#Addendum X-7

[dzthenerd490]

Addendum X-7 Final Part

After opening the door, the four of them found themselves in another walkway over the flowing water. Thankfully the next door was close by, so they got to it and entered, though on the other side of that door was a metal staircase full of leeches. 

Paris: Fuck, no avoiding them, just try not to let them bite you. 

They all did as Paris commanded and walked up the rusty metal stairs while trying but failing to avoid stepping on the leeches due to their massive numbers. Finally, then made it to the top and entered what looked to be a control room. 

Paris: Alright spread out and check the next room, there’s got to be something valuable here. New York and Rebecca checked the next room which turned out to be an outside area for storage. Besides that, the only thing Rebecca found was the Incinerator Keycard. 

Paris: That’s it, according to the map there’s no way left to go but back.

New York: Seriously? If someone was going to design this place like a labyrinth did, they have to make it so there would be so much backtracking because fuck this is annoying!

Rebecca: Can’t believe I actually agree with New York.

Paris: Unfortunately, so do I, but since the Red Queen turned out to be a lying bitch we can’t rely on her directions anymore, we’re going around blind whether we like it or not. Can’t leave any corner unchecked. So might as well go back and find another route. Especially since this Card should let us into the incinerator room.

Billy: Still, gotta say it's a cold day in hell when we all agree with New York.

New York: Oh, fuck all of you.

Paris, Rebecca and Billy all laughed as they walked out of the room, New York still groaned but followed the others as they traveled back the way they came. They went all the way back to the engine room where they fought the zombies from before. Only now with the card they found the device where the Incinerator Card was needed. After Rebecca swiped the card, they could open the door and enter. The first thing they encountered was just a hallway with another door to the end. 

Billy: Anybody else getting sick and tired of the empty places? I mean it's so anticlimactic.

Paris, New York, and Rebecca then glared at Billy for saying that. 

Billy: Wh- What?

New York: You just jinxed it you idiot!

Rebecca: Billy come on; you should be better by now.

Paris: Great, now we’re definitely going to be in for a world of hurt the moment we see what is on the other side of the door. 

Billy: Seriously? It couldn’t possibly be that bad-

Rebecca, Paris, New York: NO!

Rebecca, Paris, and New York raised their arms in shock, but it was too late and now they were groaning in frustration. 

Rebecca: Great! Now it's double jinxed.

Paris: Can’t believe I was afraid Rebecca was going to be the one to jinx us.

New York: Well, we’re dead, nice knowing your assholes.

Billy was getting annoyed and walked over the door to open it and hopefully prove them wrong. Even if it was another giant animal, they surely had the firepower needed to destroy the creature. However, upon entering they saw that the area was filled to the brim with leeches, and from one of the top railings a man in all white and long black hair was smiling at them. 

Unknown: Welcome young ones so glad you could join the party! After all it is your waking! Hahahahaha!

Paris, Rebecca, and New York glared at Billy who looked down to the floor in disappointment. He then looked at them with an awkward smile.

Billy: I mean, hopefully this guy is the final boss, right?

New York: If he doesn’t kill us, I’ll kill you.

Unknown: Kill you? No, no, no, today is the day of your rebirth! It will be glorious, just like mine…

Soon the young man shifted and transformed into Dr. Marcus.

Billy: What the hell? Dr. Marcus?! 

New York: That freak again!

Paris: So, it's true, you're a Sarkite aren’t you!

Dr. Marcus: Oh, it's true, we vile Sarkites, nothing more than a shadow of our ancestors the mighty Nälkä! But through the T Virus I found a miracle that will restore our great power in the honor of Grand Karcist Ion! I could have used it to take over Umbrella, but alas that traitor Albert Wesker and Doctor Birkin had me killed! I was to die slowly and painfully as my wounds were too severe even for my clan, but my beloved Leech Queen found me and devoured my body and in exchange I devoured her mind. Now we are one and more powerful than ever! I can create armies of monsters and resurrect an endless legion of the undead with her lovely little leeches. With this new power I will have my revenge on Umbrella, all the other Sarkite Clans will bow to me, and the world will be cleansed as I will use its blood to bring forth Grand Karcist Ion and be rewarded for my devotion as his newest Karcist! Hahahahaha!

