#but that is not the case. I still get bad days and I still make shitty art and I have pieces that flop and it's okay
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fucked-by-the-narrative · 17 hours ago
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You know what, I was just going to reblog but I feel like adding a couple things:
do not cite your school/university/workplace, by name or too specific characteristics (e.g. if it has a very unique statue in the front)
avoid referring to the city you live in (i think the only exception here is if it is a huge city, but even so, be VERY careful about which information you post about that can be matched with that to guess your neighborhood, for instance)
if you ever decide to meet someone you met online, ALWAYS go to a public neutral place first. Your home or theirs may sound tempting, but you can decide on that after you see that the person didn't give you bad vibes, catfished you or put you in a stressful situation. Remember this is for BOTH of your safety and comfort!
still about meeting people, the ideal scenario is for you to do a group meetup if it's a group thing (ex: if you have friends from a discord about anime, you can meet up at a convention! if it's people from the same region/city as you, you guys can meet in the mall/park/whatever), so you can do something together. Apart from actually putting people in a more safe setup, you have the opportunity to know these people in a social dynamic that feels more organic - there will always be people getting in pairs/trios or whatever and circling, but the group itself rends an easy environment for everyone.
if you're not able to meet people in a group or you want to meet one person specifically, if you can, ask for someone to take you. When I was 15 and wanted to meet an internet friend of mine on the mall because we were kinda-going-on-a-date-but-kinda-maybe-not, my dad took me and wanted to make sure to greet the guy. I want you guys to know this was on the late 2000's, so this was less common, and my dad never was someone who forbid me from doing things, he just wanted me to do it safely. And for someone from the internet who may have been preying on me, knowing my DAD took me there, SAW HIM and SAID HELLO would've instantly cut the vibe that I may be alone, vulnerable and he could cloak in the unknown. In my case my dad was the real MVP, but it could be anyone you trust - just to let them see you're not alone/someone would miss you if you disappear. This friend of mine still talks fondly about how he loved my dad for this until today.
At the risk of sounding very obvious - if you want to exchange letters/send drawings/something via mail because it is cute and dandy, NEVER send your address. Get a PO box, or find someone you trust that can retrieve it in a commercial address. In 2008 when I wanted to exchange correspondence with my e-love, my dad again asked me to send the letters to his workplace and he would bring them to me at home sealed and untouched.
Avoid using real names for your family members or very close friends. Maybe use nicknames, just the initial letter, call them by their role in your story, etc.
Before sending pictures to anyone of something from your day to day life, take a minute to look at them closely and see if you need to censor any personal information, obvious or indirect. And while censoring, put a colored rectangle or a sticker over it - do not use the drawing tool over it in your phone, since in some cases it is a little transparent and may be undone.
Anyways, there's of course loads more, and I think some of these may sound outdated, but tbh being on the internet when the consensus was that only serial killers/rapists used them apart from me gave my generation a very important sense of digital safety and using the power of anonimity. Sure, maybe all of those are an exaggeration, but the more you know so you can use it when you feel you need it, the better.
Stay safe everyone!
minor tumblr user's carrd: over 25 dni!!
25 year old who was going to prey on this minor: oh damn 😔 here I was planning to groom them but i can't because of their dni 😔 what a shame 😔😔😔😔😔
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tsukiboo · 2 days ago
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ONE PIECE MUNCHERS
my all over the place take on how the one piece boys get down… or rather go down? ft: luffy, zoro, sanji, usopp, law, kid, and ace!
LUFFY
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despite many headcannons I’ve seen I’d think luffy would be quite clueless on giving head?.. HOWEVER his curiosity would’ve gotten the best of him and he would’ve figured it out as he went. despite saying that.. he has no technique whatsoever… me and you both know how selfish he gets when he eats, that holds true to when he’s down on his knees. sure luffy should listen to what his partner is wanting from him but the way his tongue is exploring and licking every inch it touches it’s like he’s doing it for him more so for you… it got so bad you had to sit down and force him to listen afterwards bc he’s just so damn selfish! the first time luffy asked if he could give you head he was so… greedy his spit and slick covered fingers he’d lick clean just to finger them back into you and lick them again while still trying to keep his mouth attached to any part of your clit he’s been hooked since… and going forward he’s been the type to randomly ask for it, when he’s in the mood, not in the mood, hungry, or even plain bored and when you ask him why his answer is always “idk it just tastes nice” what a weirdo.
ZORO
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3 words: certified. face. sitter. I can’t tell if he likes face sitting because 1) he thinks of it as training or 2) its the easiest laziest way to get you off without him doing too much. always complaining how “you’re holding back on him” or to “stop fucking hovering” and will (quite aggressively if i might add) hold you down so you can’t move… all I’ll say is don’t piss him off.…and if you do manage to piss him off the only enjoyment he’ll be having that moment forward is the feeling your legs shaking because he’s made you cum one two many times… he tries to be nice he really does but that temper.. however when he’s nice he won’t overstim you THAT bad, maybe enough to make you cry his name and maybe then he might stop.. idk it’s zoro.
SANJI
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sanji sanji sanji, what a simp. he won’t hesitate to lay everything to get down, lay down, kneel down WHATEVER the case may be to please you. he doesn’t have a specific preference…although he does find himself slightly more eager to kneel down before you while you lie on the table like he’s about to pray for his meal before he eats. very very skilled, he will mentally note every. single. moan, whine, movement or “right there” so that he’ll keep doing it, wanna know why? because he’s a man that listens to please!! all shade to zoro. surprisingly doesn’t pass out from each realization of your pussy stuffed in his mouth and filling his senses….he knows not to waste a good meal.
USOPP
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(for my usopp lovers out there)
oh usopp. he gets so dumb so easily eating you out. what starts as fools confidence quickly goes to desperate licks and hungry touches and a clear eagerness to make you finish!! technique?? that went out the window when you started to pull on his hair and pulling him closer. let me tell you this boy goes CRAZYYY for praise and some hair pulling!! a simple “you’re doing so good baby” or “don’t stop it feels so good” and his concentration is SHOT. he meant to listen to you and keep doing what he was doing but the heat went straight to head and right down to his dick. each session always ends up with him rubbing himself against the bed whining whilst he sucks on your clit and somehow cums before you because… well.. he’s too easy. 💔
LAW
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if the art of finger was dead so was trafalgar law… bc MAN is he dedicated to the craft. is also a man who does his business in the bedroom and the bedroom only, the crew knows never to step foot in there so he finds it the perfect spot to have his attention solely on you and to have some privacy (because god knows he never can) biggest fucking tease and such a pain in the ass too. some days he hates to hear you beg, other days he won’t give you what you want until you beg he’s so damn annoying. strikes me as the type to do what he wants to do and doesn’t need guidance or pointers (he thinks he’s a fucking know it all) because he’s always so confident that he can make you come… he can.
KID
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i hate him but i can’t lie when i say he’s a big fan for 69.. it always starts off as a challenge “seeing who can get the other off the fastest and easiest” then turns into him taking complete control while filthy degrading you. he loves having his dick sucked ofc but getting top while also eating you out and feeling you get so distracted so easy for him fills his sick ass ego. fuck the top atp he loves having you in the palm of his hand begging and panting for him to make you cum. what’s worse is when he starts talking (period end of sentence) so fucking filthy, telling you how much of a dumb fucked out whore you are as you embarrassingly grind on his face, he makes fun of how wet you keep getting… threatening to leave you high and dry just because.
ACE
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loves when you tell him what to do and how to do it, he’s a simple man born to please. whatever your favorite position is happens to be his favorite too. he’s so damn whipped Strikes me as one of the (if not most) experienced eater from the list, with a pretty face like his it’s always getting sat on, and he’s happy to offer a seat. also another man who hasn’t lost the art of fingering!! while also giving you SO much fucking praise. he’d replace his mouth with his fingers giving himself a chance to admire you. leaving wet sloppy kisses on your thighs, stomach, tits, neck, literally any place that deserves his praise his lips are on it, worshiping you as if you were heaven-sent.
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iamespecter · 3 days ago
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Delusional Showtime hours: the fact that Pomni is a jester, which if you know your history; serves not only as the royal court's entertainer but ALSO as an advisor for the ruling court, makes me go feral because we're already getting small HINTS of this actually being the case-- where Pomni tells Caine that the Mildenhall adventure was bad (ep 4) being the only one to speak up about it before Zooble pitched in more aggressively,
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and then told him that she didn't really mind the Fast Food adventure,
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And then at the end, conversing with Zooble how she liked the low-stake ones.
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Which I do really like the bond that Pomni and Zooble have where they seem to be the ones that are the most vocal and honest about adventure feedbacks.
It's like representing the two sides of the spectrum of an emotional reaction regarding people's way of delivering criticisms: One more polite and nicer about it, while others don't hold back on the brashness of their words; focusing on driving the nail straight to the point.
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The fact that it was Pomni who raised her hand and told a blunt "it was bad" criticism, and while Caine passive-aggressively snided the criticism, he still begrudgingly listened and actually changed that day's adventure to be Gangle's suggestion.
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Also: "This presents a clashing irony as a greater man could dispense the same advice, and find himself being detained in the dungeons or even executed."
(.... Oh fuck. Considering Caine's growing frustration and near blatant hatred towards Zooble, now I'm worried for future episodes. Shit.)
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It's also worth pointing out that it now partially makes sense to me as to why Kinger is a king chess piece, because in a subversion of expectation, Kinger is the one to give out a piece of valuable advice that Pomni learns at the end of episode 3 with Ragatha, and then episode 4 with Gangle's near abstraction case. Which, I hope that advice WILL make a grand come back for the case of Caine.
All in all, it just really goes to show how well-thought out the designs of the circus cast are.
I may be wrong, but if Pomni being a jester has a double-meaning both as an actual circus jester, to also becoming the first step to Caine being more accepted and viewed less as an outcast of the gang (and maybe even someone who can guide Caine), then oh my god, I WILL scream and sob uncontrollably on the floor
I hope to GOD that even though this is an insanely delusional post because me and the Showtime Nation are so starved of official Showtime content, that the more critical part of this analysis doesn't get shut down like how fnaf handled shit with it's horrid writing and constant retcons
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mellowsadistic · 2 days ago
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A Woman's Place - Part 1
Sam is such a silly girl. She thinks that a woman can do anything a man can do, and she doesn’t like it when her boyfriend treats her like a stupid child. It’s a good thing he has a special video to show her, something that will help her learn her rightful place.
***
“What’s in the bags?” Sam asked her boyfriend as they walked home together. She’d been out with her girlfriends for brunch (that new vegan place in town), and James had been out doing some shopping.
“It’s a secret,” he’d told her, smiling mysteriously and winking. “You’ll find out soon.”
A present? Sam eyed the bags. They looked quite full. Maybe this was James’ way of trying to make up for the arguments they’d been having recently. Sam didn’t consider herself a superficial girl by any means, but if her boyfriend had bought her some cute new clothes, then it could hardly hurt.
As always, it was her career they’d argued about. Sam was spending most of her time at work lately. It was exhausting, but it wasn’t as if she didn’t enjoy it. She liked how it felt to earn money for herself, to be financially independent – not like some stupid brat clinging onto a man’s arm. Women like that were no more than children, she thought, just little girls who never stopped being dependent on their “Daddies”, whether it was their fathers of their husbands.
But James kept insisting it was bad for her health to work so many hours, and once he’d even suggested that she’d be much happier if she spent her days at home instead, if she just let him “take care of her”.
She’d exploded at him over that one. She loved her boyfriend, but she wasn’t some silly, frilly housewife who’d greet him at the door with a curtsey and the promise of a home-cooked meal. She wasn’t a little girl who needed looking after. She was a strong, independent, capable career woman, and James would just have to accept that if he wanted to be with her.
The two of them were almost home when they bumped into James’ friend Daniel. There was something about Daniel’s expression that annoyed her – the way his eyes sparkled as they flicked from her to James, like he was laughing at some private joke.
“Hey,” said James easily. “How are things with you and Liz?”
There was something about James’s tone that Sam didn’t like either. It was that same supressed amusement.
“Really good,” Daniel grinned. Again, those sparkling eyes flitted from James to her and back again. “She’s been in a much better mood lately.”
Sam had to supress a smirk. She’d never liked Daniel, and she knew for a fact that Liz was planning to break up with him soon. That would wipe the amusement off his face. Liz was her best friend, just like Daniel was James’s, but what she’d ever seen in Daniel, Sam had never understood.
James laughed. “That’s good to hear. And do you have…?”
“Got it here,” Daniel replied, and he passed James something that looked like a DVD case.
“Thanks,” said James. “I’d better get going then. I’ve just been shopping, and I’m eager to get it all home.”
“I bet,” said Daniel, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I’ll see both of you around. James, Sammy.” He nodded at each of them, and walked away with that smirk still playing around his lips.
Sam scowled. She hated being called Sammy. Sammy was a little girl’s name.
Her eyes turned to the DVD case James was slipping into one of his shopping bags. A porno? If it was, she was going to be furious. But before she could start asking questions, James had hurried her over to their front door, whispering, “Come on, sweetheart. I think you’re going to love what I got for you.”
Slightly suspicious, Sam allowed herself to be led into the house. If that bag had some ridiculous fetishy costume in it for her to wear, then she’d be giving her boyfriend a piece of her mind. Some sexy lingerie would be okay, but if he wanted her to prance about in a schoolgirl outfit or something…
But James wasn’t even opening the bags. Instead, he’d taken out the DVD case and was in the process of inserting it into the player.
“Take a seat on the sofa, baby,” he said, and Sam bristled a little at the slightly patronising way he’d drawn out the last word. Baby.
But she’d made up her mind to humour him. After all, if he actually had got her some thoughtful present, if he really was trying to apologise for arguing with her about her ambitions, then she didn’t want to spoil it by getting angry over something like this. She’d just have a word with him later, she thought, as she took a seat on the sofa. I’m not a baby, James. Women aren’t children. I’d appreciate it if you could be a little less infantilising from now on, okay?
Then James stepped back from the TV, and a title came onto the screen. A Woman’s Place.
“A woman’s… What the hell is this?” Sam demanded. “What’s… what’s…” But she trailed off, her mouth hanging slightly open as she stared at the screen.
“That’s a good girl,” her boyfriend said gently, as a tinkling music filled the room, and the screen shone with a strange, swirling light. “Watch your pretty program.”
Then short clips began to flash in front of her, one after the other. A woman in a stylish dress, laughing and drinking from a glass of Champagne. Then that same woman again, but this time her dress had been swapped for a skimpy maid’s uniform, and she was bending over doing the polishing without any panties, flashing her bare pussy at the camera. Sam’s eyes went wide.
Then another women was on the screen, arguing with her husband. But in the next clip, she was over her husband’s knee with her bright red bottom facing up, crying and wailing and kicking her legs while he spanked her forcefully.
Next, an elegantly dressed woman posing for a model shoot. But moments later, she was dressed in a pair of slutty shorts and a tank top. Her face was done up like a whore and, grinning dimly, she was holding up her brand-new pair of silicon-filled tits for the camera to see.
On and on it went. Sam tried to tear her eyes away, to speak, to do anything, but it was as though her body was frozen in place. What was going on?! All she could do was sit there blankly on the sofa, staring at the screen in front of her. A lawyer became a stripper dancing around a pole. A professor became a hooker standing on a street corner. Sam noticed that many of the women seemed to be high-status. There was a handsome, middle-aged woman in a pantsuit who might have been a CEO, shouting at a group of men seated before her. But then she was tottering around the office in heels, dressed in a ridiculous schoolgirl uniform, giggling vapidly while the men wolf-whistled and pinched her bottom as she passed.
Sam felt sick. Taking a successful woman and reducing her to something like that repulsed her, but even worse than the ones where women were reduced to sex objects were the ones where they were infantilised in some way as well – and as she watched, her eyes glued to the screen, those clips only became more and more frequent.
A serious-faced woman in casual-wear became an overgrown little girl in a frilly pink frock, complete with braces and a pair of high pigtails. She was clutching a teddy-bear tightly, and her expression was full of dim-witted happiness. A businesswoman in a well-tailored suit was striding about an office, examining paperwork. But then she was toddling around an oversized nursery instead, and she was naked but for a frilly bonnet, a small bib that did nothing to hide her sizeable breasts, and a thick adult diaper sagging between her legs. A woman playing on the playground, a woman crying like a two-year-old because she’d dropped her ice cream, a woman sitting in a highchair with her face covered in baby food, a woman squatting down on a toddler’s potty, a woman lying on her back in the middle of a nappy change – all in between occasional returns to women dressed as maids or whores or ditzy little housewives. Then Sam felt a sense of terrible horror as the video ended, quite suddenly, on a still picture of her own smiling face.
A wave of dizziness rushed over her. The tinkling music grew louder and louder, and the pretty lights sparkled and shone more brightly as Sam stared into her own face on the screen. It felt as though the music was filling her head, the lights shining through her eyes and into her skull. Her vision blurred, and she felt a sensation of falling, as though she’d been pitched forwards head first into the screen, deeper and deeper into the swirling colours.
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karlachismylife · 2 days ago
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Good boys
#GhostGazWeek
Day one: Good Boy/Down Boy
Guess who's already behind on the schedule? I'm still doing this. Even if what I do is gonna be shite.
CW: slightly suggestive in the end
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It smells like dogs in here. It shouldn’t come as a surprise – and it doesn’t, not since these visits have become a routine for them. It was Kyle’s idea, and Simon trusted him when he said he always wanted to do something like this and it wasn’t just a plot to get Ghost into some kind of “animal therapy” to fix him. Gaz never tried to fix him. Gaz understood.
That’s probably why Simon had no apprehension coming to this facility. Spacious rooms with foam padding on the floor, like in kindergarten - soft for burly men with bad knees to sit on, easy to clean in case some of the dogs have an accident, squeaky toys and old chewy bones thrown around, and that constant dog smell – all of it became a comfort place. A place where retired human soldiers meet retired dog soldiers, shake their furry paws and dedicate their time to make sure these former colleagues don’t feel abandoned and lonely, like veterans often do.
Ghost knows how those dogs feel. He had been there once, temporarily suspended from service on account of his death – when he had nothing to do and no one to meet. His cheap flat looked grey and mirky, his tea tasted like piss, his scars ached every cold night. But now? There’s artwork on the walls. There’s well-seasoned food on the table. There are warm hands resting on his ribs while they sleep. There’s Kyle.
Simon knows how those dogs feel, when they jump onto Garrick’s chest and wag their broken tails despite years of discipline ingrained in their wolf-like skulls, because he feels the same way when Gaz comes home from the grocery store and gets ambushed by a Ghost creeping up on him during unpacking. There are titanium plates and bolts holding some of Kyle’s vertebrae together and Simon’s fingers don’t have same good grasp anymore, but Gaz still finds himself lifted off the ground and locked in a greedy embrace, just like that old German shepherd finds itself in a tight hug of Kyle’s strong arms when it stands up and puts its paws on his shoulders.
“Who’s a good boy? Missed me, did ya? Oh yeah, you’re a good boy, still shedding like a wooly mammoth, eh? Oof, careful with the kisses, mate, that’s my eye,” Simon looks over from where he’s standing, searching for a specific squeaky rubber star toy for the one dog that’s circling him with excited whining and headbutting him under his knees to make him hurry and come play. Gaz is on his knees, face scrunched and black eyeliner smudged around one eye as he tilts his head up and away to try and stop a huge excited shepherd from licking his face again. His smile is shining through even like that, bright and happy, as he laughs and scratches the dog’s sides, pulling clamps of warm soft fur stuck between his fingers. “Ya need a good brushing, mate, come on, get off me for a sec, I’ll go get a brush.”
Ghost watches as Kyle gets up, holding onto his lower back for a split second – and still finds grace in his every movement. His trusty bally hides that stupid lovestruck expression he has on his face – but even just his eyes betray how utterly smitten Simon is. He expected the feelings to dull down, get calmer once they’re off duty and swallowed by the domesticity and routine, but they didn’t. Seeing Kyle fighting off affectionate dogs or put his hair in silk for the night makes Ghost just as weak in the knees as seeing Gaz set records on the shooting range or rush into close combat did.
Everything around him slides into the background, blurring and dimming. Kyle’s soft laughter and murmurs fill Simon’s chipped ears, seep into his bloodstream, feeding the black and gold butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. Gaz is the centre of his attention – the centre of his whole world, so when Ghost hears a command, his body reacts before he can even register it.
