. “I really appreciate it, (name); I know what it means to you, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

“I just want to do the right thing; I always had.”

She sighs, and then she smiles, brave and determined, and Shanks has to make an effort to keep himself in check and not push her against the wall to kiss her senseless. There’ll be time for that, he promises to himself; once they have closed the case, hopefully for the better, he’ll take her out to dinner, woo her like she deserves, and finally he’ll bring her back to his flat for a repetition of the pleasurable activities of last night. They still know each other too little to know whether they’re compatible, but Shanks is determined to give it his best shot; he already knows she’s worth it.

“Can we go now?”

“Sure; I took a day off from the studio, said I had a family emergency.” (name) admits, looking almost guilty for it. She follows Shanks to his car, parked in the back, and smiles when he opens the door for her.

A moment later they’re sitting side by side; Shanks places his hat on the back seat, and when he turns to look at (name) he sees her look at the brody knob on the steering wheel. “Curious?” he asks, and the woman next to him smiles, vaguely embarrassed.

“Sorry; I didn’t mean to snoop, but… I guessed a detective would have to be able to drive, and I wondered if you could do it with only one hand. Is that a problem if I… talk about it?”

“Is that a problem for you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then it’s not a problem for me either.” Shanks decides; a year after the accident, he still hasn’t fully gotten used to live with his amputation, both with the pain and the countless little challenges of living in a world calibrated on the needs of people with two hands, but every day is a little better, especially when he meets someone like (name), who didn’t bat an eyelid when he took off the jacked he had draped on his shoulders, revealing the empty sleeve of his shirt, and who last night happily helped him support his weight as he moved above her “I can still drive normally, I just need to be a little more careful when turning the steering wheel; this little thing helps. And as you see all the signals, headlights et cetera, are on one side.”

“I see…”

They share a smile, and Shanks knows, just knows, she wants him to kiss her, and he’d happily oblige, but clearly (name) has better self-control than he does, because “Is that Luffy’s shirt?” she asks, looking at the plastic bag on his lap.

“Yeah, Garp sent it over. Do you… want to try?”

She nods, and Shanks finds himself holding his breath as he passes her the bag; he knows how Hounds’ powers work, but he’s never seen one in action, mainly because he always made sure to avoid them while he was in the force, and he has to admit it, he’s curious.

“You want me to take it out of the bag?”

“No, it’s fine; I can handle personal objects just fine, otherwise I’d have to wear gloves night and day. It’s just… I haven’t done this in years.” (name) murmurs; she’s delicately taking Lufly’s shirt out of the bag, but after she has unfolded it on her lap Shanks sees her wring her hands “This is a gift we are born and die with, we don’t just lose it because we don’t use it for a few years or a few decades, but I’ve never done it since… since her, so…”

She’s afraid, Shanks realises, not that her ability may malfunction but that her work may cause the pain, or the loss, of an innocent, once more; he’s working now, and Shanks knows he should focus on the case putting aside all personal matters, but he can’t help it: he feels more attracted to the woman by his side with every passing minute, because she is beautiful and they had some amazing sex last night, but also because he can see how kind she is, and how brave she’s forcing herself to be, for the sake of a child she doesn’t even know. All he wants is to reassure her she’s not alone and he’ll make sure she’ll have nothing more to feel guilty about. But (name) is not his daughter and he’s not responsible for her choices, so

“Take your time.” he says simply “I know how good you are; just try and remember what Belle-mère taught you.”

The woman’s grateful smile makes his heart flutter. He finds himself holding his breath as she takes up the shirt once more, lifts it closer to her face, and takes a deep breathe in; Shanks is sure the most he, and any normal person, could perceive is perhaps the scent of the fabric softener Luffy’s mother used to wash it, but despite the common name those like her are known under, (name) is not simply capturing a smell, rather it’s a sort of a pull, a call of the child who wore that shirt, breathed and sweated and lived in it. A trace of a person remains on the objects they use, especially those that are handled and carried and kept close for a long time, like a digital print only few can perceive; and when Hounds have picked up a trail, they will follow it to the end, even if they have to travel to the other side of the world.

Shanks privately hopes that won’t be necessary; he’s paying gas out of his own pocket after all. He dares not talk while (name) remains still, breathing deep with Luffy’s shirt held against his face; when in the end she lowers it to her lap and turns to look at him, Shanks sees she is smiling, but her eyes are full of sadness.

“It works.” she whispers “I have found him.”

“Where is he?”

“I… don’t know for certain; I don’t know the name of the town or anything. He’s in the country, but quite far. And he’s alive; I’m sure of it.”

Shanks breathes a sigh of relief; he fastens his seatbelt. “Well, that’s a start.” he admits as he starts the car; he winks at (name), who smiles “I hope you don’t get car sick.”

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Red-Haired Shanks #Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks x reader #Shanks x reader #Peter Gadiot #Bellona's stuff

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