Billy: You freak! You're going to pay for all the death and destruction you caused!

Rebecca: And for all our friends you killed!

Dr. Marcus: Oh, my dear children… YOU DON’T KNOW HOW WRONG YOU ARE.

Soon Dr. Marcus started puking leeches and his body started mutating revealing his whole body was made out of nothing but leethes. With his new abomination-like body he jumped down to face them and stood tall as the leeches formed his new and monstrous limbs.

New York: … Huh, I was actually expecting something a lot scarier. 

Paris: Take him out! Billy, use the Magnum!

Billy: Roger that! 

They all soon got out their weapons and started firing at the Leech Monster, as much as they could both aiming for the head and at specific leeches knowing that was the only way they were going to hurt it. New York stood in the back to get ready his Spray Gun by loading it with his last necrosis canister but shockingly after a few more shots the monster just died. 

Paris: Keep firing! Keep firing it’s… it's going to… it's dead?

Rebecca: We… We killed it already?

Billy: Huh… we’ll what did I tell you guys it wa pretty anticlimactic-

Rebecca: No, don't!

Paris: Too late! Brace!

Paris, Billy, and Rebecca raised their arms to guard while New York got in front of them already to flood the monster with necrosis venom. However, it didn’t get up, it really was dead, and New York kicked it a few times just to confirm. 

New York: … Woah… that really was anticlimactic.

Paris: Hmph, well I stand corrected but still I’d feel safer if we could have put a Necrosis Gas Grenade in its stomach, sorry by the way New York. 

New York: Nah it's fine, I’ll just spray it a little and we can get out of here. 

New York only sprayed a small amount onto the monster as the group left for the only door in the room.

Paris: Hm… Looks to be one person needs to be at this counsel and another needs to be at that one. 

Rebecca then got to the first counsel and Billy got to the other, as they activated it the door opened and the four went to the other side, though Rebecca stopped to look back at the room full of leeches. 

Rebecca: Uh, guys? If Dr. Marcus is dead and his body fused with the leech queen shouldn’t all the baby leeches be dead too?

Paris: Doesn’t always work that way rebecca, just because the main brain of the hive mind is dead doesn’t mean the soldiers will die. We should take it as a good sign that they're not doing anything, if he really was still alive, they would be swarming us right now.

Rebecca nodded as she couldn’t deny that was a logical assumption, still she looked back at the leech queen that was slowly dissolving due to the Necrosis Venom. She then shook her head and left the room before she could witness the remains of the leech queen dissolve. 

New York: Holy Shit check this out!

New York then ran over to a lift device within the room.

New York: It's a lift! We can use this to get to the surface! We’re getting out of here! 

Paris: We shouldn’t do that New York, for all we know…

Paris was suddenly interrupted by his communication device finally connecting back with Command. 

Paris: Hello?! Hello Command, can you hear me?!

Command: We hear you Paris, and good news, the dogs have cleared out of the area, we can now safely extract you into the air.

New York: Thank the non-existent gods!

Paris: Quiet! That’s good to hear Command, we’ll put down flares, so you’ll be able to see us.

Command: Understood sending out a retrieval chopper now.

Paris: Catch us if you can, out.

New York: Alright assholes! Let’s get the hell out of here!

Billy: Stop calling us that.

New York just laughed as he pulled the level as soon as all four of them got onto the lift. Soon they were finally ascending to the higher level and hopefully an exit out of there. However just as they all sighed in relief, suddenly the walls from down below burst open and out came Dr. Marcus as an even larger and more mutant Leech Queen Monster. 

Billy: Holy shit! 

Rebecca: You got to be fucking kidding me! 

Paris: Shoot it now! Don’t let it reach us!

The four of them leaned to the edge of the railing and started shooting at the Leech Queen Monster as it started racing up the railing towards them. Unfortunately, even as they were getting close to the level and still shooting at the monster it reached them and rammed into the lift. 

Paris: Fuck! Get off the lift now!