“Come on, down, boy! Let me brush ya.”
Several pairs of eyes, human and dog, snap up to look at Simon when he falls to his knees. There are other veterans in the room, their reflexes still sharp and ready to react to anything unusual – and there are dogs tensed up like coils inside a gun, ready to drag a wounded soldier from under fire or finish an enemy. Simon feels blood rush in his veins when he realizes what just happened, and he meets Kyle’s eyes a few meters away.
Garrick has a wicked, devilish smirk hiding in his dark eyes.
“You olrigh’, mate? These bastarts know how to knock a fella down, watch them ‘round your knees,” comes to rescue a kind lad, so much younger than Ghost that he almost questions why that boy is already retired before he sees one of the lad’s eyes give off a glassy artificial glint.
“Yeah, ol’ mate ‘ere gaggin’ for his toy, said I’m takin’ too long. Impatient arse,” Simon happily shoves the blame onto the poor innocent dog that’s still nuzzling him and trying to steal the squeaky star from his hands. Letting the toy out of his palms, Ghost steals a glance at Kyle again and gets startled when Gaz turns out to be much closer, having come up quietly.
Closing his eyes, Simon braces himself and still flinches slightly when Kyle’s hand slides onto his shoulder with a reassuring rub.
“You sure you’re okay, luv?” murmurs Gaz in a wicked, sultry tone, leaning so close that Ghost can feel his hot breath seeping into the bally’s fabric. “Be a good boy and watch out for your knees, will ya?”
“I fockin’ hate you, Garrick,” growls Simon under his breath, and immediately straightens up, moving his shoulder blades together and sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. Kyle’s fingers under his bally tug on the leather collar again, making sure it’s sitting tight enough, and Gaz smirks, brushing his thumb over the bright silver letters of his full name etched in the collar.
“I don’t think so, Riley. Ya can tell me all about it when we’re back home, though. Just try not to get a chubby on in front of everyone, eh?”
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b0kevi · 2 days ago
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cw for the request, i currently have a small sh addiction in a way and i wanted to know if u would write a male/GN yuu reader who came with sh scars and has a habit to not eat most of the time (cuz i do that), for the characters i specifically would like Deuce, Ruggie, Azul, Kalim, Epel, and Ortho! the ones in orange i would like more than the others if thats to many characters :))
it is perfectly ok if you are uncomfortable doing this request and i respect that wholly , thanks for making these fics and making my day enjoyable lol <33
(TW) Them with a reader who SH
summary: how they would react to a reader who has sh scars and doesn’t eat a lot
trope: hurt/comfort, angst if you squint, fluff
info: can be seen as romantic or platonic, up to you. tw about sh, ed. not proofread, masc reader, no specific pronouns used(i believe) I realized I made this more about ED than the SH..
characters: ruggie, kalim, epel, deuce, azul, ortho (jade, vil, leona, jamil, grim mentioned)
w/c: kalim: 519 ruggie: 488 epel: 378 deuce: 345 azul: 378 ortho: 300
a/n: as someone who struggles w this I get it. tho I've been a year clean, I still struggle w food n stuff but if anyone needs someone to talk to, my dms are open <3
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ruggie
at first he didn't mind that you shared your food with him. free food is free food, who is he to say no?
he first thought you took pity on him thats why you would always give him big portions of your food.
"of course not! I just ate earlier so I'm not hungry."
that somehow always became your excuse. it was always 'im not hungry' 'i ate earlier' ‘I don’t like this anyways’ but would hear from grim that you haven't eaten anything since this morning.
you weren’t eating on purpose.
it’s not like he cared, more food for him. so why did it bother him so much?
he would leave snacks around you without a word. a snack on your desk, snack in your backpack, snack on your table, hoping you’ll just take it and eat it. (using leona’s card ofc)
you two were in savannaclaw folding everyone’s laundry. savannaclaw felt hotter than usual so you took off your blazer and rolled up your sleeves without thinking much of it, going back to your work.
at that moment ruggie had looked over at you. he had his fair share of bruises and scars from throughout his life but he knew those were different.
“soo… you gonna tell me what’s up?”
you looked at him puzzled, “sorry?”
ruggie sighed as he nodded his head towards your arms.
oh. right.
“it’s nothing just-“
“yeah that won’t work with me. Come on y/n, you don't have to if you don't wanna but I wont charge you or anything I'm pretty understanding.’’
It’s not that you didn't trust ruggie, you just didn't know how to bring it up.
You sighed— deciding you should tell him. you trusted him despite everyone else.
Reggie was surprisingly a good listener.
He's not the best at advice but it wasn't terrible. again ruggie has been through a lot himself so he would understand a bit. if you don’t want advice and just someone to listen to you, he’ll do that.
afterwards he still uses leona’s card to buy you food, he hates sharing but would give you small portions of his meals just to start. would somehow make time so you two can eat together since he also can go days without eating.
if you feel insecure about your scars he will show you his scars and tells you the story behind them, “this ones from jumping a fence while I was running away from the store clerk- listen the food was out in the open how was I supposed to know I had to pay for it? sheehee”
he can always sense when something’s wrong so will de-escalate before you get any ideas, he always keeps an eye on you just in case
you two are partners in crime, ruggie has your back and you got his. he doesn’t want anything bad happening to you no matter how much he denies it.
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kalim
kalim had his suspicions but never said anything because he didn't want to upset you.
there would be time where he would subtly bring it up, hoping you'll open up to him.
"what happened y/n? did grim do that? or.."
he saw your scars and his grin faded, his heart felt heavy but he soon recovered and asked while hovering over your arms.
“oh yeah, grim doesn’t like getting up early so…”
a lie.
grim would never do that to you on purpose.
“right! well if you ever need anything i’m always here for you! i’ll get you whatever you want too! it doesn’t matter what it is!”
then when he noticed you weren’t eating, at first he thought you didn’t like the food or were allergic.
“is it too much seasoning? jamil makes the best food! its not poisoned! do you not like this?”
you would always reassure him that it wasn’t that, you just weren’t hungry at the moment.
kalim would always invite you over to eat, he wouldn’t force you to eat (maybe a little but he doesn’t mean any harm, it’s more like that one time he gave grim a cracker)
after the second week of excuses, kalim will finally bring up what’s on his mind.
“y/n… i’ve noticed you haven’t been eating, is something wrong? are you feeling okay?”
you once again try to brush it off, not wanting to make a big deal out of it but kalim isn’t going to brush it off.
“y/n, you can tell me if something’s wrong. i’m here for you and if you ever need something i’m here! you don’t have to fight this yourself, i want to help you, really.”
kalim truly wants you to know that he will do whatever to help you out, he already knows what happens when he doesn’t check in on people.
he doesn’t want you to bottle up your emotions like jamil did, he knows you won’t overblot but he saw the scars on you and he doesn’t want you to resort to that again.
when you finally do open up, he’s thrilled. he’s a very good listener and also very touchy, will hug you or have an arm around you, playing with your fingers, always lingering but will try his very best to restrain if that makes you uncomfortable.
afterwards he’ll always look out for you. if you eat a small portion he’ll congratulate you, “see! wasn’t that delicious y/n? want a little bit more? no? that’s okay you still ate something which is great!”
praises you for little accomplishments and will cling to you for a while until he sees you’re doing better. he will still cling to you even if you are better but that’s just his nature.
“you’ll tell me if you ever have those urges right? don’t hesitate to call when you’re feeling down okay? my magic carpet is super fast! i’ll be over like that whenever!” he snaps his fingers.
deep down he is truly worried about you and will do everything in his power to be there for you.
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epel
honestly epel always thought scars were cool. i mean have you seen leona and how badass he looks?
epel never saw you differently. you were still you, you were still his friend no matter what.
he would never pressure you to tell him what happened. he didn't need to know, he was just glad you were here but whenever you do want to talk, he’ll listen closely while staring at them. not in a weird or disgusted way but almost like studying them, deep in thought.
“you’ve been through so much… these don’t change anything, if anything they show how strong you are. I think they make you look pretty manly too.” he grins trying to lighten the mood.
if you're insecure about your scars he would always remind you how manly or how cool and strong you look. if anyone has a problem with them they'll have to go through him.
when he notices your eating habits he tries to get you to eat at least an apple or something small to start.
“y/n you have to eat if you want to grow strong! bulk up those muscles! vil’s always on me for eating three meals a day and having a proper diet…”
he would always gift you apples but now every time he sees you he gives you an apple.
epel is always by your side kind of like a bodyguard but also a personal reminder, will intimidate anyone who looks at you funny. he will also give you a water bottle or a snack as a reminder to drink/eat something.
he might even seek help out from vil on how to help you out. he wants you two to grow strong together but he's not quite sure what to do.
epel is your personal hype man, he will make sure you feel good about yourself.
he might panic a bit if he sees you're upset, tries his best to calm you down or distract you so you don't do anything crazy.
"vil gave me this face cream that's supposed to help you calm down if you ever feel overwhelmed, here. if you ever feel like that let me know, I'll come over as fast as I can, we'll work it out together okay?"
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deuce
when deuce first saw, he didn't know how to react. he didn't say anything in the moment, he didn't know what he should do. should he pretend he didn’t see? say something to comfort you?
He didn't want to upset you or make you uncomfortable with his staring or silence but he was quiet for a while that you knew something was up.
deuce always tries his hardest to comfort you but sometimes he can be messy but you always appreciate his efforts.
“it’s fine deuce, they’re old anyways…” you decide to just rip the bandaid off.
deuce is a great listener, nodding along to show his listening and paying attention to your words.
will give you a hug or rub your back if you’re comfortable with physical touch.
he will immediately go to riddle and ask for advice on how to help you. he wants to do whatever he can to show that he cares but doesn't want to mess it up so he goes for guidance.
deuce also has his fair share of scars from his delinquent days. "I know it's not quiet the same but they just show us how we became stronger. you're here now and that's what matters, we wouldn't have met if you didn't push through."
he always shares his food with you, he lights up when he sees you eating, it might not be much but its a start. he'll be with you throughout every step of your journey.
"this is my favorite, want some? is it good..? yeah? have some more! oh take your time no rush."
you can always feel his stare on you, he tries not to because he can see it sometimes makes you uncomfortable but he's making sure he doesn't miss any signs or signals that you might be feeling upset.
deuce is going to be for you this time, he doesn't want you to go back to those dark times again so he will try to prevent it and make sure you're happy with yourself and taking care of yourself as well.
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azul
azul would be very understanding, when he noticed your eating habit and it would remind him of his younger self.
azul has always been self conscious of his appearance; he just tries to hide it. which is why he was quick to pick up on your eating habits.
azul knows you probably don’t want to have this conversation but when you’re constantly not eating he couldn’t take it.
“im not going to be your taste tester jade…” understandable.
“how do i know it’s not poisoned?”
“oh please I made it myself.”
“intriguing but i’m not hungry right now”
interesting.
he would watch you a bit before pulling you into his vip room and ask his burning question.
“y/n, I’ve noticed a pattern… what’s going on?”
of course you played naive. "what are you talking about?"
azul would become vulnerable with you, he should have pulled out a contract and tried to scam you but he didn't want to do that to you. he would most likely make you sign a NDA because he would open up about his past and issues, hoping you would too and does not want that to get out.
azul is not the best at comfort but will listen, he shares his experience to show you, you're not the only one and how he understands what it's like. he would offer his own advice if you ask.
azul doesn't care about your scars, they do sadden him a bit but youre still here and thats all that matters. he has the twins keep an eye on you to look out for signs in case you get overwhelmed.
azul would always drag you to the lounge and bring you simple meals at first, he would set you reminders but he was also your own personal human reminder as well to eat or drink something.
"I can't afford this-"
"free of charge." you stare at him.
"okay first few meals are free then you can pay me back later, but we'll discuss that later. eat." he would let you eat in the vip room so you guys would have privacy and can eat at your own pace.
he hates seeing himself in other people so despite everything azul does want to see you get better.
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ortho
ortho knew the first time he saw you, he could read your vitals. all of them were below average, you didn’t need to tell him anything.
ortho would always check in on you. he's used to checking in on idia and reminding him to drink water and eat proper meals so he had no problem doing that with you. also doesn’t mind dropping off meals. ortho would push you a bit harder but he means well, he knows how idia can be so he pushes you in case you’re the same but he knows your boundaries and when to let you be.
ortho would always sit with you to make sure you actually eat, he doesn’t eat himself but he’ll pretend so it makes it seems like you’re both eating together and not just him watching you.
ortho always reminds you that he’s there for you, if you ever want to talk or hang out to get your mind off things.
I feel like ortho would give baymax vibes and look up solutions and gather friends to help you.
he’s super supportive and reassuring, but can be overprotective in the beginning, if he sees anyone being rude to you- he will not hesitate to get his laser out.
“y/n l/n! if you ever feel the urge to self harm, I have some alternatives that might help! if they don’t, don’t worry i’ll find more! please let me know if you ever feel like that, I don’t want anything bad to happen to you..”
"y/n l/n! It's time for lunch!"
"I already ate ortho"
"no you didn't, according to my scans you havent even eaten breakfast! come on let's go! you can't fool me y/n!"
he means well and is willing to lend a helping hand.
❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
a/n: I remember one time at work my coworker saw my scars and was like 'omg what happened? was it a cat?' I just changed the subject n said sure my cat (who has no front claws) did that..
IDK WHY EPEL IS SO HARD FOR ME TO WRITE- i tried..
orthos part is def platonic.. idk if i need to specify for that..
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thatonefandomjumper · 3 days ago
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First and last spoken lines of Riordanverse characters (Only includes main 25 books) (Book order, not timeline wise) (Part 1)
P2, P3, P4, P5 (tKC & MCGA), P6 (DotD), Narrated lines.
Percy
First: "I'm going to kill her."
Last: "Well, in that case, what's for dessert?."
Annabeth
First: "He's the one. He must be."
Last: "How 'bout this?."
Jason
First: "Um, I don't-"
Last: "I'm just a dream in your head, man. You've already got the info. I'm just saying... there's a price for bargaining with the guardian of the stars. Sometimes you have to pay that price. Sometimes you have to let someone else do it."
Piper
First: "Jason, you okay?"
Last: "Don't be a stranger, Nico di Angelo."
Leo
First: "Yeah, right, Jason. We've all been framed! I didn't run away six times. Piper didn't steal a BMV."
Last: "Ain't that the truth."
Hazel
First: "Frank, get them inside, quick! Those are gorgons."
Last: "My sweet, sweet Frank. Could you please not with the sweater wrap?"
Frank
First: "That should've killed her!"
Last: "What? It's impenetrable and comfortable!"
Nico
First: "Don't talk to my sister that way!"
Last: "Childhood trauma."
Reyna
First: "Percy... Jackson?"
Last: "Cheer up. Calypso will come around. You're a doofus sometimes, Valdez, but you've got a heart of imperial gold."
Thalia
First: "Well, Seaweed Brain? One of us has to get out of here."
Last: "Great hunter, this one. I knew she would be. We'll get that fox one of these days."
Rachel
First: "Oh my god! Do you always kill people when they blow they're nose!"
Last: "I hope this works. For your sake, of course. But also because I'm supposed to leave to Paris for next week. I'd love to be able to make it there without prophecy smoke billowing out of me on the plane ride over."
Will
First: "It's not so bad, Annabeth. A few more minutes and we would have been in trouble, but the venom hasn't gotten past the shoulder yet. Just lie still. Somebody hand me some nectar."
Last: "Wow Nico, why are you like this?"
Lester
First: "No! No, it wasn't! Please!"
Last: "Always. The sun always comes back."
Apollo
First: "Little sister! What's up. You never call. You never write. I was getting worried!"
Last: "Oh, of course. Take care of yourself, Piper McLean."
Meg
First: "Hey! Leave him alone."
Last: "You'll come back?"
Grover
First: "It's okay. I like peanut butter."
Last: "Of course. And my girlfriend's roots are literally right here."
Calypso
First: "Stay still. You're too weak to rise."
Last: "That just leaves the closing couplet: When three are known and Tiber reached alive, / 'Tis only then Apollo starts to jive."
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kisses4rafey · 2 days ago
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boxer!rafe
this is so them at the post-fight event and the fans going feral over rafe being down bad for lawyer!reader he’s all like: “this ok baby? are the gloves too tight?” a totally different person to the rafe inside the ring who gets shitfaced. spitting blood. rafe cameron walks into a room like he owns it. she walks in like she owns him.
they end up trending the next day cause they’re just that couple. she wins arguments in court. he wins them in the ring. they never lose. periodt.
she’s elegance with edge. he’s violence with discipline. and they’re too powerful to not be obsessed with. she closes cases in the morning to then be able to attend and sit ringside at night. they look like they just walked out of a sofia coppola movie. or a very expensive scandal. when asked about him her response was: “i let him talk when it’s cute.”
at events, he’s often spotted helping her into her coat. and at fight nights, she’s seen adjusting his wrist tape, murmuring something that softens his entire face. she keeps a file on his injuries in her home office. sends his trainers articles about long-term brain damage. corrects his media quotes from memory.
and even tho they’re from two different worlds they still manage to make it work cause in his words. “she’s the only person i’ve ever met who flinch when i get ugly.”
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thezombieprostitute · 22 hours ago
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Tech Tuesday: Steve Rogers
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Summary:
Warnings: Bad coworkers, Puns. Please let me know if I missed any!
A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used.
Previous
Tech Tuesdays Masterlist
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Trying out a new recipe is usually fun, but this time Steve isn't helping like he's supposed to be.
"You're taking a big whisk with this recipe," he teases, making you struggle to hold back a laugh.
"C'mon Stevie, you need to let me concentrate."
"Donut worry, I'll run out soon enough," he smirks as he sees you fighting to not laugh.
"Please, Stevie? You're normally so good about helping me, or at least letting me focus."
"I just don't think you should be wasting your time and using your skills to make cupcakes for Maggie." There's venom in Steve's voice when he says your co-workers name. "I know she's finally leaving but she's always so mean to you."
"I'm not making them for her," you correct. "I'm making them to celebrate her leaving."
Steve chuckles at that. "It's not how she's going to see it."
"And?"
"I just..."
Setting down the utensils you walk to Steve and throw your arms around his neck. You smile when his arms instinctively circle around you, bringing you in close.
"I know you don't like her. I know you think all bullies should know they're in the wrong, and you're absolutely right about that. But I don't have a lot of staying power in my department at the moment and I gotta play nice."
"She never should've been hired," he grumbles.
"And yet, she was," you shrug. "It's just the way of the world. Not all of us can work in a department full of friendly people. Or, well, people who are on good terms with each other."
Steve smiles, grateful that his department doesn't have drama between them. Well, maybe the G's. They've been giving him calculating looks since he won the April Fool's Day prank war. But, unlike a lot of other departments, he knew he could count on everyone to have his back or do the right thing.
"Hopefully the new hire will be nice," he ponders. "And, hey, you'll no longer be the newest person in your department. No longer the newbie."
Your face scrunches a little, "I'm still Newbie, dammit. I've grown to rather like the name."
He gives you a gentle kiss. "You're my Newbie."
"That's right," you giggle. "Now let me finish making these cupcakes!"
"Only if you let me draw you while you work. You know you're my favorite subject."
Heat rushes to your face as you try to break free from Steve's hold. You've gotten better about Steve drawing you. It's even more intimate than him taking photos of you. And in both cases, you always hate how you look. No matter how lovingly Steve draws you, you still see all your flaws.
"How about I let you lick the beaters? Would that work?" Steve's smile drops a little and his eyes go soft with worry. "I'm just not feeling very pretty today."
"Okay," he nods. "You know I don't draw you without permission. Well, not anymore."
Both of chuckle at the memories of Steve drawing you, too afraid to say anything. Hiding his sketchbook every time you stepped a little closer to him.
You break free from Steve's grasp and get back to mixing up the batter.
"So do you know anything about the new hire?" Steve wonders.
"Not really," you confess. "I wasn't involved in any of the interviews or anything. All I really know is that Amelia, my manager, thinks he's cute."
Steve's brows rise, "'he'? That'll be nice for your department."
That makes you laugh a little. "Yeah, a female dominant department like ours could use the variety. And I'm hopeful it'll help keep my coworkers from ogling you every time you visit me."
"They ogle me?" Steve's face furrows in confusion. He's always so focused on you he never noticed anyone else.
You stifle a laugh because you know Steve is earnest. "Let's face it, honeybuns, you're a straight up hottie. I told you, the first time you bent underneath my desk to plug everything in I had to fight the urge to stare at that glorious butt of yours."
Steve blushes as he smiles and your heart skips a beat. It's unfair how cute he is, especially when his cheeks turn so pink.
"But hopefully this new hire will be handsome enough to draw some attention away from you and I can have you all to myself."
"I hope so too," he smirks. "You're the only one allowed to gawk me. At least when it comes to looks. If I do something stupid, everyone's allowed to gawk."
As you get back into the baking you smirk at Steve. "You know, hearing that you didn't realize my coworkers all like to get a good look at you makes me feel like a magician. Because when I'm around, everyone else disappears."
Steve throws back his head as he laughs. When he can finally breathe he says, "you're no magician. You're a drummer because you make my heart skip a beat."
"If I'm a drummer, you're a gardener. Because you've planted yourself into my heart," you counter.
The back and forth continues, and before long the cupcakes are in the oven. Steve takes that as his cue and goes to turn on some music so the two of you can slow dance until time to get the cupcakes out.
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Next
Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @iwudbutnah; @kmc1989; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63
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notbleachtea · 1 day ago
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i'm yours
summary: tired of keeping your relationship hidden, you try to make law jealous, only to have it blow up in your face
word count: 7.3k
warnings: mild smut, oral f receiving, threats of s/a, drinking, violence
notes: ive been sitting on this one for awhile and everytime i think im ready to post it i end up adding another page to it, its time she sees the light of day. story is based off of the following song.
more notes: ignore any grammar mistakes okay plz and ty (ik as soon as i post this im going to find a mistake -.-)
another night of sneaking into law’s room after everyone had gone to bed, and heading back to yours before anyone wakes up. you knew going into this that law was a private person, but you didn't think he would still be this cold to you outside the walls of his bedroom. it was eating you up inside, you told yourself after you left his room every night that you wouldn't go back to him until you established what you two were, but you always ended up giving in, you were so desperate for his touch you couldn't stand to put yourself in the way of what you desired the most.
your thoughts are suddenly interrupted when law starts kissing you on your neck. it's a pleasant distraction. going along with it means you can pretend everything is fine for just a little bit longer.
you were lying next to him in his bed, dragging your fingers up and down the ink on his chest, desperately trying to build the courage to ask him for what you wanted before you had to return to your room.
“law, what are we?”
he stilled under your fingers, “what do you mean what are we? i'm your captain, and you're one of my crew.”
clearly not the answer you wanted, you immediately stop tracing his tattoos and look up at him, “and nothing more?”
law lets out a long sigh, picking up on what you are trying to hint at, “y/n-ya, it's just not a good idea, what we have between us, i think is safer kept here inside this room.”
hurt clearly displayed on your face, you flinched, every word cutting sharper than the last. safer. kept here. like you were a secret he didn’t want the world to see. “i need something more, law.” 
“i just can’t. i’m working towards something right now and i can’t afford any distractions -”
“distractions? that's what I am to you? i was unaware…” you say as you start getting out of bed, searching for your clothes to put back on. “if that is the case, i should really get out of your hair.”
“that's not what i -”
but you're already walking out the door, tears fighting to drop from the corners of your eyes, “goodnight law.”
you didn’t give him a chance to answer. you slammed the door behind you, the sound echoing down the hall, and barely made it three steps before tears blurred your vision.
you run back to the room you share with ikkaku as quietly as you can with tears in your eyes, praying it's a bad dream and that all of this will go away in the morning. you open the door to your room and immediately stub your toe and fall over, waking up ikkaku to your cries of pain.
“y/n?” ikkaku stirred in her bunk, voice laced with sleep. “what are you doing out of bed so late, and why do you look like you are crying?”
you just look back at her in silence clutching yourself, not sure what to say yet.
she scans over your body trying to process what's happening after waking up, your red swollen eyes looking back at hers, she looks down and notices you're wearing a shirt that's too big for you and looks familiar, but it's nothing she's seen on you before. then she notices the wadded ball of clothing in your fist, your underwear. it's all coming together.
she blinked.
“y/n you did not. did you?”
you just look at her and silently nod your head while another wave of tears starts to fall from your eyes. ikkaku rushes over to comfort you, pulling you into a hug.
“oh y/n, you poor thing. let's clean up your face and get in bed, give me all the details!”
you get into the bed while ikkaku goes to get a washcloth to wipe away your tears and clean your face.
ikkaku gets under the covers next to you, dabbing off your tears. “okay, so just to confirm, whose room were you just in.”
“...laws.”
“i knew it. how long has this been going on?”
“…months.”
“months?? so does that mean you're -”
you burst into tears again, your voice barely a whisper.
“ah, i see where this is going.” ikkaku hugs you a little tighter. “let it all out, and then tell me what just happened so we can figure it all out.”
you give ikkaku the rundown on what your night with law entailed, the sneaking, the touching, the heartbreak, everything.
“sounds to me like he's been enjoying the benefits of a relationship with you without having to have the actual relationship, which isn't fair to you at all. i'm so sorry y/n.”
“i'm just so confused. i thought he also wanted more. i didn't tell him this, but after we ya know, did it, the other night i started falling asleep like i normally do, and i guess he thought i did fall asleep or something, and i heard him say it. i heard him say he loved me under his breath in secret.
ikkaku’s eyes widened. “he said it?”
 you nodded. “i thought if i reflected those same feelings today that he'd reciprocate them.”
“no man is immune from being stupid y/n, even captain.” ikkaku's statement is enough to get a light laugh out of you. “don't worry, we'll figure out a way to put this all back together, let's get some sleep now and tackle this with a fresh mind tomorrow.”
you agree by giving a slight nod and adjust yourself to go to sleep.
“thanks, i really appreciate it.”
the next morning you go down to the kitchen for breakfast and run into law as he's grabbing a quick bite to go. he looks at you but doesn't say anything, and just walks past you without a word..
“woah that was weird, " says bepo, "usually he goes out of his way to chat with you at breakfast y/n. is everything okay?”
you let out a sheepish laugh forcing a smile, “yeah everything is normal, don't be so silly,” you say, trying more so to convince yourself than bepo.
“oh good! well, anyways, i wanted to ask you if you were gonna go out with us this weekend? were getting to dock again and captain said the next island we docked at we were allowed to go out for a night.”
ikkaku jumps in before you get a chance to respond, “she's in!”
“ikkaku!” you look back at her with a glare, not really feeling up to going out.
“relax! i think this is exactly what you need. count us in bepo!”
“awesome! i'll tell the others!”
bepo runs out of the room with glee as the going out group continues to grow.
you turn back to chastise ikkaku, “what was that for?”
“duh, we're going to dress you up to look extra hot, and then send you off into a room full of men with drinks. there's no way captain is going to allow that to happen.”
you roll your eyes with little faith, “thats never going to work ikkaku.”
a few days go by and the weekend finally arrives, with the ship freshly docked and a rare instance of no tasks needing to be done, you and ikkaku take this opportunity to go out into the town to go shopping for new clothes. the main mission: find a super hot dress to wear tonight.
she smiles at you, “just trust me y/n.”
you and ikkaku arrive in town, stopping into the first little boutique you stumble upon.
“so y/n, what do you think will make him go wild?”
“i don't think this plan is going to work at all, that's what i think,” you quip back at her.
she makes a good point, you think to yourself.
“y/n, he's a man, they all get jealous.”
“law doesnt get jealous.”
“you sure? because last i remember you telling me, he's been having you all to himself in private, there hasn't been a moment yet for him to even possibly get jealous because it's all been on his terms.”
“uhg fine,” you reluctantly cry out, “we’ll give it a shot.”
“i'm thinking a short dress and some tall boots?” ikkaku suggests.
“i have the perfect pair of boots back on the ship, tall, up to the knee and black, big chunky heel, i know he likes those,” you bashfully relay, “let's go look at the dresses though.”
you're combing through the racks before coming up on what you think to be the one. it's short and black, with a few yellow speckles that dot the left hip of the garment, similar to the patterns on law's jacket. you hold it up to ikkaku to get her opinion.
“oh. my. god. that's it, that's the one!”
“hm, well, i’ll be honest, i didn’t think we'd have success like this so fast, but i can't be mad about getting this over with so quickly.”
the two of you head back to the ship with your shopping bags, suddenly halted by a blunt energy as you board.
“oh hush, now we just have more time to do hair and make up,” ikkaku laughs.
“and what were you two up to?” a deep voice calls out inquisitively.
“oh hi -ya captain, me and y/n just did some shopping, wanted to get a new dress before we went out drinking tonight, you know how us girls are haha,” ikkaku blurts out, setting the trap.
you give ikkaku an elbow to the side and a “wtf” glare, all while avoiding eye contact with law. 
he narrows his eyes, studying you for a moment before speaking, “curious,” he muttered, “carry on.”
that night, everyone gathers in the main rec room before heading out, making sure everybody is ready and has all their things. last you recall, everyone except for law said they were going out, so you're still not really sure how ikkaku's plan is supposed to work.
“y/n. holy shit, is that you? you look HOT.”
when you stepped into the rec room, the reaction was instant.
“wow y/n, you really went all out, penguins right!” shachi added.
“that's enough,” law’s voice cuts in sharp.
“captain!” the group gasps in unison. ikkaku is already sending a slight smirk in your direction.
bepo runs up to law in excitement, “i thought you weren't coming out tonight captain?”
“i had a change of heart it appears,” he says while glancing in your direction, and you quickly look away.
your pulse throbbed. he was definitely watching.
“the more the merrier! let's go!” bepo ushers the gang towards the door.
you all get to the bar and decide to split up into groups. law goes and sits at a table with bepo, shachi, and penguin.
“y/n, ikkaku, you guys don't want to join us?” penguin asks.
“nah, me and y/n are gonna see how many free drinks we can get from all these suckers here, i’d say we’ve got a pretty solid chance to beat our record with these new outfits we’ve bought.”
and with that, you and ikkaku go off to find your own table and talk for a little bit while the boys get some drinks and chat.
you and ikkaku order a drink.
“so y/n i'd say this is already going better than expected. law’s already actually more jealous than i thought, but then again he is a pirate, and they don't tend to like sharing treasure.”
“gee thanks, i'm glad i'm a pirate's treasure in your little game,” you laugh, rolling your eyes playfully.
“oh hush,” ikkaku chuckles, “you know what i'm meaning haha, besides, did you see how quickly he shut them down about your outfit back on the ship? and how quick he agreed to even come out tonight? he’s on your hook y/n, you just gotta reel him in!”
“got it, i’m a pirate's treasure, and law is a fish, what else am i missing?”
“quit being a butt head,” she says while playfully pushing your arm.
“excuse me ladies, here’s those drinks for you,” the server says while setting them on your table, “and here’s some shots from those gentle men over there,” they say while pointing towards the opposite side of the bar.
“thank you!” you both say to the server.
“score, that's already one free drink and we just got here! you think he noticed?” ikkaku asks.
“i can practically feel daggers digging into me as we speak,” you laugh, taking the shot down in one go, “here's to the night!” you say as you raise the empty glass to ikkaku, followed by nodding and smiling at the men who sent you the shot as a thank you.
“hey, i know,” says ikkaku, “let's go head out on the dance floor?”
after your next round, you and ikkaku head out on the floor to let loose. seeing the two of you slightly tipsy and looking to dance, the two men that previously bought you a drink take this as a chance to jump in and start heading your way.
“dancing huh, i’m gonna need another round of shots for that haha.”
“i can arrange that!”
“ikkaku, look, to your left. should we dip?”
“no! this is exactly what we want. don’t look now, but law is giving them the death stare. honestly, there's a good chance he actually does kill them tonight.”
“ladies, mind if we join you?”
“be our guest,” ikkaku smiles, “but i expect another drink first.”
“of course, it'd be our pleasure.”
the four of you took another shot on the dance floor.
“so what brings you ladies out here tonight?” the man dancing with you asks.
“oh not much, just had a chance to get out ya know?”
“yeah, we're just passing through town for the night and looking for a good time,” ikkaku adds.
you shoot her another “wtf did you say that for look” before going back to dancing with one of the two men.”
“well, you're just in luck,” says the man dancing with ikkaku, “i think we're here for the same thing,” he says with a smug grin.”
as the music plays, law can't help but stare. he's completely oblivious to anything else that is going on around him. everything the boys have been saying to him goes into one ear and right out the other. he’s sitting there, seething with rage. he can't stand watching the way your body is moving so closely to another man’s. how everytime you move your hips, your dress is fighting to keep covering your ass. the way this stranger moves his hands up and down your arms and resting them on your hips.
“oh my god i love this song!” you say, as one of you and bepo’s favorite uta songs comes on.
“yeah? lets get another shot to celebrate then,” the man you're dancing with suggests, knowing full well you’re getting pretty tipsy at this point, with full intentions of taking you back to his room tonight whether you want to or not.
back at law’s table, the gang has just been chatting about nonsense and consuming drink after drink, even convincing law to keep up with them. suddenly they notice a shot appear in front of law.
with all the recently consumed alcohol increasing your naivety, you gladly accept another shot. before you can even down it, it disappears from your hands.
“woah, where'd you get that from captain?” shachi asks.
“don’t worry about it.”
“well, fine, don’t let it just sit there then, take it!”
the crew around the table start chanting law’s name, using peer pressure to get their captain to take a shot for them. not wanting to admit where it came from or have anyone ask questions as to why he “ordered” a shot with no intention to take it, he decides downing it is indeed the best option.
“let's go! i don’t think i’ve seen you this intoxicated in years, captain, penguin said, “it’s nice to see you cut loose every once in a while.”
while this is going on and you notice your first shot went missing, being as inebriated as you were, you simply chalked it up to maybe you just dropped it.
“don’t worry baby, accidents happen, let me get you another one.”
a new shot is brought out to you, as you go to place it on your lips, it suddenly disappears again.
“y/n, look behind you,” ikkaku warns you, “so much for ‘not the jealous type’,” she smugly says under her breath with a grin.
“hey, what the hell is that guy's problem?” the man dancing with you lets out.
you turn around to see law holding the exact glass that was just on your lips, lipstick stain and all. the gang at the table is all cheering as he's looking right at you and downing it in one gulp with a smirk, eyes locked on yours like he’s daring you to do something about it.
“that’s a good question.”
you storm off from the dance floor and walk right up to law. the liquid courage in you fueling your anger with him.
“what the hell is your problem, captain.”
to go from suggestively dancing with another man and then refusing to use his name only angered law even more. yes, you’re not supposed to address him as law in front of the rest of the crew, but with the pointed tone you used, he knew you were also using it as a way to get under his skin.
“y/n-ya, you're drunk. i think you’ve had enough to drink.”
“you don't get to act like you care about me now.”
law’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing.
ikkaku quickly runs up to the table to do some damage control, leaving the other two men on the dance floor alone.
“hey guys! how about we all play a game around the table or something?” she nervously squeaks. she uses her eyes to jester to you to sit the fuck down and play it cool.
“OO yes! i’ve been dying to play a game!” bepo squeaks. he’s always reliable to try and help keep the mood positive, whether he's in on the reason or not.
before anyone could say another peep, a loud announcement cuts through the atmosphere, “alright ladies and gentlemen! it's that time of the night that we open up the mic for karaoke! anyone's welcome and any song is acceptable!” the dj calls out over the mic.
“hey, i’m gonna go grab us a round of water, i’ll be right back, go ahead and start a game without me,” ikkaku says.
and just like that, shachi pulls out a deck of cards and starts dealing them out while ikkaku sneaks off to the bar to grab some water.
as ikkaku is walking back towards the table another announcement is made, “alright everyone, first up on the mic is y/n!”
your face goes blank and then panic sets in as your eyes widen.
“ooo whaddya pick!?” the gang asks you, surprised your name was called.
“i don’t know, because i didn’t sign up for this…” you say, gritting your teeth and looking angrily at ikkaku.
“aw c'mon y/n, don’t be shy now, i hear you sing in the shower all the time, you’re actually really good. you can sing whatever song you want, you don’t tell them until you walk up there.”
fueled by anger and alcohol, you stand up and start heading towards the stage. after talking to the dj for a minute, you get your track picked out. 
the lights dim as the backing track begins to play, slow, sweet and aching, you grab the mic, your eyes locking with law’s, his stare burning holes into you.
I know that you love me
Darlin', you don't have to say it
law immediately gets red in the face, no one noticing yet but ikkaku.
You know you can trust me
It's okay, it's complicated
Nervous, trip over my words
You're so pretty it hurts
you point directly at law with your free hand.
Baby, I'm yours
Baby, I'm yours
Baby, I'm yours
now clasping that same hand over your heart,
I need something more
I pray to the Lord
finger back to pointing at law,
But, baby, I'm yours
you sang with everything, pain, want, heartbreak.
Is it too late to see you?
I love the view of your headlights
Wanna get to know you (know you)
Park outside my house for the night
Nervous, trip over my words
You're so pretty it hurts
Baby, I'm yours
Baby, I'm yours
Baby, I'm yours
I need something more
I pray to the Lord
But, baby, I'm yours
“i wonder who this song is about,” bepo murmurs.
“you really can't tell??” ikkaku questions him.
bepo finally connects the intense stares that you are giving to law, and that he is very much reciprocating on, his jaw dropped as he sat there in silence for a moment.
We're getting closer
Inches away
Lose composure
Favorite mistake
Friendship's over
Won't be the same
Baby, I'm yours
Baby, I'm yours
Baby, I'm yours
I need something more
I pray to the Lord
But, baby, I'm yours
after the last note, you just hang your head down to catch your breath and compose yourself. before you pick your head back up, you hear the whole bar starting to cheer. the only reaction that you care about is law’s. you look over to him and your heart sinks. he’s standing there, back tuned to the stage. what you didn’t know was that he was trying to hide the red on his cheeks for being called out like that, not yet ready to be pestered by the crew. taking it as a sign of rejection, you head straight for the exit and run out the door.
you take a moment to breathe in the alley next to the bar before figuring out your next move, the cool night air barely soothing the heat burning in your chest. going back inside is obviously not an option, suddenly your thoughts are interrupted by some heavily slurred speech.
“hey baby, where do ya think you're going?” 
you stiffened. it was the man from the bar that kept buying you shots. he stumbled towards you, accompanied by the man that was dancing with ikkaku. both of them reeked of booze and bad intentions. clearly not in the mental state to deal with them right now you figured the best response was just to ignore him and turned away.
“hey, bitch, i’m talking to you, fucking answer me back when i speak, whore.”
he’s starting to close in on you while you begin to panic. your legs refused to move. every instinct screamed at you to run, but the liquor dulled your reflexes, leaving you rooted, vulnerable, afraid. before you can even blink, he's got you pinned against the wall, his weight boxing you in.
“you didn't think i bought you all those drinks out of the goodness of my heart, did you?” his breath was hot and rancid against your face. “you gotta pay me back for all that,” he says as a creepy smirk grew on his face, “and I’m not really looking for money if you catch my drift,” he says with a devious laugh.
“yeah, and you have to pay for your bitch friend too for stiffing me,” his friend adds behind him.
you shook your head, tears stinging, vision blurring. this wasn’t happening. you’d just wanted to get law’s attention, not this.
“haha, look at this slut, she’s fucking crying like she thinks that’s gonna get her out of this.” he leaned in closer, voice dripping with malice. “go ahead, cry all you want. just don’t let those tears get in the way when you’re on your knees.”
you squeezed your eyes shut, mouth trembling.
“hey! get your hands off of her.”
you know that voice all too well, that cold, sharp edged voice that made your heart ache, even now, but you're too ashamed of the position you've put yourself in to meet his eyes.
the man holding you laughed, glancing over his shoulder. “oh look, we have a pretty boy here thinking he can save this broad. forget it man, she's a little busy right now.”
He finishes his statement turning back to you, attempting to push you back down again while you're trying your best to fight back, the shame, embarrassment and alcohol making it a difficult task.
“law, i’m sorry,” you whisper out between tears.
law charges at the man holding you down, but the second man lunged at him to intercept. a fatal mistake. 
“shambles.”
without hesitation and a flash of blue, the man screamed, clutching his chest in horror as law held his heart in one hand, still pulsing, still warm. he dropped it to the ground with a splat, stepping over him like trash. the man immediately freezes in immense pain mixed with the shock of seeing his own heart in front of him. law’s burning razor sharp gaze meets the man holding you down, he finds law's eyes, the same terrified look his friend previously displayed shown on his face.