The four of them jumped off as quickly as they could, not a moment too soon as the Leech Queen bursted through the lift and was now ready to face them in its new heavily mutated form. 

New York: God Fucking damn it, should have sprayed the fucker to death!

Billy: Do it right now then! 

Paris: Everyone, shoot this fucker even after it’s dead!

Unknown: Attention Umbrella Staff, the Self Destruction Procedures have been activated.

Rebecca: We have to hurry!

Soon they all started shooting at the Leech Queen blowing off bits and pieces of the monster only for it to regenerate every time. Even when New York attacked it with Necrosis Venom based weapons it started regenerating too quickly. Rebecca thought hard, as she kept shooting and trying to dodge the acid the Leech Queen was spitting everywhere, it had to have some kind of weakness. She then remembered in one of her biology studies that Leeches actively avoid areas of high UV rays like spots in direct sunlight. Perhaps even the mutant Leech Queen was no different and could be weakened or at the very least unable to regenerate in sunlight.

She looked up and saw that the ceiling could open up to reveal the sky and possibly a way out of here but to open it they would need to get the locks open. She looked around again and saw two different wheels, possibly for opening up the two components of the locks. 

Rebecca: Cover me! I got an idea!

Paris: Do it quickly! Also tell us if we can help!

Rebecca: Go over to that wheel over there and turn it as quickly as you can! Hurry!

Paris did so but one of the tentacles of the Leech Queen tried to stop him, not a worry as all he had to do was punch it making it recoil quickly in pain. Paris got to the wheel and started turning, Rebecca then got to hers thanks to Billy covering her and they both turned. Soon the locks pulled back and the ceiling hatch started opening up revealing the sun in the sky and quickly burning the Leech Queen. 

It roared and shreeked in pain as it started growing out tentacles to whip at them forcing the four to spread out and jump into cover at various places around the area to avoid getting hit. Thankfully they didn’t need to do this long as not only was the Leech Queen no longer able to regenerate but it couldn’t even keep its body stable either. It started falling apart slowly and went to the hole of the lift in hopes of using the darkness to recover.

Paris: Now!

On Paris’s command they all started firing again, now it was actually starting to fall apart because of their continuous fire at the Leech Queen. Paris with his dual SMGs, New York with his Shotgun, Rebecca with her pistol, and Billy with his Assault rifle, the only time any of them stopped was when they needed to reload. Finally, the Leech Queen was at its limit only barely holding itself together Billy saw this as an opportunity and pulled out the Magnum that just so happened to have only one bullet left. He aimed it at the mouth of the Leech Queen and smiled.

Billy: With this, the Nightmare ends!

Billy fired and with that the Leech Queen fell down the tunnel of the lift, falling to pieces as it finally died. Even if it could recover from that the self-destruction sequence was almost down making the whole structure collapse before the explosion. 

Paris: Everyone out! This way!

***

It was with pure luck that they managed to get out before the entire facility and by extension the mansion blew up. Now the four of them were on a cliff having watched the whole explosion, Billy took off his cuff and threw it into the forest and Paris set off a flare to get the attention of Foundation helicopters. Meanwhile New York raised his middle finger to the mansion as it exploded into pieces.

New York: Heh, fuck umbrella, glad to know there's nothing left of those assholes.

Billy: That’s actually not true, they got their main headquarters in Raccoon City and various other locations around the world. I heard a majority of them are in places all across Europe. But for now, I’d say they're not a threat without this T-Virus crap. So, your job is done, good job you guys.

Rebecca: Not yet. 

Rebecca walked to Paris, he looked at her confused at first but then realized what she wanted and gave her the dog tags of London and Hong Kong. She took them and walked over to the edge of the cliff. 

Rebecca: Nathan Elegger, Code Name: London. Jeffery Michel, Code Name: Hong Kong… Thank you for your sacrifice… You’ll never be forgotten. 

Rebecca then clasped her hands together to do a little prayer for them, Billy smiled and joined her, then soon so did Paris despite being an atheist. New York just sighed and looked the other way as they prayed. Once they were done Rebecca gave Paris back the dog tags and looked back to the distance.

Rebecca: … Look! There’s the Spencer Mansion. 