“i said…” law’s voice dropped, lethal and cold, “get your fucking hands off of her.”
the man instantly lifts his hands from your shoulders stuttering in response to law's statement.
“i-i- i wasn’t gonna- “
“you what? law growled, enclosing in on him, weren’t going to hurt her? violate her?”
before he even had a chance to lie, law moved forward to strike the man, cutting out his heart as well, making sure to squeeze it hard.
“AH-” the man gasped, his body seizing up. the man collapsed, gasping, as law squeezed the organ just enough to make him writhe.
“shut up, trash. next time don’t touch my fucking girl.”
the man whimpered, barely conscious.
law knelt by you, his cold hands gently brushing your arms. you were shaking, sobbing, your eyes still fixed on the ground.
“i’ve got you, y/n-ya,” he murmured, his voice softer now, tinged with regret. “i’m here.”
you whispered through your sobs, “i’m sorry.”
his arms wrapped around you, holding you flush against him, his chin resting in your hair. “no,” he whispered back. “i’m the one who’s sorry.”
you can almost make out the pain in his voice.
“captain! y/n!”
you both turned to see the crew rushing down the alley. bepo, shachi, penguin, and ikkaku leading the pack, eyes wide at the carnage.
“what the hell happened here?” shachi questioned, eyeing the groaning men on the ground.
“don’t worry about it,” law snapped, still cradling you. “Bepo, take y/n back to the ship. everyone else, follow. i think it’s time we leave.”
bepo’s eyes widened, his voice anxious. “but captain… what about you?”
law’s gaze turns back to the barely-breathing men on the alley floor. his voice was steel.
“i’m not done here yet.”
bepo hesitated, then carefully scooped you into his arms. you didn’t fight it, exhaustion and humiliation weighing you down.
“yes, captain.”
no one argued. one look at law’s face told them it wasn’t a suggestion.
bepo carried you away, your tear-streaked face buried in his fur, as you heard the echo of law’s voice fade behind you. low, cold, and promising retribution.
not sure of what happened in their absence, no one dared to say a word to you on the walk back. you clung to bepo’s neck, your ruined makeup staining his soft fur.
you sniffled, your voice barely above a whisper.
“thank you, bepo... i’m sorry for all this. i’ll explain later, i swear.”
bepo’s ears twitched. “i'm just glad you're okay y/n. we were all really worried about you once you ran out of there. he looked down at you with teary eyes. please don't cry anymore! if you keep crying, then i'm gonna start crying!”
bepo’s overdramatic concern put a light smile on your face. you're safe now.
by the time you all arrive back to the ship, law is already there waiting for you. his coat hung loosely from his shoulders, his eyes dark and unreadable, but the tension in his jaw told you everything.
“y/n-ya,” he said firmly, “come with me.”
and just like that, bepo sets you down gently and you follow.
law didn’t say a word as he led you to his room, the door clicking shut behind you. he stood by the bed, but didn’t face you.
“we need to talk about what just happened.”
you swallowed the lump in your throat. “which part? the part where i embarrassed myself? the part where i almost…” you shook your head, “or the part where i made you look like a fool?”
“all of it,” he snapped, voice low but sharp.. 
you breathed in deep, hugging your own arms. “i'm sorry law, i didn't mean for any of this to happen. i was so stupid. i shouldn't have agreed to go out, i shouldn't have drank that much, i shouldn't have talked to those random losers and i-”
“no.” his voice cut through your apology like a blade.
you paused mid sentence, confused. his back was still to you.
“i'm sorry, y/n-ya.”
you blinked, stunned into silence. law apologizing wasn’t just rare, it was unheard of.
“y/n-ya,” his voice cracked just slightly, “i didn’t realize how serious we were. i mean, i did, but i didn’t want to admit it, not to myself, not to you. i tried to keep it locked behind these walls. just something private. contained. like that would make it safer.”
he finally turned to face you, eyes heavy with regret. “but tonight, watching them touch you, hearing you cry out, i realized something.”
you didn’t breathe. just waited.
“if i ever lost you…” his voice dropped into a strained whisper. “if they’d done anything worse, if i’d been too late…”
you take a moment to process what he just said to you. your eyes burned again, fresh tears pooling. “law…”
“i’ve already lost too much in my life. too many people i’ve cared about. if i lost you too-” he shook his head, fists clenched at his sides, “i’d break. and i don’t know if i’d come back from that.”
you stepped forward, slowly, until you were close enough to touch him. “you’re not going to lose me.”
his gaze flicked up to meet yours, guarded, afraid, even now.
“i’m here, law,” you whispered. “i’m not afraid of what comes with being with you. i want to see your dreams come true. i want to stand beside you through all of it.”
gently, you reached up, resting your hands on his shoulders. “but i need you to let me in. all the way.”
law stared at you for a long moment, like he was trying to memorize the way you looked right now, alive, warm, safe.
and then he grabbed you, arms tight around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. his hold was desperate, like he was trying to convince himself you were really here.
you chuckled quietly against him.
“what's so funny?” he mumbled into your hair.
“hm? oh nothing, you're just… a lot sweeter when you've been drinking.”
his face dead pans at you as he leans back to see your face.
“yeah? and you're a lot dumber.”
“hey!” you wanted to protest, but he makes a valid point so you playfully swat at his chest.
you both stood there, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the night still between you but easier now.
“law?” you ask.
you let him pull you down with him, the exhaustion of the night catching up to your bones.
“hm?”
what do we do about the rest of the crew? what do we tell them?”
he sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “we’ll figure that out tomorrow. for now…” he guided you gently toward the bed, “...you’re not going anywhere.” 
he didn’t let you out of his grasp once your body hit the bed. his hands framed your face, his breath shaky but his gaze blazing with something raw, unfiltered, something you hadn’t seen in him until tonight.
“do you have any idea,” he muttered, “how close i was to losing my mind watching you out there tonight? letting some bastard think he could have you?”
“i didn’t mean to-”
his mouth crashed into yours before you could finish. the kiss was furious, his frustration and longing bleeding into every movement. when he broke away, his voice was a harsh whisper against your lips.
“say it. right now. tell me who you belong to.”
you shivered beneath the weight of his demand, his eyes drilling straight through you. your lips parted, breath shaky.
“i’m yours.”
“again.”
you barely got the words out before his mouth was back on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.
“i’m yours,” you gasped, your back arching as his hands slid down your sides, tracing every curve like he was mapping it to memory.
“louder,” he growled against your throat. “i want the whole ship to fucking know.”
“i’m yours, law,” you moaned, his name a plea and a promise all at once.
“don’t forget it,” he breathed, his body pressing into yours, his hands everywhere, exploring, claiming, worshipping. 
your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more. more of his heat, his weight, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.
“i’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your lips brushing his ear. “i’m yours. i’ll always be yours.”
he groaned low, the sound vibrating against your skin, and then his mouth was on yours again, slower this time. deeper. like he was trying to pour every word he couldn’t say into you with every kiss.
“you better mean that,” he said, voice rough with need. “because if I ever lost you, y/n-ya…”
he trailed off, burying his face in your neck, his grip on you tightening.
“it’d destroy me.”
you cupped his face, pulling him up to meet your eyes. then don’t let me go.”
law’s mouth trailed kisses down your neck, slow and burning, his breath hot against your skin. his hands splayed across your hips like he was grounding himself. like the thought of letting go for even a second would cost him everything.
you shivered.
his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart with possessive purpose, his dark eyes fixed on you. “you’re mine,” he said again, voice thick with reverence. “and i’m going to make sure you feel it.”
he pushed up your dress and kissed down your stomach, slow and steady, eyes never leaving yours, watching every hitch in your breath, every tremble.
you whimpered, breath shallow as his mouth ghosted over your skin, lips barely brushing where you needed him most. he was savoring you, tasting, teasing, driving you mad with anticipation.
“say it again,” he whispered against your heat, his voice vibrating straight through you. “say you’re mine.”
“i’m yours,” you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair.
satisfied, he finally pressed his mouth to your cunt, slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing every sound he pulled from your lips. the world narrowed to his mouth, the firm grip of his hands and your hips, the relentless way he built you up with his tongue, only to drag you higher still.
every moan, every pleading whimper you gave only spurred him on, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. dark, hungry, and full of something deeper than lust.
“don’t hold back on me, y/n-ya,” he rasped. “i want to hear how good i make you feel.”
“ah fuck-” and before you could process what he said, law had slipped two fingers into you, groaning over the sensation of your core squeezing around them. you can feel him moan into your clit at the satisfaction as you toss your head back in pleasure.
law coo’s you on as he continues to claim what's his. “fuck y/n-ya,” you let out a trail of moans as he gives a harsh suck between each word, “come for me please, and only for me,” he works at you for a moment longer, coming up for air again, “i love you.”
one more thrust from his skilled fingers and you finally came undone, crying out his name like a prayer. he didn’t stop, he held you through every wave, every shudder, his mouth never leaving you until you were spent and trembling beneath him.
only then did he rise back up, his lips slick, his eyes burning with satisfaction. he hovered over you, brushing the hair from your face with surprising tenderness.
“now,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, “there won’t be a single doubt in your mind about who you belong to.”
you smiled weakly, still catching your breath. “i was never confused, captain.”
his smirk was dangerous, but his eyes were soft. “good.”
law remained between your thighs for a moment longer, watching you catch your breath with a faint, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. he kissed along your inner thigh tenderly, his hands smoothing up your sides, coaxing your shivers into sighs.
eventually, he shifted up the bed, his arms wrapping securely around your waist as he settled beside you. his chest pressed against your back, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you.
you smiled faintly, your eyes heavy lidded, fatigue creeping in just as hard as the bliss still simmering under your skin.
“don’t fall asleep yet,” you mumbled lazily, your voice slurred with exhaustion.
“too late,” he muttered back, his lips brushing against your ear. “you wore me out.”
you chuckled weakly, shifting in his hold until you faced him. His eyes were already half closed, but his gaze found yours, soft and heavy lidded.
“stay here,” he murmured. “right here. with me.”
you brushed his hair back gently, your touch featherlight. “i’m not going anywhere.”
that seemed to satisfy him. he pulled you closer, tucking your head under his chin. sleep overtook you both, pulling you into a heavy, dreamless slumber wrapped up in each other.
you woke up in law’s bed tangled in his sheets, the warmth of his body still wrapped around you. his arm was draped heavy across your waist, his breathing deep and even. a rare, peaceful sight. you smiled to yourself, but your throat was dry and parched from everything earlier.
you moved carefully, slowly peeling his arm off you so you wouldn’t wake him. law barely stirred, murmuring something inaudible under his breath, his brow twitching like he already missed your presence. you hesitated, watching his face soften again, and pressed a light kiss to his temple before sliding out of bed.
you scanned the room for something to wear, shivering from the cool air hitting your bare body. there was no way you were squeezing back into the little black dress. law’s hoodie was draped over the back of his chair, and you figured he wouldn’t mind. it was huge on you, reaching just to your thighs, and smelled like him. sea salt, steel, and a hint of smoke.
convinced everyone else was asleep, you padded out of his room quietly, sleeves swallowing your hands. the ship was still, lights dimmed, and you tiptoed into the cafeteria, expecting no one.
you were wrong.
the entire crew, bepo, shachi, penguin, and ikkaku to name a few, were all awkwardly sprawled across tables, half-asleep but very much present. the moment you stepped inside, all heads snapped up in varying degrees of grogginess and disbelief.
bepo’s ears twitched as he rubbed his eyes. “y/n! you’re okay!” he exclaimed, then squinted at you. “wait, where did your clothes go?”
shachi and penguin blinked at each other, then pointed simultaneously, voices raised in pure shock. “you’re in the captain’s hoodie?!”
you froze, wide-eyed like a deer caught in headlights, clutching the hem of the hoodie down your thighs. your face was burning.
ikkaku only grinned wide, eyes alight with excitement. “tell me everything.”
bepo’s voice cut in eagerly, “no fair! i wanna know too!”
you were about to stammer out some pathetic excuse when heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. slow, deliberate. the commotion must’ve woken law.
in his room, law stirred groggily, reaching for you instinctively. when his hand met empty sheets, his eyes shot open. it took him a moment to shake off the fog, but then he heard the familiar din of voices echoing from the cafeteria. that must be where you are.
he tugged on his jeans and proceeded to look for his hoodie. a few moments go by, but then he noticed your dress still crumpled on the floor. his eyes narrowed, piecing it together.
“...she took my damn hoodie,” he muttered to himself, realizing now that the crew has definitely noticed. 
he drug a hand down his face with an exhausted sigh, foregoing the hoodie you’d stolen, and trudged down the hallway, resigned to the inevitable.
as the crew’s barrage of questions hit a fever pitch, law finally appeared in the doorway. every mouth shut instantly.
law’s hair was tousled, his torso bare save for the scatter of tattoos, and his usual sharp gaze was softened by the lingering sleep still in his eyes. yet his voice was deadpan as ever:
“ah. so that’s where my hoodie ended up.”
you audibly whimpered, yanking the hood up over your head to hide your face.
“i’m sorry, law, i just wanted some water…”
he waved you off mid apology. “it’s fine. honestly, this is as good a time as any.”
at that, the crew sat up straighter, barely containing their curiosity. law crossed his arms and surveyed them with the same commanding air he used in battle.
“everyone, listen up,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the tension. “there’s no point in hiding it anymore. y/n-ya and i have been involved for a while.”
bepo’s ears shot up.
“you could’ve told us sooner, captain!” penguin whined.
law ignored them, his tone steely. “it wasn’t supposed to go this far without...clarity. but my stubbornness got in the way.”
you stepped forward, clutching the hoodie tighter. “it wasn’t just him. i pushed things too far tonight trying to get a reaction... and it backfired.” you swallowed, glancing at the floor. “i shouldn’t have played games with him. i wasn’t thinking.”
law’s gaze flicked to you, unreadable, before he addressed the crew again. “regardless, what happened tonight was on me. she ended up in a dangerous situation because of it, and i made sure the bastards who touched her won’t bother anyone again.”
a dark, definitive statement that left no room for elaboration. no one dared ask.
“going forward,” law continued, “we’re together. and whatever you all just witnessed tonight? stays on this ship. infact, no one is to know about this unless they are on this crew. am i clear?”
the crew snapped to attention, saluting as one.
“yes, captain!”
his gaze lingered on them just long enough to ensure the message sank in, then shifted to you, still half hiding in his hoodie.
“now,” he said with a tired sigh, “everyone get some damn sleep. that’s an order.”
they all started to shuffle off, casting backward glances at you with varying degrees of amusement and curiosity. ikkaku gave you a knowing wink on her way out, while bepo waved gently, whispering, “i’m really glad you’re okay.”
once the room emptied, law turned to you fully, expression softening.
“you. come with me.”
you followed without protest. he didn’t say a word until you were both back in his room. then, just before shutting the door behind you, he murmured,
“next time you sneak out of my bed... expect me to follow.”
you couldn’t help but smile as he pulled you back in, hoodie and all, the warmth of his body reminding you that you weren’t sneaking anywhere else tonight.
49 notes · View notes
changingplumbob · 2 days ago
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Second Round - Day Fourteen 2 of 3
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Deanna: Can I call you queen of the trash or is that pushing it?
Kennedy: *laughs* Could always shorten it ta queen
Deanna: Do you think you're mostly lucky or unlucky?
Kennedy: Oh, I know I’m lucky. I mean, I’m here, ain’t I? And I made it through the first round! 
Deanna: I think that was because of who you are more than dumb luck. Still, what's the luckiest thing that's happened to you?
Kennedy: The luckiest thing that ever happened to me, hmm… Well, probably the time I got thrown off Ole Dollie! Being thrown off a horse don’t sound so lucky, but she was a big gal and easily spooked. Went ridin’ alone one day and something got her so good she reared back, threw me off, and then SHE fell! She was just fine, tough ole girl, but if I hadn’t been thrown she’d have landed right on top and crushed me, ha!
Deanna: *laughs* I'm very glad you're not dead
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Deanna: Can we get deep for a bit? My family believe in the watcher but I know not everyone does. Do you believe in fate, you know, destiny? Or do you think we're all at the mercy of some watcher?
Kennedy: Oh, I believe in fate for sure! But who’s to say it ain’t some Watcher knitting our fates like a senile old lady?
Deanna: *laughs* I'll have that image in my head for a while now
Kennedy: I like to think this way, because it helps me get through bad times, y’know? If it’s fate, then it means I’m going through it for a reason and will come out the other side a better Kennedy than I was before
Deanna: That's an idea I like to hold on to
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Deanna: Where would you live if you could live anywhere?
Kennedy: Well, I'm likin' Tartosa! But honestly, I think I'd be happy in any of them, so long as I'm near nature and have room for a horse or two
Deanna: I would definitely have to be connected to nature
Kennedy: Not sure I could handle the big cities, but I'd give it a try if someone I loved wanted to move there.
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Deanna: I have to say I like being in Tartosa because it's close to my family. I could be persuaded to move if it was to somewhere stable, not constant packing and unpacking
Kennedy: Family's important to me, too, so I'd understand. I'd never ask you to move away from your family, so long as you wouldn't mind makin' a trip or two a year to visit mine
Deanna: I could handle that, or doing the reverse
Kennedy: I'd miss 'em, but it's about time they learned how to use a webcam and face-time!
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Devin: How was it
Deanna: This park is cute but not as cute as Kennedy
Devin: Did you have a good date?
Kennedy: Fresh air and a sweet gal, what could be nicer?
Results: No sentiments, Kennedy becomes the second contestant to max the friendship bar in the competition gaining her 15 bonus points. EVELYN who was first, maxing the bar last round, gets 20 bonus points.
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Deanna: Do you think you're mostly lucky or unlucky?
Mariela: Honestly? I consider myself very lucky. Considering that my mom really didn't want me, I could have ended up in a very bad situation. But instead I ended up with a dad who's always adored me and two aunties who have always been there watching out for me and guiding me as well. It may be an unconventional family, but hey... I'm an unconventional person!
Deanna: *smiles* Family doesn't have to be traditional
Mariela: I'm glad you agree
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Deanna: Can we get deep for a bit? My family believe in the watcher but I know not everyone does. Do you believe in fate, you know, destiny? Or do you think we're all at the mercy of some watcher?
Mariela: I'm not sure how I feel about it to be honest
Deanna: It's alright not to know
Mariela: Aunt Bess and Grace insist that the Watcher is the reason I ended up with them instead of suffering with mom, but if that's the case, then what makes me special? I remember that urn I found when looking for snowglobes. What's different about me from that person? I try to not think about it too much because it can become overwhelming
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Deanna: Say you can live anywhere. Where would you live?
Mariela: As much as I love the city, I have always been curious about living in Windenburg
Deanna: Really? I wouldn't have guessed
Mariela: There's a couple of neat night clubs, some cafes, and ruins! It sounds like it could be fun, and it would be nice to have a house, you know? No noisy neighbors, no weird smells, no rats... plus, I hear there's an island where some of the people live. Can you imagine?
Deanna: They must have some gorgeous scenery there
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Deanna: I have to say I like being in Tartosa because it's close to my family. I could be persuaded to move if it was to somewhere stable, not constant packing and unpacking
Mariela: Honestly, same. I wouldn't want to be constantly moving either
Deanna: *surprised* I just assumed with all the energy you seem to have that you'd be always on the go
Mariela: *smiles* Wildly reserved of me isn't it? And of course we'd visit each other's families together and have them over to visit too.
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Devin: How was the date for you?
Mariela: In my defense I thought asking her due date was an obvious joke because she's a lesbian
Devin: How did you find it De?
Deanna: Her humor can be a bit different from mine but it's easier as I learn more about her
Result: No sentiments
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Deanna: Do you think you're mostly lucky or unlucky?
Kristina: I think I'm really lucky. I love my family and friends, I'm living the dream in a villa in Tartosa, and I'm on a date with a beautiful woman
Deanna: *blushes* You're rather beautiful yourself
Kristina: I really feel alive, like the world is my oyster and I could achieve anything.
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Deanna: Can we get deep for a bit? My family believe in the watcher but I know not everyone does. Do you believe in fate, you know, destiny? Or do you think we're all at the mercy of some watcher?