Paris, Billy, and New York all looked at where Rebecca was pointing and saw the mansion.

Rebecca: That’s where Enrico went to meet up with the Alpha team. 

Soon the helicopter started coming in and was getting ready to land so it could pick them up.

New York: Well, his problem now. Come on, let's get those T Virus samples and get out of here. 

Paris: Hold up, there’s still one thing we need to deal with. 

Rebecca: Two actually, I’m not coming.

Paris, Billy, and New York all looked at Rebecca in shock.

Rebecca: I made a promise to meet with the Alpha team, I’m still a member of S.T.A.R.S., I can’t abandon my team. 

Paris: Actually, Rebecca that’s what I wanted to confirm, you don’t have to be a S.T.A.R.S. member anymore, you and Billy both have what it takes to join the Foundation… if you are willing to fight anomalous threats like what we faced today that is.

Billy: I can handle monsters so long as I never have to hurt the innocent, I wasn’t actually sure you were serious about the offer but… thank you.

New York: Don’t thank him, seriously this job is fun but also a pain in the ass in all the worst ways. 

Rebecca laughed but then she frowned again.

Rebecca: Thank you, Paris I think I’d like to join and help, but… I still need to go to the mansion. I have to at least make sure Chris and Jill are okay. Those two are like a big brother and sister to me, I can’t let them get hurt. 

Paris: … *sigh* in that case I’m going with you.

New York: Wha- Boss?

Paris then took the medical case Rebecca was holding and gave it to New York.

Paris: There, take the samples from New York and get Billy processed. Just tell Command I’ll be running late. 

New York: … You're crazy, both of you. I’m not sticking around in this hell hole fuck this shit.

New York then ran off to the helicopter leaving Billy, Rebecca, and Paris behind.

Billy: If you want, I can go with you guys. I really could use a break, but it doesn’t feel right taking one without either of you.

Rebecca: Actually, you can’t because…

Rebecca walked up to Billy and ripped off his dog tags.

Rebecca: As of today, Billy Coen is officially dead, and here is my proof.

Billy: … Thank you… I’ll see you on the other side.

Paris: … As you were… Trooper.

Billy: Yes Sir!

Billy Salluted to Paris and he saluted back along with Rebecca. 

Paris: Just one thing to remember Rookie, there’s no actual salute in the Foundation.

Billy: Really? I like it better here already!

Billy then ran off to the helicopter with New York, once they were both on it took off. 

Paris: Now then, let's go find Alpha Team.

Rebecca: Should be a lot easier with the virus and the dogs gone. *yawn* give us some time to nap as well.

Paris: Let's hope, with the Leech Queen dead there shouldn’t be any more monsters infected with the virus. But even if there are still monsters out there, it's not like it's anything we can’t handle.

Rebecca: Haha, you're not supposed to jinx it remember?

Paris smiled under his helmet as he and Rebecca set off to the mansion.

Recording End

***

Unknown to him the recording data reached its limit at this time and thus did not record a majority of the data revolving around Paris and Rebecca entering the mansion. Only when they linked data with Mobile Task Force Beta-7 “Maz Hatters” did recording on their end continue. Please see Addendum X-11 for said recording.

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Go back to Part 7

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Go back to File: Resident Evil - T Virus

[kinkyniragi]

The Amendment

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader Genre: Smut 18+ Word count: 2,5k Summary: You are Mr  Shelby’s new maid, and you made the mistake of spying on him in an intimate moment. Caught in the act, you’re now compelled to sign a special amendment—one that grants him far more power over you than you ever intended to yield…and you are doomed to violate his rules far sooner than either of you imagines. CN: Domination/power imbalance…ok, heavy ownership vibes and kinda 24/7 BDSM relationship stuff, spanking. Please note that this is all just fantasy. Things that happen in my stories should always be consensual. Take care. Author’s note: You voted for this one, so here we go, have fun! Feel free to leave comments and share my story if you enjoy it—I truly appreciate every bit of motivation to keep writing. Even though I'm not a native speaker, I'll do my best 😉

***

Can be read alone or as a sequel to “Through the keyhole”

Masterlist

Your name is written in black ink. Precise, unmistakable, on the envelope placed neatly at the center of your writing desk. The handwriting is familiar. Unrushed. Almost elegant.