Kristina: That is a great question, and I guess I do, but I think we have more control over our own fates than we realize. Like being erratic - sometimes I do or say things I don't think even a Watcher could have planned for, but that doesn't stop me from having autonomy, either
Deanna: That's great!
Kristina: I picked a park date because I love the outdoors, so your destiny was always to have a park date with me, but I had no control over the bowling challenge or the staring contest. Does that make sense? *speaks over her own shoulder* Makes perfect sense, Kristina!
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Deanna: Say you can live anywhere. Where would you live?
Kristina: Any world with a lot of trees would be my top choice. My father and brothers are foresters in Moonwood Mill, and I feel at home in the forest.
Deanna: *smiles* Lots of trees does sound good
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Deanna: I have to say I like being in Tartosa because it's close to my family. I could be persuaded to move if it was to somewhere stable, not constant packing and unpacking
Kristina: I would say your best friend Reece mentioned when we met last round that his boyfriend is a werewolf, so Reece and Samir will always feel at home when they come to visit us in Moonwood Mill!
Deanna: It'd be nice being close to Reece but of course I'd be there to be close to you
Kristina: *blushes* Charmer
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Devin: How was the date?
Kristina: I loved it, that's why I flirted so much!
Deanna: Ask what you want to know
Devin: Okay but why blow her a kiss right after she insults you?
Deanna: She's erratic, it's just who she is. I've heard worse from Emi and she flirted up a storm afterwards
Results: No sentiments
Sim Creators and Writers
@ashubii, @ravingsockmonkey, @bakersimmer
Lot Credits
Sulani Family Park - Found on the gallery by EA ID Noraakei
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44 notes · View notes
cheriebear · 18 hours ago
Text
Tuck Your Innocence Goodnight (PART 1)
Can also be read on AO3 here.
Pairing: Ren Shiranami x gender-neutral reader Fandom: Tokyo Debunker Rating: Explicit (it's not too bad in this part but it will get worse) Tags: Romance (sorta), mystery, horror, some blood and gore. Word count: 5k A/N: this is my first longer form fanfic in a good long while. My skills are super rusty, and honestly, I'm not sure I write tkdb characters all that accurately but I gave it a go here. Hope you give it a chance and enjoy.
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Chapter 1: Where Have You Buried All Your Children?
Most children display a common strategy when faced with something bad happening. They turn away, shut their eyes, cover their ears, and it is then that they believe the bad thing will cease to exist. If they cannot witness it, it is not happening. If you cannot see it, it cannot see you.
And if it cannot see you, it will not come to get you.
🧭
18:08 August 7, 2025
Shinjuku Station, Shinjuku/Shibuya
People cannot be out at dark anymore. Threat rules these streets in the nighttime. It can be heard in the whispers of people scuttling past. All the “hurry ups” and “it’s getting lates.” Some run without shame down the road, tripping over their own feet, yelling breathlessly at the speeding cars to “watch where you’re going!” and fetching up against the doorsteps of people they don’t know. Their fists pound on the doors and they beg to be let in.
“It’s getting dark, it’s getting dark!”
“Come inside,” the strangers say, hauling the doorknocker in and slamming the door shut. Then they lock the door.
One lock.
Two lock.
Three lock.
Four.
Some are walking as fast as their aching ankles will allow, breathing heavily, house keys in hand, and ready to throw themselves inside as soon as they spy their doorstep. They pretend they’re not afraid. They’ve got time. They won’t make fools of themselves even in the face of danger. Not when the streetlights are still bright.
It’s the same everywhere in Tokyo now. It’s the same every night. It’s the same for just about everyone. People cannot be out at dark.
But Ren Shiranami isn’t people.
And, these days, neither are you.
10:05 July 13, 2025
Darkwick Academy, Tokyo Bay
The sun burns blindingly hot over Jabberwock, but there’s a blessedly cool breeze that you race against as you sprint over the gentle hills. Your feet practically stomp into the earth on every rise and then fly with stomach-swooping speed on the declines. For a moment, you could just imagine what it was like to be Haru Sagara. Freedom from gravity.
And then you finally spot Ren Shiranami slumped against a fence post to an anomaly paddock and you trip.
You yelp and roll through the tall, dry grass before coming up on your feet again, miraculously using that accidental momentum to keep running, waving your hand eagerly in the air as you shout for Ren’s attention.
He’s tilted his phone down, squinting as you approach and come to a stop in front of him. Your hands plant themselves on your knees as you gasp for breath.
“Ren! Did you hear?”
“Hear what? Your clumsy fall?”
You grin. “You’re coming on the next inter-house mission. Apparently, Haru volunteered you for your, and I quote, ‘Aquatic know-how’, unquote. Haku’s leading this one and he saw no reason not to accept the recommendation, so, you’re in.”
Ren gapes at you. “What? No way I’m doing that. Who does that clown think he is? Volunteering me for missions… I have shifts at the diner this week and a paper due on Friday,” he grumbles, returning to whatever game he had been playing as he continues his tirade under his breath.
“I’m afraid it’s already been put down on the case file. You’re with us,” you say. You sit beside him on the grass, keeping a polite distance.
“Abuse of authority,” Ren mutters. His thumbs move rapidly across the screen before he tenses up, dropping his phone into his lap while trying to shake out his hand, cursing. “Of all times for my RSI to act up… I still have shit to do.”
“Here.” You reach for his hand, beginning to gently massage his rough palm with particular attention paid to the area around his thumb. He makes a funny noise before ripping his hand away.
“Wh— what the hell do you think you’re doing? That’s harassment, you know,” he says, avoiding your gaze.
You roll your eyes. “Trying to help. I’ll ask next time.”
“I’ll say no,” Ren grouches.
Brushing yourself off as you get to your feet, he remains sitting a little longer, absently brushing a thumb over the palm of his strained hand, frowning. “We’re meant to head out as soon as possible for this mission,” you say, “So we’re getting the full briefing at the train station at midday to leave today. Want to come with me?”
“Great. Two hours to kill.” He picks up his phone again. “Who else is on this mission anyway if it’s inter-house?”
“Well, it’s Haku’s mission, and I have to go along, and there’s you…” Coughing, you pause a moment before mumbling, “And Sho.”
“That burnout?!” Ren exclaims, suddenly launching to his feet. “No way, I’m not going. Get Sagara to join the mission if he wants someone from Jabberwock to go so bad. Don’t know why he’d even think about suggesting me for whatever aquatic stuff going on. Clown just likes making my life miserable.”
Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned Sho until you managed to drag Ren to the station. You just made your job of retrieving him ten times harder. And you were probably the only one who was most likely to succeed at this compared to Haru or the Hotarubi vice-captain.
“What’s your problem with Sho anyway? He’s really nice when you get to know him,” you say, following Ren as he trudges along the fence line.
He scoffs. “Yeah. Really nice. You know that guy hardly ever turns up to class? Barely studies? He just coasts everything and it’s so damn annoying. I hate when people don’t have to try to—” Ren throws a glare over his shoulder. “I dunno why I’m even telling you. Just forget about it, none of your business what my problems are.”
He bends to collect a pail you didn’t even notice, never even breaking his stride as he pockets his phone.
You speed up your walk to round on him, getting in his way. Ren stops short with a wrinkle of his nose before he promptly steps to the side—but you’re prepared for that, stepping in time to block his path. So, he tries to step around you again, only to be met with resistance. His fingers twitch and a muscle in his jaw flexes.
“Move.”
“Are you scared of Sho?” you tease.
Ren recoils, looking utterly disgusted with the offensive accusation, mouth curving downward. “Ugh, like hell I’d be scared of some burnout. Why do you ask? Are you scared of him?”
It surprises you, the strange glint of suspicion in his eyes. There’s a hint of something else there, but you can’t quite figure out what it is.
“Of course not. Sho’s my friend.” You rest a hand on your hip. “Look, this mission is in Koto City. There’s been missing persons around the marina and shorefronts. Haru said you handle most of the anomalous animals in the aquatic zone. You’d know best how to deal with whatever’s going on. The rest of us are in the dark.” You tilt your head, peering up at Ren with your best puppy eyes. “You’ve done a mission like this before. You probably won’t even have to get into the water this time. And I’d feel a lot better if you were there.”
For a long moment, Ren and you are caught in a standoff. It wouldn’t surprise you if a tumbleweed suddenly rolled on by while a Western-themed whistle echoes over the summer dried fields. When his lips press together and he squints, you theatrically mimic the expression. And there—just for a second, there’s a ghost of a smirk.
“Fine. But you’re helping me with the rest of my chores for the next two hours,” he says, thrusting the pail out to you, which you catch against your chest with a sigh.
“Okay then. Can’t be too hard if we work together. Where to first?”
You go around the park together, following the winding dirt roads before finishing up in the aquatic zone. Ren’s shoulders are unbearably tense as he tosses fish and other bits of mystery meat into the pools of the luminous caves. Whenever you lean a little too close to stare down at the depths to catch glimpses of anomalies, you’re met with sharp warnings of, “Get any closer and you’ll fall in, dumbass. I can’t even swim to get you out if you do. And if you die…” This is when Ren waves metal tongs at you. “I’ll never hear the end of it from that clown or any of your other friends. And I’d rather not have to deal with that shit.”
You hold the bucket of meat out to him to pick up another piece with the tongs and toss it with a plop into a writhing pool of eel-looking anomalies.
Later, when you’re waiting at the train station with a cup of instant noodles in your grasp, you stare hard at it. “…I think these noodles are moving. Look, Ren, see?”
“Yeah, bet there’s some creepy parasite in there that’s gonna take you over from the inside until you turn into one too,” he says, not even looking as he plays some sort of game event beside you on the bench.
“That’s not funny,” you grumble, rubbing the back of your neck.
His gaze flicks up to you briefly. Ren doesn’t say anything, but there’s an almost regretful curve at the edge of his mouth. He sighs heavily. A moment later, you sigh too and then let your chopsticks dive into the cup to probe around for anything that shouldn’t be in there before you start eating.
Honestly, you’re surprised that you and Ren got here before the others. Haku eventually strolls onto the platform, hands in his pockets and a case file tucked under one arm. His smile is easy as he gives you a wave, coming over to stand before you.
“Your Highness,” he greets you, “Eating as lavishly as an emperor, I see.”
You raise your noodle cup to the vice-captain. “Don’t knock it until you try it. Ren introduced me to these ones,” you say, elbowing the ghoul next to you.
“Hey, what the hell? This is harassment. I should sic the lawyer on you at this point. It’s every damn day with you…”
“Guy’s got good taste,” you continue, ignoring him with a sly smile.
Haku’s responding smile is amused as he looks at you, sparing Ren only a single glance. “Wait until you’ve had a taste of m—”
The rest of his sentence is drowned out by the thunderous rumble of a motorbike, drawing closer before abruptly going silent. A moment later, Sho appears on the platform, fixing his bandana. He doesn’t look too pleased to be there but cracks a grin when he sees you.
“Hey, Senpai.”
“Hey, Sho! Looks like we’re all here now.”
Together, we all board the Galaxy Express. I sit directly next to Ren, who moves away one more seat, only for Sho to take his previous spot next to me, and Haku gets himself seated on my other side as he flips open the case file in his lap.
“Police in Koto have had a significant surge in missing persons cases reported over the past month. The academy seems to suspect an anomaly on the loose. Most bodies of missing persons that are eventually found all share the same signs of bloating and aquatic decay,” Haku explains, eyes skimming down the document as you lean over to peer at the grotesque photographs provided.
Your nose wrinkles at the sight, but you fight not to immediately look away. You’ve seen just as horrible things before since meeting your first anomaly, the Kyklos, and it wouldn’t do to look so weak that you’d hold back the mission after almost a year in Darkwick.
There is marbling of the swollen and discolored skin but also bumps of insect larvae starting to nest in the dead flesh of the bodies. Your lips pull deeper in disgust the longer you look at the pictures. You can also see some of the skin beginning to slough off the bulbous, water-logged corpses.
The noodles stir uncomfortably in your stomach, and you finally tear your gaze away to sit back, just as Haku noticed you had been observing over his arm. The folder falls shut.
“You all right there, Your Highness?” he asks, sounding somehow both serious and light at the same time.
“Oh, yes.” You smile tightly. “I’m fine. So, where do we start?”
There is a chime from the express as an announcement blares.
12:12 July 13, 2025
Wakasu Seaside Park, Kōtō
A departing cruise ship gives one prolonged blast as it slowly leaves the harbor. Ren traces its inching trail on the sparkling horizon as it goes from the channel out to Tokyo Bay. Far in the distance are veritable fields of shipping containers on the other islands and then Tokyo International Airport as a blur on the mainland where blinking planes periodically take off and land. The hum of voices draws Ren’s attention back to the Wakasu shoreline, where you and Haku are chatting to a group of fishermen.
Ugh… Ren’s skin seems to itch from the inside. As if hanging out by the water wasn’t bad enough, they had to go and question the fishing traders and hobbyists too.
His eyes flick to the opposite end of Tokyo Bay once more.
“You ever go fishing or is that not allowed in Jabberwock?” Sho suddenly asks beside him.
Ren tenses up, hands in the air as he makes a face at Sho. “When did you—?!” He relaxes and steps away, grumbling, “Learn boundaries, dude.”
The Vagastrom student only cracks a smug grin. “So, no fishing in Jabberwock?”
“No.”
“I fish sometimes, by the common river that runs through the academy. You’d be surprised how much you can catch there on a good day.”
…Was this idiot seriously trying to make conversation while they waited for the other two?
Ren resolutely remains silent, hoping to discourage Sho.
“Leo sent me some true crime video a while back,” Sho continues, not heeding the other ghoul’s social rejection as he surveys the rocky shoreline and surrounding park. “Y’know, apparently, there was some infamous murder here in the nineteen eighties or something where a bunch of teenagers hid the body of a high school girl they tortured and killed in a metal drum covered in concrete. Not sure how they managed that, but the story still gives me the freakin’ creeps.”
This is the part in the movie where the audience learns about some typical old murder case that conveniently comes back to haunt the current characters even if they were totally uninvolved just because they were lingering around a killer’s stomping grounds. Great. The burnout was delivering exposition.
Who did that make Ren if he was the one who heard it? He should have just stayed in his dorm.
“Yeah… okay,” he mumbles.
“Sho, Ren!” You call over with a concerningly enthusiastic wave considering the case. “We’ve got a lead on a guy who can tell us where he found one of the weirder bodies!”
Ren sighs heavily and glances sideways at Sho, only to internally recoil finding the other guy looking at him at the same time, like they were damn buddies sharing in the moment or something. He hastily redirects his attention back to you as you and Haku wander over and waits to fall into step behind you as you lead the way.
“We should have brought my bike,” Sho says, hands folded behind his head as they walk. “Just saying. The bay’s too much area to keep pacing around.”
“We can’t all fit on one bike,” Haku reminds him as they hail a taxi. “Port of Tokyo, please, to the ferry terminal.”
Once again, Ren winds up squished in next to Sho with you on his other side while Haku sits in the front with the driver. He makes no effort to disguise his glare in the rearview mirror as the taxi seems to stop at every red light and crawl behind traffic. Even Sho seems antsy beside him, leg closest to the door bouncing a restless rhythm that only worsens Ren’s mood.
At least there’s a little less talk with this group compared to Sagara’s constant yelling and chatter.
“Hey, Senpai, what are you listening to?”
…Spoke too soon.
You perk up at Ren’s side, practically leaning across him as you show Sho your phone, lowering your headphones. “Somebody’s Watching Me by Rockwell at the moment, I was just about to skip it. Western music can be a hit or miss sometimes, but I put some good ones I like on a playlist. This one’s kind of getting old though.”
“A playlist, huh?” Sho leans in too, and Ren feels his eye twitch.
“Yeah! Do you want me to send it to you?”
“Honestly, I’m more used to club music, but I could give it a listen. Do you think Highway to Home could use some music for ambience?”
“Maybe I could help you come up with one to try out? I promise no Western music.”
“Sure, that’d be a nice help.”
Ren was going to lose his mind if he had to endure this for the rest of the drive. “You know being in people’s personal space is harassment?” he snaps.
You roll your eyes as you sit back again and Sho just turns to the window. Finally, Ren could breathe again. Slightly. You were still pressed up against his side. You’d drawn your headphones back on again and Ren catches sight of you scrolling through documentary podcasts. He should remember to send you a few he liked listening to that you might be curious about.
Your phone tilts and for a moment the sunlight glares bright across the screen.
About twenty minutes later, Ren looks at the blinding shine of a metal door handle to a warehouse by the harbor as a ferryman reaches for it. He doesn’t even flinch when he grabs hold of it and hauls the massive doors open to lead the group inside.
The smell hits first. Ren covers his nose and mouth swiftly, barely holding back a gag at the heavy scent of rotting flesh and fish.
“This is where I found the body before the police came to take it in,” the ferryman says, indicating a cordoned off area. “You lot private eyes or something?”
“Yeah,” says Haku, crouching down to inspect the markings on the concrete floor. “Something like that. Could you please give us a minute to examine the scene?”
When the ferryman walks away, Haku’s polite smile drops and the suddenness in the action sends a prickle over Ren’s skin. You and the ghouls all gather around what looks to be a rough circle of chalk and ash markings, in addition to scorch marks. Littered between them are the long melted and dried pools of wax that might have once been candles as well as old wreaths of flowers wilted and emitting a sweetly rotten stench. So why can Ren still smell fish and decay stronger here by the circle when there’s nothing else in sight?
“This looks like someone attempted necromancy. Very unsuccessfully. They must be new to this if they were using chalk,” Haku says quietly, his gold eyes almost lamp-like in the dimness of the warehouse.
“Kinda looks like some kids watched a show about demons and tried to summon something using gimmicks they learned from it.” Sho crosses his arms and tilts his head, nose wrinkled. “And what is that smell?”
“Wait,” You pipe up, pointing, “What is that?”
They all look at what Ren had first thought was just rust markings from old metal and machinery on the concrete, but now upon closer inspection look like… footprints. Bloodied ones at that, and small, like a child’s, but brown with age. These aren’t fresh. Ren shakes his head and raises his hands.
“Uh, no. I’m not following that— hey!”
You and the other two ghouls walk on without him, following the trail to another door in the warehouse. Reluctantly, Ren follows, fists buried deep in his pockets as he scowls disapprovingly. No one seems to be deterred by his attitude though as they find the door unlocked and step into what appears to be an office. Ren waits outside. Only for your figure to suddenly whoosh past him as you run back toward the large doors they all entered.
“Where are you going?” He doesn’t see Haku or the burnout following, so Ren decides he should before you trip and faceplant again. Maybe if he caught it on video this time it could make for a funny edit.
He finds you outside the warehouse by a window, casting about on the ground for something. Just as Ren’s about to ask, you stride past him and toward the water. He realizes you’re following more footprints, fainter, but they stop at the drop-off before the water’s edge.
“Damn.” Ren peers over at the lapping waves, nausea curling around his stomach like an eel. “Were any of the bodies found a kid?”
Your lips are drawn in a serious pout. “No.”
“Maybe… they couldn’t swim,” he says cautiously, backing away from the edge.
“And the kid just dived into the water while injured?”
Ren shrugs, goosebumps rising over his skin as he turns to look back at the warehouse where Haku and Sho appear again. He resolutely does not let his attention wander to the water again. No matter how piercing the feeling at the back his neck gets, like some kid’s watching him from the bay with dead eyes.
Summer, 2012
Shōnan, Kanagawa
Ren’s eyes feel dead with how long he’s been staring out the car window on the drive from Ine to Shōnan, squished in the backseat between pillows, suitcases, his little brother, and loose pots that he keeps nearly hitting his head against whenever time they make a turn. Every farm they rolled through started to look the same by the time he finished watching his first movie of the trip on the family’s portable DVD player.
Ren’s eyes feel dead as soon as he’s woken at six in the morning with boxes still packed in the cramped kitchen of their new flat to go out on the little fishing boat they brought along on the trailer.
His eyes feel dead as he stares listlessly at the morning fog over the ocean while sitting on the pier beside his father. Even despite the mist, Ren can tell the beaches here are pristine, almost eerie in their perfection. The palm trees loom tall over them from behind. He thinks he sees the vague shape of a mountain on the horizon.
There’s a tug on his father’s line beside him. It comes again, much more insistent, and so his father reels it in, the rod bending to the weight.
Ren doesn’t catch a good glimpse of it when the thing rises from the water, but he watches his father frown when he grasps it. The thing is delicately unhooked and tossed back into the water with a splash that ripples and sends up drops of seawater that tickle Ren’s little legs where they hang over the edge.
18:09 July 13, 2025
Darkwick Academy, Tokyo Bay
Your spoon splashes through the surface of your miso soup as you kick your legs at the park table outside Highway to Home. The case file sits open by your elbow with the added information you and the ghouls found today. Haku lazily stirs a straw in his drink, soup already drained from the bowl, his phone in his other hand.
“Some of the symbols around the main circle seem to be the same as the logo of a cult that’s been cropping up in Tokyo. From what I can find in online forums, they seem to do most of their recruitment and information trades at a nightclub in Shibuya,” he explains, nonchalant face illuminated by the glow of his screen.
“So you want us to go to this nightclub next and… what? Snoop around this cult?” Ren asks, arms crossed. He had declined having any food.
As Sho steps down from his truck and wanders over, his own bowl in hand, he rubs the back of his neck. “Is now a good time to mention I got myself banned from pretty much all clubs in Tokyo?”
“I’m sure we can find a way in.” Haku waves the concern away. “No sign of any notable anomalies yet. This might really just be a case of humans misbehaving.”
Your legs fall to a standstill, spoon coming to rest on the rim of your bowl. “…There was no mention of kids involved in this case. What do you make of what we found today? I mean, the trail wasn’t so obvious that the police included it in their own reports. Is it possible it was just… an animal? Or an anomaly that killed the man found at that site?”
“It’s difficult to say just yet,” Haku admits, “But we can’t exactly go trawling through the bay for anomalies. We’d pick up way too much stuff. Plus, there’s heaps of water traffic in the harbor. If any anomaly was there, it wouldn’t stay long, and we wouldn’t be able to search anyway.”
“At least if we find the cult, we might find some more clues about what they’ve been doing. They could be behind the murders and be dumping bodies in the harbor,” says Sho, swallowing a spoonful of soup.
“A lot of restless spirits around the harbor.” Haku sighs. You wonder why you hadn’t thought about asking earlier what he might have seen in terms of ghosts, but by the far-off gaze he has now, you figure it might be best not to ask yet.
An aching pain blooms over your back, and you slip a hand under the collar of your shirt to gently try massaging away the pain. You knew without having to look that it was the spreading flowers on your skin. It’s usually fine during the day, but the pain seems to come with exhaustion by the time night hits.
Ren pulls out his phone, the motion catching your attention. He stares intently at his screen before he gets up from the table. “Bye,” is all he says before he’s walking off.
You hastily gulp down the rest of your soup and profusely thank Sho for dinner before collecting your things and running off after Ren down the campus pathways. The others don’t bother calling after you. Haku already made a group chat for the mission named The Ruler & Subjects.
You really wish he’d stop calling you things like that. It was slightly embarrassing.
“Ren! Hey, Ren! Wait up!” you call out.
He doesn’t slow at all even as you both take the hidden turn toward the dirt road heading toward Jabberwock. You fall into step beside him, practically bouncing on your feet.
“How are you, Ren?” you ask.
He throws you a blank look. “…fine? I guess?” There’s a pause before he adds, “Why’re you asking…?”
You hesitate only for a second before saying, “Well, you don’t like water much and we’ve had to go all over the bay today. I just thought I’d check in.”
Ren blinks at you in surprise. It’s not long before the expression is traded for a scowl. “None of your business. And I want my noodles so don’t think I’m walking you back to the cathedral just ‘cause you followed me here. I’m too hungry to deal with you right now.”
You arch an eyebrow. “You could have had something at Sho’s.”
“I’m not eating that burnout’s crap,” he grumbles.
Your footsteps crunching on the dirt come to a stop as Ren walks on ahead. He doesn’t even falter, too busy gazing at his phone even as he pushes open the gate and kicks it shut behind him.
“‘Night,” you say quietly to the air.
Ren definitely had seemed agitated during and after the mission today. Undoubtedly, he’d try to find some excuse to drop out tomorrow so he wouldn’t have to continue. So, you couldn’t blame him for being so irritable.
Except that this kept happening. The good moments with Ren always made your entire day, sometimes your whole week. But they were so rare, and he still seemed to treat you much the same as always overall. This wouldn’t be the first time you’d reconsidered trying to get close with Ren. And now he was disparaging Sho. It was so unnecessary. Usually, Ren didn’t even offer out insults, but he really didn’t seem to like Sho. As far as you know, the two have barely interacted before this mission, so it didn’t make much sense.
With a sigh, you walk back to the cathedral, alone.
Later that night, you sit at your desk by the window, a candle burning as you look over your own notes on the case. Your hand reaches for your back again with a pained grimace. Maybe it was time to get some rest before the mission resumed tomorrow.
Instead of going to bed though, you spend a little longer staring at the bright, steady flame of your candle, lost in thought.
At the same time, across the bay, a young man stares up at the glow of a lighthouse as he walks on by. The night air is balmy with a gently cool air periodically caressing his skin. The sound of waves lapping against boats in the marina is soothing.
There’s an uneven clip of pursuing footsteps. The man glances over his shoulder and slightly speeds up his step at the sight of another figure behind him in the otherwise deserted area.
The figure speeds up too.
Making a split-second decision, the man decides to run, breathing the humid air in gasps while his pounding footsteps echo across wooden paneling, and he looks back only once to check his pursuers progress, which winds up being his second mistake of the night.
Pain cracks across his head and he falls to the rough wood. The last thing he sees is the glint of city lights on the ink-dark waves of the water below, and the blink of the lighthouse as hands grab him.
He could swear, somewhere on the horizon, a foghorn sounds.
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bookloover35 · 3 days ago
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A World Of Magic In The Apocalypse/ Daryl Dixon.
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You were scavenging in an old house, the wood creaking under your boots as you picked your way through the rubble. It was amazing how much the world had changed — homes that once held laughter and warmth were now shells of their former selves, abandoned and broken. But you kept looking. In times like these, you never knew what treasures you might find.
A flicker of something colorful caught your eye in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Curious, you pushed open the door, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Your eyes widened as you stepped inside. There, lying scattered across the floor like fallen leaves, were stacks of old VHS tapes.
You knelt down, wiping the dust off the cases. The familiar images made your heart skip a beat. The Lion King, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, The Little Mermaid... Disney classics, all still intact. They were relics of a time when your biggest worry was what movie to watch on a Friday night, not whether you'd make it through the day alive.
A grin spread across your face as an idea began to take shape. It had been so long since the group had done anything that even remotely felt normal. Maybe a movie night was exactly what everyone needed. And Daryl... your husband could definitely use a break.
By the time you made it back to the camp, the sun was setting. The group was busy with their evening tasks — Michonne and Rick discussing patrols, Carol tending to dinner, and Daryl sitting by the fire, sharpening his knife as he always did when he needed to unwind.
"Hey," you called, making your way over to him. He glanced up, his sharp blue eyes softening when they met yours.
"Find anything good?" he asked, his voice gruff as usual but with that familiar warmth reserved just for you.
"Maybe." You gave him a teasing smile and held up one of the VHS tapes. He raised an eyebrow, clearly confused.
"What the hell's that?" he grunted, setting his knife down.
You rolled your eyes with a playful laugh. "It's a movie, Daryl. You know, Disney?" His blank stare made you shake your head. "Seriously? You never watched Disney movies as a kid?"
Daryl shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "Ain't had much time for stuff like that," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Well," you said with a determined glint in your eye, "tonight, we're changing that. I found a whole stash of these tapes and a battery-powered TV. We're having a movie night. Just you and me."
He gave you a dubious look, as if the concept of sitting still for an hour or two was somehow against his nature. But you knew Daryl. Beneath all that gruffness, he was a soft-hearted man who cared deeply about you. And you had a hunch he'd say yes — if only to see you smile.
Later that night, after some convincing (and a bit of bribing with an extra serving of Carol's squirrel stew), you managed to get Daryl to join you in the corner of your little cabin. You had set up the tiny TV and found an old blanket to curl up on. Daryl sat beside you, looking stiff and awkward, clearly out of his element.
"You're gonna love this," you promised, pressing play on the tape of The Lion King. The opening notes of "Circle of Life" filled the room, and you couldn't help the grin that spread across your face as the familiar scenes flickered on the screen.
At first, Daryl seemed disinterested, arms crossed and eyes darting around like he was expecting a walker to burst through the door any second. But as the movie went on, you noticed his posture relax. By the time Simba and Nala were singing "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?", Daryl's arm had somehow found its way around your shoulders, pulling you close.
"Ya know, this ain't half bad," he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible over the music.
You turned to look at him, a teasing smile on your lips. "Told you so," you whispered, resting your head against his shoulder. For a moment, the world outside disappeared. There were no walkers, no danger, just the two of you wrapped in the warmth of each other's company.
When the movie ended, you turned to him with a hopeful look. "So... what'd you think?"
Daryl shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Guess it was alright," he said, but the way he squeezed your shoulder told you he'd enjoyed it more than he was letting on.
"Wanna watch another one?" you asked, holding up Beauty and the Beast with a playful grin.
He sighed, but there was no mistaking the fondness in his eyes. "Alright, but only 'cause ya seem so damn happy 'bout it," he said, nudging you gently.
As the next movie started, you nestled deeper into his side. For a few hours, the weight of the world seemed to lift. The apocalypse, the endless struggle for survival — none of it mattered in that little bubble of light and laughter you had created.
And for Daryl, seeing you smile and hearing your laughter was worth every second.
End
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myloveonherknees · 2 days ago
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What are your thoughts on the old posts coming out? Not asking in a malicious way I just want an outside perspective
oh god. i've been sitting on this for a while (& this blog runs off a queue, so i'm not On Here as frequently as my posts suggest), and what i think is worth saying has shifted over time. overall, my take is that it's very disappointing on several levels, especially the fan response.
before i get into it, please know that i think racism is bad. that's a statement few people will consciously disagree with, but it warrants saying nonetheless. i'm not interested in minimizing or excusing what was said (and if you feel compelled to do so in the notes of this post, it'll be removed). i'm not interested in making a case for why it's wrong, either – i don't think it's my place as an ethel cain fan blog to do anti-racism 101. because i think identity matters in discussions of racism, i'll share that i'm a mixed Indigenous person that looks white. centring those most impacted is appropriate in situations like these, and because the screenshots contained anti-Black slurs and anti-migrant rhetoric, that is not me. that's not meant to encourage people to be weird to fans who are directly impacted, it's more to encourage self-reflexivity in how people engage with this.
onto actually saying stuff – i'm sad the screenshots had to come from that weird transmisogynist ethel cain hate posse. i think the fact that it was them who leaked it ended up pulling focus in a way that feels slimy. i'm not sure how that could've been avoided, and i suppose it was only a matter of time before they did something that would warrant a public response. still, i think their other attempts at bad-jacketing hayden are/were less compelling than the curiouscat screenshots. the majority of those other criticisms (fetishization, paraphilias) exist at the intersection of transmisogynist rhetoric and bad-faith interpretations of the ethel cain project. i'm sad those criticisms get to be lumped together with condemning the racism displayed in those screenshots. i feel like some people really want hayden to be a victim in this scenario – and she is in some ways! – but that exclusive focus on how she's been victimized implicitly glosses over an objectively harmful thing (i.e. using slurs, being flippant about racism) she fully admitted to doing. i can understand the desire to "protect" an artist you like from what you feel is unfair criticism, but i think it's really vital to separate out the racism thing. you do not need to defend that, and it actively makes fan spaces hostile to BIPOC when you do so (and that is bad!)
semi-related to the above, i'm sad this situation has some ethel cain fans talking like fox news commentators. i promise that no one needs to do the work of defending or minimizing racism. no one needs to be using "woke" as a pejorative (it can also be appropriative when used positively, but that's a whole other conversation) nor does anyone need to wax poetic about how much they hate cancel culture. those are all socially conservative right-wing talking points, and i frankly resent them being entertained in a fan community i consider myself part of. morality aside (though i do think the morality of this situation matters), it is very embarrassing. i'm also noticing some cruelty directed at those who do find the racism included in those screenshots inexcusable, and i hate that. you do not need to call them/us oversensitive, nor do you need to lump them/us together with the transmisogynist hate campaign that originally dug up those screenshots. two things can be true at once: the people who brought those photos to the public are nasty little freaks, and people are valid in having negative thoughts/opinions on their content. again, i think separating out the racism here is important.
at the end of the day, i don't think there's one entirely correct "answer" to this – it's up to each person how they want to think about it and how they want to shape their engagement with the ethel cain project going forward. i will say that if you believe racism is bad (and i hope you do!) think long and hard about if your commentary on this situation tacitly minimizes what has occurred. in all honesty, i don't think there's a way to publicly discuss how "you'll never hate hayden" or whatever that doesn't read as racism apologia at some level. i don't think that's the intention people have in mind in making those statements, but it's the effect nonetheless. i'm unsure what to do with that, but there it is.
personally i don't have a strong sense of where i've landed with all this. i'm a person with fairly niche politics, so i don't feel the need to be morally or politically aligned with artists whose work i enjoy the way others might. no public figure is going to meet that standard for me. still, using slurs is a standard of politics/morality i think it is very easy for anyone to clear, so i'm disappointed in that respect. i'm unsure on how i feel about the statement. i'm also disappointed in the fan response it's generated. saying that, i don't have immediate plans to abandon what i'm doing here, but it's been less like... exciting or joyful, maybe? i will keep you posted on if that changes for me.
i think that's a good place to end this off. all my love to BIPOC ethel cain fans that have been hurt by this scenario, both the screenshots and the fan response ♡
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winchesterwild78 · 3 days ago
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The Unveiling pt 6
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Master list
Characters: Mark Meachum x Reader
Warnings: ****Spoilers Ahead***** if you haven’t seen the first five episodes don’t read this. You have been warned. 
Injuries, fluff, angst
Catch up on part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
A/N: This chapter has Mark completing his treatment, and wedding planning. Plus a little angst in the mix. 
I do not own the rights to this character or any of the characters from the show. I’ve taken creative liberties with the story, but put some elements of the show in the story. 
Do not take my work, all work is my own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 
Minors DNI 18+ 
We left Dr. Thorne's office in a daze, the clinical white walls blurring into a tunnel of light. Mark was still trembling, the emotional dam having burst, releasing months of suppressed fear. I clung to him, whispering reassurances, stroking his back as he pulled himself back together, piece by painstaking piece. The sheer, overwhelming relief was a physical force, leaving us both weak-kneed.
Once the initial shock began to recede, a profound calm settled over Mark. The world, which had seemed so precarious and uncertain, suddenly felt solid, real, and full of possibility. We returned home, not just with a sense of hope, but with a vibrant, almost intoxicating new sense of hope. The shadow that had loomed over us for so long had dramatically receded, making way for light.
And with that light, Mark's earlier, sedated confession blossomed into a concrete plan. The very next day, as we sat at the kitchen table, still reeling from the news, he looked at me, a determined gleam in his eyes.
"We're getting married," he stated, not asked. "And we're doing it right. I want to plan it. With you. All of it."
I laughed, a joyous, watery sound. "Are you serious? You just got the best news of your life, and you want to dive into seating charts and flower arrangements?"
He grinned, a genuine, unburdened smile that made my heart ache with love. "Absolutely. What better way to celebrate getting my life back than planning our life together? Every little detail. Every decision. I want to do it all with you."
And so, our home transformed into a whirlwind of wedding planning. The laughter truly returned, echoing through the rooms as we debated venues, discussed guest lists, and poured over fabric swatches. We pulled out magazines, scrolled through websites, and even though Mark still had two more Gamma Knife treatments ahead, and would face the inevitable side effects, his resolve was unwavering. He was meticulous, applying the same focused intensity he used on a case file to comparing caterers and band options. He often pulled me into spontaneous hugs, whispering "I love you" and "I can't believe we're getting married" just for the sheer joy of saying it out loud. The future, once a terrifying question mark, was now a beautiful, blank canvas we were eager to paint together. Every whispered idea about a white dress, every shared chuckle over a bad DJ proposal, was a defiant victory against the illness we were finally conquering.
The last treatment for Mark was complete. We had made the familiar trip to Maryland, gone through the now well-rehearsed routine, and endured the temporary side effects. But this time, it was truly the last of the initial series. The comprehensive scan had confirmed the incredible progress, and with Dr. Thorne's confident prognosis, a new era had begun.
Weeks separated us from the wedding day, a countdown of a different, joyful kind. Mark's recovery had progressed remarkably. The debilitating headaches were largely a thing of the past, replaced by occasional, manageable aches. The fatigue, while still present, was lessening with each passing day. He looked healthier, the gauntness in his face replaced by a subtle, vital glow.
He returned to work, not with the grim determination of a man facing down a death sentence, but with a vibrant sense of determination born of a second chance. He was still the focused, relentless detective, but now his intensity was fueled by a fierce appreciation for life, for the future he was actively building. He threw himself into the 'Engineer' operation with renewed vigor, driven by the desire to secure a safer world, not just for others, but for the family he was about to create. He was sharper, more present, and his colleagues noticed the change. The unspoken weight had been lifted, replaced by a quiet confidence. He was fighting for his country, but more importantly, he was fighting for our forever.
The days leading up to the wedding had been a flurry of joyous activity, a vibrant counterpoint to the quiet intensity of Mark's final treatments. He had balanced the stresses of work and wedding planning like a true pro, surprising me with his meticulous attention to detail and his genuine enthusiasm. He was thriving, a testament to his resilience and the success of the treatment.
Tonight, however, was different. He was out on a critical mission operation, one that required absolute stealth and precision. I knew he'd be late, but as the hours ticked past midnight, and then into the early morning, a cold knot of dread began to tighten in my stomach. The silence of the house pressed in on me, amplifying every creak and groan. I paced the living room, a worn path forming on the rug. I knew, with agonizing certainty, that I couldn't call him. Any attempt to reach him would blow his cover, jeopardize the entire operation, and potentially put him and his team in even greater danger. So I waited, helpless, my nerves fraying with each passing minute.
The hands on the clock seemed to accelerate, mocking my growing fear. Just as the first hint of pre-dawn light began to filter through the blinds, my phone, lying silent on the coffee table, suddenly vibrated, shattering the oppressive quiet. I snatched it up, my heart leaping into my throat, a premonition of disaster chilling me to the bone.
It was Nathan.
I barely registered hitting the answer button. His voice, usually so steady and commanding, was strained, filled with an urgency that instantly confirmed my worst fears.
"There was an accident on the mission," he said, his words clipped, rushed. "Mark... he's heading to the hospital. He hit his head hard."
The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering to the floor. The world tilted on its axis. "Hit his head hard." The words echoed, cold and terrifying, bringing with them a torrent of agonizing memories: the explosion, the swelling, the initial diagnosis, the brutal pain. After everything, after fighting so hard, after the tumor was almost gone...
I didn't think. I couldn't. All the careful wedding plans, the renewed hope, the quiet joy of the past weeks, evaporated in an instant, replaced by a primal terror. I flew out the door, half-dressed, keys already in hand, the hospital address burning a hole in my mind.
I burst through the automatic doors of the emergency room, the fluorescent lights harsh and unforgiving. Nathan was there, already waiting, his face etched with grim concern. Behind him, huddled together, were Amber, and the rest of Mark's core team. Their faces, usually composed and professional, were pale, etched with a raw fear that mirrored my own. They looked terrified.
Nathan rushed forward, grabbing my arms. "He's stable, Y/N," he said, his voice urgent, trying to convey calm. "They're still running tests, but he's stable."
His words, meant to reassure, barely registered. My mind was a whirlwind of terrifying images, replaying the last time he hit his head, the agonizing pain, the almost-gone tumor. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not after everything. This was a nightmare, and I couldn't wake up. After all the months of fighting, the endless treatments, the agonizing hope—this wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to him, to us, to the future we had just painstakingly begun to build.
My fear twisted into a sudden, furious rage. My eyes locked onto Amber, who stood closest, her face pale. "Why?" I shrieked, my voice cracking, unrecognizable even to myself. "Why didn't you protect him? He just got his life back! He just beat this thing! Why weren't you watching out for him?"
Amber flinched, her eyes wide with shock and pain, unable to respond. Before I could launch into another accusation, Nathan's strong arms were around me, pulling me away from her, enveloping me in a tight, comforting embrace. I collapsed against him, the anger dissolving into a wave of shuddering sobs. My body shook, the primal fear finally taking over.