You close the door behind you, still in your uniform, hands damp from the kitchen sink.

***

You’ve only recently begun working at Arrow House, a quiet appointment as housemaid to the estate’s elusive owner, Mr. Shelby. The position seemed simple at first: routine tasks, clear boundaries, unspoken rules.

But one evening, you lingered outside his office door. And watched. Through the keyhole. From your hidden vantage you witnessed him yield to a private pleasure meant for no eyes but his own.

He caught you.

He didn’t raise his voice. Instead, he invited you inside (at least that’s how he would have described what he did). Told you to undo the buttons of your uniform. Told you to match his rhythm.

It wasn’t punishment. Not exactly.

It was a demonstration — and a warning.

Since then, he has made it clear: there will be a formal adjustment to your contract. One that reflects your new responsibilities. One you will not refuse.

***

So, you stand there, hands trembling, when you start to read.

“Amendment to Employment Contract – Private Addendum for Domestic Staff.”

You haven’t yet unfolded the paper when the door opens again — silently, but not unannounced. You feel the shift in air before you see him.

“Sit down,” says Mr. Shelby.

You obey before your thoughts catch up. He crosses the room without hurry, closes the door with a soft click, and remains standing as you lower yourself into the chair. His warm hands come to rest on your shoulders. The weight of them settles like molten lead, grounding and inescapable.

His voice is even. “I would like you to read it aloud.”

You glance at him, unsure. “All of it?”

He agrees. “Clause by clause. And you will tell me whether you understand. Whether you agree. Whether clarification is required.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the page.

You begin.

“Clause I – Demonstrative Conduct

The employee shall make herself available, at the employer’s sole discretion, for purposes of demonstration, instruction, and corrective display...”

Your voice catches slightly on corrective display, but you keep reading.

“...public or semi-public scenarios wherein the employee shall serve as a living example of obedience, humility, and moral instruction. Any such engagement shall be undertaken without resistance, and with full acknowledgment of her subordinate station within the domestic hierarchy.”

You lower the paper. Your hands are suddenly very still.

He waits. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” The word feels small.

“Do you agree?”

You hesitate, your gaze drawn to the phrasing again. Living example. Subordinate station.

“I… believe I do,” you say. “It’s more symbolic than literal, perhaps?”

He smiles slightly — not kindly. “That’s not a clarification. That’s avoidance. Try again.”

You swallow. “Then…yes. I agree.”

“Good,” he says. “Continue.”

“Clause II – Extended Availability

The employee agrees to remain available beyond standard working hours — specifically during late evenings and weekends...”

You keep your voice steady. “…attending to the private and discretionary needs of the employer… duties may extend beyond ordinary household tasks… to be carried out in a spirit of loyalty, discretion, and unquestioned compliance…”

You pause. “It doesn’t say what those discretionary needs are.”

“I know,” he says. “That’s deliberate.”

“Then how—”

“You agree to serve. The nature of that service may shift. Your commitment does not.”

You nod slowly. “Yes. Understood.”

“And?” He touches your chin to turn your head up to him.

You meet his gaze, heartbeat audible in your throat. “I agree.”

“Clause III – Observation Compliance…”

You already know what’s coming. Your hands feel cold against the page.

“In compensation for her initial act of unauthorized observation, the employee forfeits her right to privacy. She consents to being observed by her employer at any time and in any state of undress or engagement, including but not limited to private quarters, bathing facilities, and during moments of personal solitude, without prior notice or justification.”

There’s a long silence after you finish the clause. You feel exposed already, just from reading it aloud.

Mr. Shelby doesn’t speak immediately. He lets the quiet settle like weight on your shoulders.

“You remember what you saw,” he says finally.

You nod hesitantly.

He moves a little closer, palms still rested on your shoulders.

“You chose to watch. And when I invited you in — you followed through.”

Invited.

You feel heat rise in your face. You remember too clearly what he asked of you.

Without giving you a choice.