It felt like an eternity before a doctor, a tired-looking man in blue scrubs, finally emerged from the inner doors and walked towards us. My heart seized, preparing for the worst news imaginable.
He looked at me, then at Nathan, his expression serious but not grim. "He has a pretty bad concussion," the doctor stated, his voice calm. "He hit his head hard, as you know. But we've done extensive imaging – CT scans, MRIs – and there's no bleeding or swelling."
The words "no bleeding or swelling" cut through the haze of my panic like a ray of light. My eyes flew to his face. "Does this affect... does this affect the tumor?" I choked out, the question I truly dreaded.
The doctor shook his head reassuringly. "Based on the latest scans we have from Johns Hopkins, the tumor itself is so small, essentially scar tissue at this point, that this concussion should not directly affect its progression or the success of your previous treatments. The brain is quite resilient, even after major trauma. This is a standard concussion, albeit a severe one, and he'll need rest and monitoring."
A long, shuddering breath I hadn't realized I was holding finally escaped me. Relief, so potent it felt like liquid fire, coursed through my veins, chasing away the icy grip of terror. My legs almost buckled.
"Can I see him?" I whispered, my voice still hoarse.
"Yes, he's in recovery now," the doctor confirmed. "He's still asleep from the sedatives and pain meds, but you can go in."
I walked into the recovery room, the bright lights softened, the beeping of machines a comforting rhythm. Mark lay on the bed, pale, a bandage visible at his temple, but otherwise whole. He was still and peaceful in sleep, the lines of stress eased from his face. My heart clenched, not from fear now, but from a profound sense of how close we had come, how fragile life was, and how incredibly damn lucky we were. He was alive. He was okay. We still had our future.
Hours later, the quiet hum of the hospital room was broken by a soft groan. Mark stirred, his eyelids fluttering. I leaned forward, my breath catching, my hand immediately going to his arm.
His eyes slowly opened, unfocused at first, then slowly, painstakingly, focusing on my face. There was a moment of confusion, a slight furrowing of his brow, then recognition. He blinked, a slow, deliberate movement.
"Hey," I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. My hand moved to gently cup his cheek. "Welcome back."
He offered a weak, lopsided smile, but it was enough. "Hey," he mumbled, his voice raspy, a little slurred, but distinctly Mark. His gaze moved around the room, taking in the sterile surroundings, then back to me. He tried to lift his hand, but it fell weakly back to the bed.
"Head hurts," he slurred, a faint wince on his face.
"I know, love," I soothed, gently stroking his hair. "You've got a bad concussion. But the doctors say you're going to be okay. No bleeding, no swelling." My voice trembled as I reiterated the most vital part. "And it didn't affect... it didn't affect the tumor. It's still gone."
His eyes, still hazy, seemed to lighten at my words. A flicker of relief, profound and weary, passed through them. He reached for my hand again, this time his grip, though weak, was firm.
He lay there for a while, just looking at me, a silent conversation passing between us. The fear, the anger, the relief, the sheer exhaustion – it was all there in his gaze. He closed his eyes for a moment, a sigh escaping him that seemed to release months of tension. When he opened them again, there was a quiet, almost childlike vulnerability in their depths.
"Wedding," he mumbled, the word slurred but clear enough. "Still on?"
My heart swelled. I leaned in, kissing his forehead, his hair. "More than ever," I whispered, tears blurring my vision again. "More than ever, Mark. You just focus on getting better. I'll handle everything else."
He nodded, a faint smile on his face, and drifted back to sleep, his hand still clutched in mine. The hospital room, once a place of terror, now felt like a cradle of miraculous second chances.
As soon as Mark drifted back to sleep, I slipped out of the room, my heart still thrumming with residual fear but now primarily filled with relief. I found Nathan and the team still in the waiting area, their faces etched with anxious expectation.
"He's awake," I announced, my voice a little shaky but clear. "He's got a bad concussion, but the doctors say there's no bleeding, no swelling. And it didn't affect... the tumor." I met Nathan's gaze.
A collective sigh of relief swept through the team. Nathan's shoulders visibly relaxed, and Amber, who had been pacing, stopped dead in her tracks, a wave of profound relief washing over her face.
"Thank God," Nathan breathed, running a hand over his face. "Can we see him?"
"He's pretty groggy and will probably sleep a lot," I cautioned, "but yes."
As the team began to move towards Mark's room, I stepped directly in front of Amber. She looked at me, her eyes still holding a hint of the pain from my outburst earlier.
"Amber," I began, my voice low and sincere. "I am so, so sorry. What I said earlier... it was unforgivable. I was terrified. I was out of my mind with fear, and I lashed out. It wasn't fair to you. You were doing your job, trying to keep everyone safe. Please, can you forgive me?"
Amber's composure, which had been so rattled, softened. She looked at me, and then her own eyes welled up. She reached out, placing a hand on my arm. "Hey," she said, her voice a little choked. "There's nothing to forgive. I get it. We were all scared. I was terrified too." She offered a watery smile. "Just glad he's okay. And I'm glad you're okay."
A wave of shared relief and understanding passed between us. We hugged, a brief but powerful embrace that mended the momentary rift.
Mark's hospital stay was thankfully short, only a couple of days to monitor the concussion. The initial days at home were slow, filled with rest, mild pain management, and careful monitoring for concussion symptoms. I became his vigilant guardian, ensuring he followed every doctor's order, limiting screen time, regulating light exposure, and coaxing him to eat. The quiet moments, however, were filled with a deeper peace than ever before. This latest scare, while terrifying, had only cemented our resolve.
As the weeks passed, Mark's recovery accelerated. The concussion symptoms gradually receded, his headaches becoming less frequent and less intense. He eased back into light duty at the task force, his mind sharper than ever. The team, now fully aware of his medical journey, treated him with a newfound respect and protectiveness. They were more cautious during planning, insisted he take breaks, and quietly covered for him when his energy flagged. They were a family, forged in fire and shared secrets.
With Mark's health steadily improving, our attention wholeheartedly shifted back to the wedding. The near-miss had only amplified our urgency, our desire to officially cement our future. The final preparations were a flurry of joyful activity. The dress was finalized, the suits fitted, the catering confirmed. Each detail, no matter how small, felt monumental, a symbol of the life we were choosing, against all odds. Mark, now fully recovered and buzzing with energy, threw himself into the remaining tasks with gusto, his enthusiasm infectious. He'd catch my eye across a room, and a silent smile would pass between us—a shared acknowledgment of how close we'd come to losing it all, and how incredibly lucky we were to be standing on the precipice of our forever.
Two days. Just two days until our wedding. The final touches were in place: the flowers ordered, the caterers confirmed, my dress hanging, pristine and ready. Our home hummed with an eager anticipation, a joyous energy that had finally eclipsed the shadows of the past.
Then, the call came.
It was late afternoon. Mark had just returned from a final fitting, still grinning about how good his suit looked. His phone rang, and his face immediately shifted, the relaxed joy replaced by a familiar, grim focus. He listened, his answers short, clipped.
"Intel just came in," he said, turning to me after hanging up, his voice tight with urgency. "The attack. The one 'The Engineer' has been planning. It's going down. Soon. We have a window, but it's closing fast."
My blood ran cold. This was it. The culmination of months, years, of relentless work. The very reason he'd walked into danger countless times, the very mission that had almost cost him everything, twice. He pulled on his gear, moving with the practiced efficiency of a man heading into battle. His team would already be loading up, a quiet army descending towards the danger.
He stopped at the door, his eyes, so full of love moments before, now steely with determination. He pulled me into a fierce embrace, holding me tighter than usual, as if trying to imprint my warmth onto his skin.
"I'll be home," he whispered, his lips brushing my hair. "I promise. I'll be home in time."
He kissed me, a long, deep kiss that tasted of urgency and unspoken promises. Then, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me alone in the sudden, echoing silence of our almost-ready home.
My heart clenched with worry. It wasn't just for their safety, the inherent danger of a direct confrontation with a terrorist network. It was the other worry, the insidious one that always lurked beneath the surface despite Dr. Thorne's assurances. The "hit his head hard" fear. The "what if this time" dread. The ghost of the tumor, almost gone but forever a part of our story, whispered its terrifying doubts. Two days. Two days until forever. And he was walking into a war.
Part 7
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lolobeey · 1 day ago
Text
Crash and Burn (2) - Off the Books
Chapter 2 includes: One suspiciously glittery birthday card, an abandoned clinic full of missing files, and a storage unit filled with more than dust. Also: illegal coffee-fueled data dives, some light breaking & entering, and the slow, reluctant beginning of something that might almost be trust.
Pairing: Detective!Bucky x Partner!Reader
Series Summary: You just made detective. Your first case? A cold one — missing woman, dead cop, and a cover-up that smells worse than precinct coffee. Your new partner is James Buchanan Barnes: metal arm, resting murder face, zero interest in teamwork. You talk too much, he broods too hard, and together you’re one bad day from a workplace incident report. But the case isn’t as cold as it looks. And if you don’t start trusting each other soon, you won’t live long enough to solve it.
Warnings: slow burn, buddy cop romance, angst, eventual smut, a bit of grumpy x sunshine, mentions of death / off-screen character death, strong language - stronger jawlines
Word Count: 6k
SERIES MASTERLIST
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6:15am.
You’re out cold when your phone rings. Not buzzes. Not dings. Rings.
Old-school, full-volume ringtone — the one you set for important contacts. Which means because of the most recent addition to the list, your heart rate spikes before you even read the name. 
Barnes. 
You swipe to answer, throat still dry.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll be outside in a half hour.”
A beat. You blink, sit up. “Outside where?”
He hangs up.
No explanation of where you’re going. No good morning. Just: get ready.
Halfway through brushing your teeth, you realize you’d never told him where you live. But then again, he does seem like someone who’d abuse internal systems for the sake of punctuality.
Half an hour later, he’s outside. Exactly on time.
You emerge with two travel mugs in hand. One for you, one for him. Because you’re generous. And also because you suspect he might combust without caffeine.
He’s leaning against a beat-up sedan that looks like it’s seen one too many stakeouts and not enough oil changes. The paint’s faded, one hubcap’s missing, and the passenger-side mirror is held on with duct tape.
You hold up the coffee. “Thought I’d bring you one so you don’t sulk yourself into a coma.”
He takes it without comment. Sips once. Nods. High praise, by Barnes standards.
You slide into the passenger seat. The interior is clean, but lived-in. Old case files in the back. A notebook in the door pocket. A faint smell of leather and stress.
“This thing got clearance, or did you hotwire it out of evidence?”
Bucky doesn’t flinch. Just reaches into the glove box. “Sam said to keep a low profile.”
Pulling out the map from Steve’s box, he spreads it across the dash.
“You always this prepared before sunrise, or am I just special?”
He glances over, unamused, but you just sip your coffee with a grin
“C’mon. Admit it. You like having someone to banter with at ungodly hours.”
“We’re going to the clinic,” he continues on.
“Avery’s?”
He nods. “It’s circled twice. Legal aid office she worked at. Place shut down last year. Still vacant.”
You squint at the map. “So we’re breaking into an abandoned nonprofit office at the ass crack of dawn in a car that looks like it owes someone money. Classic detective work.”
He doesn’t look up. “We’re not breaking in.”
You blink. “Is there a key hidden in a potted plant out front I should know about?”
“Door might still be open,” he says flatly.
“Oh, so the plan is ‘hope squatters left it unlocked’? That’s a bold strategy, Barnes.”
He finally glances at you, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You done?”
“Just getting started,” you grin. “What’s next? Dumpster diving for forgotten case files? Dramatic flashlight work in dusty back rooms?”
“We won’t need flashlights.”
“Because…?”
He shifts the car into gear. “Sun’s up.”
You make a show of sipping your coffee. “You’re no fun.”
He pulls into traffic without comment.
But you swear — swear — you see the edge of his mouth twitch again.
---
The building is tucked between a shuttered bodega and a barber shop with a permanently flipped CLOSED sign. The front windows are dusty. The signage is faded. No one's broken in — yet — but it’s got that forgotten look. Like time passed it by and didn’t leave a note.
“Can’t believe there’s any empty real estate in Brooklyn,” you comment, glancing around the deserted block.
“Developers are buying up blocks. I’m sure this’ll be a high rise in no time.”
Barnes jimmies the lock with quiet precision, like a man who’s broken into far worse places for far better reasons.
Inside, the clinic’s a ghost. Furniture gone. Lightbulbs burnt out. Dust thick enough to write your badge number in.
Bucky steps over the threshold, scanning the dim reception area. His jaw ticks.
“You know which one was hers?” you ask, voice low.
He nods once. “Back left. She kept it tidy. Had this owl paperweight on her desk.”
You blink. “That’s oddly specific.”
“We came through a lot,” he says, not looking at you. “Trying to get access to her files. Everyone clammed up. Claimed client confidentiality, said we needed a warrant.”
“Even when one of their own went missing?”
He finally meets your eyes. “Especially then.”
You follow him down the hallway, the air heavy with old printer toner and abandonment. Most of the offices are hollowed out — drywall scars where shelves once hung, outlines on the walls where diplomas used to be. But the last one on the left… you feel it before you reach it. A shift.
He stops in the doorway and steps aside, letting you in first.
The nameplate on the door peels at the corners. Someone else’s name now. The desk inside is scratched laminate, the chair missing a wheel, and an air freshener dangles from the vent like it’s clinging to hope.
“This doesn’t look like her office,” you murmur.
“It’s been ten years,” Bucky says. “Probably rotated through a dozen staff since.”
Still, something about the space feels wrong — overwritten, but not erased. You crouch beside a short metal shelving unit half-buried under a whiteboard and a cracked monitor. You shift them aside.
There, under layers of dust and disuse: a metal file cabinet.
Outdated. No tags. No lock. Not standard issue.
You glance up at Bucky. “Ever the optimist, wanna bet this thing’s empty?”
He doesn’t answer. Just watches as you tug the drawer open.
Dust puffs out like it’s exhaling after a decade of silence.
Inside: a few dozen folders. Warped. Yellowed. No tabs or labels. Just manila and rusted clips.
You lift one, thumb across the corner. Stamped in red at the top: A.T.
You still. Then pull another. Then another.
All Avery’s.
“Her caseload,” you whisper.
Bucky steps inside, peering over your shoulder.
“I thought you said the clinic was locked up,” you say.
“It was,” he replies. “We only got her intake logs. They wouldn’t release full files without a subpoena. Said they were protecting the clients.”
“And these just… slipped through the cracks?”
“If Avery was the only one working them,” he says slowly, “and she vanished mid-week? No handover. No record. When the office shut down later, maybe no one even knew these were here.”
You flip through the top few folders. Domestic cases. Tenant disputes. Small stuff — but each one stamped within the last eight weeks before she disappeared.
“If Avery was the only one working them,” he says slowly, “and she vanished mid-week? No handover. No record. When the office shut down later, maybe no one even knew these were here.”
You flip through the top few folders. Domestic cases. Tenant disputes. Small stuff — but each one stamped within the last eight weeks before she disappeared.
“These are her last few cases, it seems,” you murmur. “She was working them right before she went missing.”
You hand a stack to Barnes, then keep flipping.
“But it’s not all of them,” he says.
You pause. Look up.
“I went through the intake log they gave us,” he continues. “Steve and I flagged at least a dozen high-risk cases in her last six months. None of those are here.”
You frown. “So someone picked and chose?”
“Or she did,” he says. “Moved the ones she thought were dangerous.”
“Or relevant.”
“Or worth hiding.”
You nod, slowly. “And left behind the ones that wouldn’t raise flags.”
The drawer feels heavier now. Less forgotten, more curated.
You shuffle a few more files aside — and something tucked behind them catches your eye.
Not a form. Not a report.
A folded birthday card.
Blue glitter. Cartoon balloon on the front. Corners soft from being handled too often.
You open it.
Happy Birthday, Aves. You’re the only one here who gives a damn. Let me know if you still need help moving that stuff — I’ve got the van all week. — D. Hall
You stare at it. The familiarity. The intimacy.
“Well,” you mutter. “This isn’t from HR.”
You hold it up. “D. Hall ring any bells?”
Bucky steps closer, squints at the handwriting. Shakes his head. “Not from the case file. Not from precinct chatter.”
“Friend? Client? Secret Santa?”
“Could be anything,” he says. “But she trusted him. Enough to help her move something off the books.”
You glance back at the file drawer. Half full. Half empty.
“She disappears,” you say, “but some of her files don’t.”
“And the ones that mattered?” Bucky says. “Gone.”
You nod slowly. “Which means she moved them.”
“And he helped,” he agrees.
You slip the card into your jacket. “Let’s go find out who D. Hall is.”
Bucky gives you a look. “You always get this excited about glitter cards?”
“Only the ones that might expose a criminal conspiracy.”
A beat.
You flick at your sleeve. “Also, I swear to God, this glitter is going to follow me to my grave.”
His mouth twitches — not quite a smile, but the first crack in the armor you’ve seen all day.
You shut the drawer. It clicks back into place with a soft finality. One more piece of Avery’s puzzle, left in the dark until someone bothered to look.
Bucky’s already halfway down the hallway when you fall in beside him.
“Think he’ll talk?” you ask.
“If he doesn’t,” he says, “you’ll probably scare him into it.”
You grin. “Thought looming silence and tactical glaring was your specialty.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Delegating.”
You smirk. “Teamwork makes the intimidation dream work.”
---
The engine hums low as the city flickers past the window, all muted morning gray and scaffolding shadows. You take a sip of cold coffee, eyes narrowing.
“This isn’t the way to the precinct.”
Barnes doesn’t look at you. Just signals left and merges like the laws of traffic and God bend slightly in his favor.
“Detour?”
“Nope.”
“You take the scenic route everywhere, or is this just a trust-building exercise?”
“We’re not going to the precinct.”
You squint. “Okay. Sure. That’s not concerning at all.”
“I brought the department’s case files back to my place.”
You turn fully in your seat. “You did what?”
He exhales, slow and steady, like he’s been expecting this. “Avery’s case. The old logs. Shift schedules. Whatever was left in the archive database. I copied what I could. Took the rest.”
Your brow furrows. “You lifted precinct files?”
“Quietly.”
You stare at him. “You took department files home.”
“We’re not supposed to be working this. Not officially. Sam said keep it quiet. This is me keeping it quiet.”
“So naturally that means smuggling out old reports like you’re starring in a true crime podcast?”
He finally glances over. “Would you rather have someone in records ask why we’re digging through logs from a dead file?”
You don’t answer immediately. Because no — you wouldn’t. But still.
“You know this is the part in a procedural where the audience yells that’s illegal.”
“I’ll put it on a T-shirt.”
You snort. “Make sure you get my size right when IA starts handing out subpoenas.”
He takes another turn, this one slower. The street ahead is lined with brick walk-ups and peeling paint. A little too quiet. A little too private.
You raise an eyebrow. “Wait… is this your place?”
He doesn’t answer. Just pulls up to the curb like that explains everything.
You stare at the building, then back at him.
“This is totally how a murder documentary starts.”
“Relax.” He finally cracks the faintest hint of a smile. “I have snacks.”
You climb out of the car, coffee in hand, and follow him up the front steps.
“Just saying,” you mutter, “if there’s plastic sheeting on the floor, I’m out.”
“Noted.”
“Let me guess. You’ve got a murder board up there, don’t you.”
“No board.”
You blink at him.
He finally adds, deadpan: “Ran out of thumbtacks.”
You follow him up the stairs, shaking your head. “I’m starting to think Sam partnered me with you as a learning experience.”
He unlocks the door without turning around. “You’re welcome.”
The door swings open on a soft creak.
You brace instinctively for cold minimalism — for bare floors and a mattress on the ground, maybe a single chair and a tragic bottle of bourbon on the windowsill. The kind of place a guy like Barnes is supposed to live. Closed off. Unfurnished. Bleak.
But it’s not that. Not exactly.
It’s lived-in.
Quiet, sure. Sparse in places. But there’s a warmth to it — not decorative, not intentional. Just the kind of warmth that builds when someone’s stopped running long enough to let their stuff settle around them.
Hardwood floors, scuffed at the edges. A small couch that looks like it’s been there for years, facing a TV with a crooked HDMI cord. Framed photos on the bookshelf — not many, but they’re there. One of Sam, grinning wide. One of Steve. One you can’t make out, tucked halfway behind an old paperback copy of The Things They Carried.
Books are stacked sideways on end tables. A knit throw blanket is draped unevenly over the arm of a chair, like someone forgot it there mid-thought. The smell isn’t musty or dusty. It’s coffee. Maybe leather. Maybe a little cedar from the candle burned halfway down on the counter.
There’s a sense of quiet order. Not obsessive. Just… controlled.
You step in cautiously, eyes scanning. “Huh.”
Barnes closes the door behind you. “What.”
“Just thought your place would be… darker. Less… beige.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Beige?”
“Yeah. You give off real ‘lives-in-shadows’ energy. I figured your couch would be black leather and your fridge full of sauce packets.”
He walks past you to the small kitchen, already flipping open a cabinet. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“You’re not disappointing. You’re just unexpectedly cozy.”
He shoots you a look over his shoulder. “Don’t say cozy.”
You grin. “Cozy.”
He mutters something under his breath and tosses you a protein bar. You catch it on reflex.
“Wow,” you say, reading the label. “Is this your idea of a snack?”
“You didn’t complain when I brought you gas station coffee yesterday.”
“Yeah, but that was survival. This is… punishment.”
He ignores you and opens a narrow closet door near the hallway.
You follow.
Inside: a card table has been unfolded and turned into a makeshift workspace. Stacks of files cover it — neat, but clearly touched and re-touched. A whiteboard leans against the wall, half-filled with notes and arrows. The map from Steve’s box is pinned beside it, curling at the corners. Several addresses are circled in red. You recognize the one from this morning.
There’s also a small corkboard, mostly blank, but you spot a few scribbled post-its stuck near the edge:
“Client 7B – ‘DIDN’T FEEL RIGHT’”
“Steve’s clearance reroute??”
“Cross-ref: shift logs – Nov 2”
You whistle low. “So you did run out of thumbtacks.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t feel like committing to the aesthetic.”
You step closer, eyeing the files stacked beside the table. Old reports, yellowed edges, precinct seals barely holding. A plastic envelope marked with Avery’s initials. A printout from the original missing persons filing. Photocopied notes from Steve’s handwriting — you recognize the compulsive block lettering from the notebook.
“Some of these weren’t in the official file,” you murmur.
“Yeah,” Barnes says. “That’s kind of the point.”
You reach for one box — unlabeled, duct-taped on one side — and start flipping through.
For the first time since the day started, you feel the shift.
This isn’t just a dead case anymore. It’s something buried. Something carefully left to rot.
Barnes is watching you. Not hovering. Just waiting.
“What’re you looking for?” he asks.
You glance up. “The weird stuff.”
He tilts his head. “Weird how?”
“Weird like… the margins. The too-small print. The things people didn’t think would matter.” You flash him a smirk. “You know. Crime whisperer stuff.”
He rolls his eyes, but there’s a sliver of something behind it. Not quite amusement. Maybe approval.
An hour later, you’re sitting cross legged on his floor. Reading slowly, letting your eyes blur a little until the words settle into shapes you recognize — evidence numbers, transfer forms, officer IDs. You’re not even sure what you’re looking for. But something’s bothering you. Something you can’t quite name.
The files you pulled from Avery’s old clinic weren’t everything. Not even close. And the ones you found weren’t the ones Steve had flagged back in his notes.
You read further.
Avery’s case log was extensive. Bucky said she had at least thirty open cases when she disappeared — and the few you found? All minor. Tenant issues, petty theft. But what about the high-risk ones? The ones she might’ve been afraid to report.
You pull up the department’s transfer index from the month she went missing. You’re barely twenty lines in when something catches your eye. A hand-written entry, barely legible — not part of the printed form.
“Delivery acknowledged by Hall, D.”
No rank. No badge number. Just a name, scribbled in the margins beside an evidence transfer code you don’t recognize.
You sit up straighter, pulse flicking quick.
“Hey,” you call.
Bucky’s across the room, sorting through one of Steve’s old notebooks like it might start talking if he stares hard enough. He looks up, one brow raised.
You tilt your laptop toward him. “You ever see this?”
He stands and walks over, crouching over your shoulder.
The handwriting’s faint. Slanted. A different pen entirely.
“I missed that,” he says quietly.
“Most people would. It’s filed under miscellaneous. No form attached. Just a time-stamp and this.”
He takes it from you.
“D. Hall.” His jaw tightens. “Same name from the card.”
“Yeah. And he wasn’t listed in Avery’s case notes, wasn’t flagged as a client or colleague. But this? This is from her intake window. The same week she went missing.”
“I want to cross-check this with personnel records. If he was facilities, there’s got to be a trace.”
“Can’t go through the department.”
“Lucky for us,” you say, “I know someone nosy and caffeinated.”
He raises an eyebrow.
You grin.
He sighs. “She’s going to ask questions.”
You’re already texting. “And I’m going to answer all of them wrong.”
Barnes pinches the bridge of his nose.
You’re already walking toward the kitchen while dialing. “Got any real snacks? Or do I have to solve institutional corruption fueled entirely by chalky protein bars and spite?”
He mutters something about regretting picking you up this morning.
“Darcy,” you say when she picks up. “It’s… Crash. You busy?”
A loud crunch echoes down the line. “Define busy.”
“Busy like breaking into a federal database or busy like making a spreadsheet about which precincts have the best vending machines?”
“…That second one was supposed to be private.”
You lower your voice just a touch. “I need a favor.”
“Uh-huh. Let me guess. It’s ‘not technically authorized’ and ‘Sam would kill you if he knew.’”
“…Sam might’ve implied the opposite, actually.”
Darcy is quiet for half a second, which for her is an eternity. “Okay, you officially have my attention. What are we talking? Corruption? Cult? Conspiracy?”
“Cold case.”
She whistles. “Even better.”
You lean forward, elbows on the kitchen island. “Do you remember Avery Thompson?”
“The missing legal aid attorney?” she asks immediately. “Yeah. Domestic clients, disappeared off the map. Thought she was dead.”
“She might not be.”
There’s a beat of silence before: “Okay. Rewinding my evening plans.”
“We’re looking into her disappearance — off the books. No one can know yet.”
“Okay I’ll help if you answer a question.”
“Shoot.”
Darcy makes a noise that can only be described as gleeful choking. “Tell me honestly how it’s going with Barnes. Has he said more than three words in a row yet?”
You glance sideways.
“He growled a full sentence at me this morning. I think that counts as a breakthrough.”
“Aw. Your little grumpy murder raccoon’s warming up. Should I start planning the wedding or the intervention?”
“Darcy…”
“Fine. Fine.” You can practically hear her throwing her hair into a bun. “Hit me.”
You walk her through the basics: the old case folder, the photo that landed on Sam’s desk, the box Ernie gave you. You keep it vague, light on detail — but her breath still catches at the mention of forged files and missing casework.
“Jesus,” she mutters. “Why wasn’t I looped in sooner?”
“We needed to be sure.”
“And now?”
“We just found some of Avery’s old case files hidden at her former clinic. Not all of them. Just a handful from the last few weeks she was active. Tucked behind a whiteboard in a cabinet nobody touched in a decade.”
“She was hiding them?”
“Looks that way.”
There’s a pause. Then Darcy exhales. “Okay. Tell me what you need.”
You pull the birthday card from your jacket, thumb brushing the corner. “D. Hall. No first name. Handwriting on a card we found in her files. Said he had a van, helped her move something. Thought he worked with her, but he’s not in her employment files.”
“Could be a client.”
“That was my guess. But then we pulled an old evidence log from the precinct. Something was delivered and signed for by ‘Hall, D.’ No title. Just a scribble. It was buried in a ‘miscellaneous facilities’ tag. From right around the time Avery disappeared.”
Darcy makes a thoughtful noise. “Creepy vague. I like it.”
“Can you cross-reference against contractors? Maintenance staff? Anyone who wouldn’t show up on the main employment log?”
“I mean, technically, yes. Legally, no. But also yes.”
You laugh softly. “I think I love you.”
“I have that effect.” Darcy hums. “Give me five.”
You’re about to protest that’s not how records work, but she’s already typing. Loudly.
She’s on it, you mouth to Barnes across the room.
He grunts.
Two minutes later: “Daniel Hall. Temporary municipal contractor. Facilities. Bounced around public buildings for a few years, mostly precincts. Had a rotating security pass.”
“Where is he now?”
“Last tax filing was 2016. Dropped off the radar after that. But I’ve got a last known address.”
She reads it off. You copy it into your notes.
“And Crash?” she adds, more serious now. “If this guy helped her move files off the grid, he might not be thrilled you’re sniffing around.”
You glance over at Barnes, who’s now looking up. Watching you. Waiting.
“Yeah,” you say. “We’ve got backup.”
“Backup with a metal arm and a death glare?”
You smile. “The very one.”
Darcy sighs. “Tell me everything when you’re not being secretive and possibly followed.”
“Deal.”
“Good luck.”
You hang up.
Barnes raises an eyebrow. “Somehow forgot how fast she talks.”
“I’m pretty sure that was her pacing herself.” You toss him the card. “We’ve got a name. And an address.”
“Guess we go knock.”
“Lead the way, Broody McFelony.”
He rolls his eyes. But he grabs the keys.
You grab your jacket.
---
Standing outside a third-floor walk-up in Bed-Stuy, you eye the buzzers like one of them might flinch first.
“I’m starting to rethink the whole ‘show up and wing it’ plan.” you mutter. “We sure he still lives here?”
Bucky checks the mailbox names. “Says D. Hall, Unit 3C.”
You peer up at the building’s crooked fire escape. “What if he’s moved?”
Bucky shrugs. “Then we’re knocking on someone else’s door.”
“Cool. Love a plan with built-in trespassing.” He doesn’t smile, but his left eyebrow twitches.
The stairs creak as you climb. The third-floor hall smells like burnt toast and carpet cleaner.
You don’t even finish knocking before you hear the scrape of a chain lock sliding free. The door cracks open just enough for a man to peer out — graying beard, Mets hoodie, deep lines at the corners of his eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Daniel Hall?” you ask, holding up your badge.
His eyes flick to Bucky beside you, then to the hallway like he’s doing quick math.
“We’re not here to jam you up,” you add. “Just want to ask a few questions. It’s about Avery Thompson.”
That stops him. His grip tightens on the door, like he might close it — then slowly, he steps aside and lets you in.
The apartment is small, cluttered, and lived-in — old recliner, open toolbox on the counter, sports channel on mute in the background. It smells faintly of motor oil and cheap coffee. There’s a framed picture on the wall — a young woman, maybe early twenties, wearing a nursing pin and a bright, toothy grin.
You stay standing. He sinks into the recliner with a long exhale.
“I figured someone might come around again,” he sighs, rubbing at his jaw. “Just didn’t think it’d take this long.”
“You knew Avery?” Bucky asks.
Hall nods. “Worked building maintenance when she was at the legal aid clinic. She was… kind.”
You tilt your head. “Not a word we hear often.”
“Yeah, well, she was. Treated everyone like they mattered — lawyers, janitors, people down on their luck. Never made anyone feel small.” He gestures toward the photo on the wall. “She helped my niece once. Pro bono. Got her out of a bad spot. Never asked for thanks. Just did it.”
You nod slowly. “We found something in her files. A birthday card. From you.”
His eyes flash with something — embarrassment, or maybe just memory. “She hated her birthday. Said it felt like a deadline, not a celebration. I got her that card as a joke. Left it in her drawer.”
You pull the card from your pocket and hand it to him. He holds it carefully, like it might dissolve.
“‘If you still need help moving that stuff — I’ve got the van all week,’” you read.
“She came to me about a week before she disappeared,” Hall says quietly. “Said she had some boxes to move. Private stuff. Asked if I could drive. Paid me up front. Cash. Told me not to mention it to anyone.”
“Did she say what was in the boxes?” you ask.
“Nope. And I didn’t look.”
“You think they were sensitive files?” Bucky asks.
“Could be. She didn’t trust many people. Said too many eyes were suddenly asking about her clients. Didn’t feel safe.”
“Where’d you take them?”
“Storage unit. Queens Depot, Rockaway. I still have the address.”
He pushes himself up with a grunt, crosses the room, and digs through a dish on the kitchen counter. Comes back with a worn brass key and a crumpled sticky note.
“She never came back for this,” he says, holding it out. “Said she’d pick it up. Never did.”
You take the key gently. “She give you the unit number?”
He taps the note. “421.”
Bucky studies the note, then Hall. “Why didn’t you say anything when she went missing?”
Hall exhales hard. “I didn’t know she was missing. Thought maybe she skipped town. She was scared. Real scared.”
“And when you found out?”
He shrugs. “What was I supposed to do? Go to the cops and say I helped a woman hide something right before she vanished? Something she didn’t want found. Or what if… what if someone would’ve made me disappear too.”
You and Bucky trade a glance.
“She trusted you,” you say.
He nods. “I didn’t ask why. She asked for help, and I said yes. That’s it.”
You stand, tucking the key into your jacket pocket. “Appreciate the time, Mr. Hall.”
He nods, slow. Doesn’t move to show you out. Just watches you for a beat, like he’s still turning something over.
Then: “You think she’s out there?”
“We don’t know yet,” you say carefully.
He nods again, eyes drifting to the floor. “She didn’t say much. But she was scared. Like she already knew how it was gonna end.”
You glance over at Bucky. His expression doesn’t shift, but you can feel the tension pull tighter between his shoulders.
“Find whoever did this to her,” he mumbles as he closes the door behind you.
Downstairs, the air feels cooler. You pull the note out of your pocket, studying the fading ink and address.
Beside you, Bucky says, “You okay?”
“Fine,” you reply. “Just weird being handed the next step by a guy who thought she was never coming back.”
He doesn’t answer, but his jaw tightens.
“Storage unit?” you ask, already sensing the musty despair waiting for you.
“Storage unit,” Bucky confirms, nodding toward the lot ahead.
You pull the key from your pocket and hold it up. “Can’t imagine we’re about to uncover government secrets next to someone’s old treadmill and twelve tubs of Christmas decorations.”
He side-eyes you. “That’s optimistic.”
You smirk. “What, you think it’s just going to be files?”
“I think we’re lucky if it’s not rats.”
“Speak for yourself, I love rats.”
---
The metal door rattles up slow, revealing a storage unit that smells like old dust and stale paper. A shaft of weak afternoon light spills across the threshold, catching on stacked boxes, an overturned milk crate, and a leaning floor lamp that looks like it gave up a decade ago.
Bucky steps inside first, head low, scanning the space. You follow, boots crunching on grit.
“She really went full compartmentalization,” you murmur.
He doesn’t answer, but you see the way his eyes move—measured, thoughtful, cataloguing. This is familiar to him, in a way you can’t quite name. Not police-familiar. Deeper than that.
“She labeled everything,” you say, crouching to read the nearest lid. “Client codes, court dates, tenant petitions… These aren’t just case files. They’re building blocks.”
“She was working on something bigger,” he says, voice low. “Connecting dots.”
You tug one box closer, letting the dust settle before flipping it open. Inside: a row of folders, tightly packed, most with Avery’s looping handwriting on the tabs.
“Want to take left side?” you ask, glancing over.
He nods and moves toward the opposite stack without a word.
You settle into a rhythm—pulling files, flipping through, scanning for patterns. You catch glimpses of stories: restraining orders ignored, tenants evicted on technicalities, wage disputes buried in bureaucracy. The kind of slow injustice that doesn’t make headlines but wrecks people just the same.
“She was angry,” you say, not looking up.
“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. “But she didn’t burn it all down. She tried to build a record.”
You flick open another folder. “You know,” you say lightly, “this is the most time we’ve spent in a room without you glaring at me.”
“I don’t glare.”
You shoot him a look. “You 100% glare. It’s your resting state.”
He pulls a box toward him and doesn’t respond.
You press a little. “Is this where I ask what your favorite color is? Or if you were always this charming?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he smirks.
That surprises you.
“Oh so you were charming and mysterious instead of just mysterious?”
He finally glances up, something half-amused in his eyes. “Back when I had better hair and fewer nightmares.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Can’t speak to the nightmares, but the hair’s still holding steady.”
That gets the faintest huff of a laugh. The kind someone makes when they’ve almost remembered how.
Another beat. You open a folder marked Holdover Defense – C.R., flipping through handwritten notes and copies of housing complaints.
You glance over at him, watching the way the shadows move across his face. “Did you ever think about quitting?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps sifting through the box in front of him like the question might be hiding under the lid.
Then, quietly: “I did.”
You pause. “But you came back.”
His fingers brush a stack of old legal forms, stilling. “Took two years. I wasn’t sure I ever would.”
You study his profile. The scar near his temple. The tension in his jaw that never seems to ease.
“What changed?”
He shrugs, but it’s not careless. “Didn’t know who I was without the badge. Still don’t, some days. But I knew who I was without the people I cared about. That didn’t work out so great either.”
You nod slowly, something tightening in your chest. The silence that settles between you isn’t awkward—it’s heavier than that. Quiet. Lived in.
Not bad. Just… real.
You glance down at the box. “Well, if it helps… you’re at least fifty percent more tolerable than I expected.”
His mouth twitches. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”
“I’m still figuring that out.”
You nod slowly, the silence between you turning from awkward to something heavier. Not bad. Just real.
You look around at the boxes. “You think she felt like that too?”
“Maybe.”
“I mean—this?” You lift a box, nudge it aside with your boot. “This is someone who didn’t trust the system to hold anything. She built her own.”
Bucky makes a low sound — not agreement exactly, but something close.
You glance over. “What?”
He shrugs. “Just thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
His eyes flick toward you. “You ever do that?”
You arch a brow. “Think?”
His mouth twitches — almost a smile. “Build your own system.”
You snort. “Nah. I just color-code my chaos usually.”
He hums, like he’s filing that away. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t comment further.
But you catch the look he gives the stack of boxes. You’re not sure what to say to that. So you don’t say anything. Not for a few minutes.
Until you reach the bottom of one stack and pull out a thinner box. Less organized. The label reads only: Pending – to verify.
You open it and sift through the contents—just loose documents, no dividers.
And then you freeze.
Beneath a few old receipts and photocopied court letters sits something that doesn’t match. A clearance form.
The formatting is off.
The code is written in red pen, then crossed out and rewritten in black. The approval stamp has bled through the page, like someone tried to forge a copy of something official and hoped no one would look too closely.
You hold it up.
“Barnes.”
He crosses the space in two steps and crouches beside you.
He takes the form, scans it slowly. You watch his expression shift—not alarm, exactly. But something colder. More focused.
“This is a precinct form.”
“I thought so. But it’s not legit, right?”
He nods once. “The code—721B. Steve mentioned it in his notes.”
Your stomach tightens.
“There’s no sign-off,” you say. “And no initials. Like someone wanted to use it but didn’t want it traced.”
You both fall silent.
And then you notice something else.
Tucked underneath the clearance form, folded three times and pressed flat, is a sheet of paper. No label. No stamps.
You unfold it slowly.
A list. Five lines. Handwritten.
Each line is a case file number.
You recognize the first one—it was missing from the folder Avery left behind at the clinic.
You meet Bucky’s eyes.
“She was tracking what went missing.”
He nods. “Or what someone was erasing.”
The wind picks up outside. A hollow bang echoes from another unit down the row.
You both look up. Still alone. But you feel it now. The line tightening. The silence that isn’t just silence anymore. Something watching the watchers.
You set the papers aside carefully.
“This was a cover-up,” you say quietly. “And she was right in the middle of it.”
“Now we are too,” he finally mutters.
You nod once, slowly. “Guess that makes us accomplices.”
“Great,” he deadpans. “Add that to the resume.”
You breathe out a laugh, sharp and low. The tension in the room doesn’t break, exactly — just shifts. Settles into something quieter. Warmer.
You glance at him, lips twitching. “You always make friends this easily?”
He lifts an eyebrow, dry. “This is me being friendly.”
“Oh, then we’re doomed.”
A pause. He doesn’t smile, but his gaze lingers.
“You don’t rattle easy,” he says, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
You shrug. “You’ve got your secrets. I’ve got mine.”
You reach for the light switch, hesitating just before flipping it.
“We keep going?”
He nods. 
“Can't leave this half-finished,” he tells you quietly.
A beat.
“Or leave you in it alone.”
And when you turn out the light, he follows you without question — no words, no hesitation. Just quiet understanding and the sound of the door locking behind you.
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