“I didn’t force you,” he adds. “You crossed that line on your own.”

Your mouth is dry. “I thought—”

“You didn’t think,” he interrupts. “You indulged. And now you’re here because we both know it won’t stop unless it’s given shape. Contained.”

You try to hold his gaze. “I wasn’t going to do it again.”

“But you were thinking about it,” he replies. “Weren’t you?”

You say nothing.

He nods once, as if that’s enough. “Read the next clause.”

You look down and do as you were told.

“Clause IV – Behavioral Disclosure…”

You read it in one breath. The words are heavier than before. “The employee shall provide a written or verbal report upon request, detailing any private thought or fantasy of a sexual or emotionally compromising nature, particularly those involving her employer, his household, or her service therein.”

You glance up halfway through but find no reprieve in his face.

“...reenactment or embodiment of any disclosed fantasy... within the estate or a location of his choosing.”

You don’t speak immediately this time. He waits.

“That seems… intrusive.”

He taps a finger lightly against the clause.

“This part,” he says, “is not about punishment. It’s recognition. Your behavior makes it clear you entertain fantasies involving your employer. As such, I have a right to know about them. To prevent future… lapses in judgment.”

You close your eyes for a moment.

“Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“And agree?”

“…Yes.”

You lower your eyes to the next section.

Clause V – Controlled Autonomy The employee shall abstain from acts of physical gratification or stimulation unless expressly permitted by the employer. Any breach of this clause will result in corrective measures as defined solely by him.

You hesitate before reading it aloud.

When you’re done, the words seem to echo in the quiet room. You grip the paper a little tighter.

He watches you for a moment before speaking.

“You understand this one,” he says, not as a question.

You nod slowly.

“You’ve proven that your impulses require supervision.”

You take a deep breath. A protest forms — then dies.

“There’s nothing shameful about desire,” he continues. “Only about secrecy. And secrecy is no longer permitted.”

He steps around you, not touching, but close enough that you feel the brush of his presence. “You’ll bring that part of yourself under control. Or I will.”

You swallow hard and move to the next clause.

Clause VI – Confidentiality AssuranceAll provisions of this amendment are to be kept in strict confidence. Disclosure to any third party, accidental or intentional, will be treated as a breach of contract and may result in immediate dismissal, legal consequences, or alternative restitution at the employer’s discretion.

You read this one faster. It feels easier — at least on paper.

Still, you glance at him once you finish. “Alternative restitution?”

He smiles slightly. “You can imagine what that might entail.”

You press your lips together. You won’t ask. You’re not sure you want to know.

“Tell me,” he says quietly, “did you speak of…the recent event to anyone?”

“No,” you answer, quickly. Instinctively.

He nods again, as if you’ve passed a test. “Good. Keep it that way.”

So secrecy is forbidden—when the secrets are yours and he is the confessor. Yet you, in turn, must live a vow of silence beyond these walls, offering yourself up for him to devour. You realize you should never express this thought out loud. Any discussion would be pointless and potentially dangerous.

Your hands are trembling a little now. You move to the final section.

“Clause VII – Discretionary Compensation In recognition of the unique scope of this agreement and the demands therein, the employee shall receive compensation at a rate exceeding the standard for domestic staff in the employer’s service. This includes a monthly discretionary allowance, determined solely by the employer, in addition to full room, board, and suitable garments for all designated tasks — public and private. Said compensation is contingent upon continued discretion and full adherence to the outlined terms.

Your voice falters only slightly as you read it. When you’re finished, there’s a beat of silence.

“Does that seem fair to you?” he asks.

You nod.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Yes,” you say aloud. “It does.”

“Then sign it,” he says simply, producing a fountain pen and placing it beside the page. You stare at the spot where your name belongs.

And you know — the moment you sign, nothing about this role, or your place in this house, will ever be the same.

***

The next morning is almost normal.

You brew the coffee. Set the table. Fold the linens with practiced ease. But your hands move on instinct alone. You haven’t stopped thinking about the signature on that page. The way the ink felt much more dangerous than it should have. The way the clauses still weigh heavily on your shoulders.

It happens in the kitchen — a slip of your hand, a clink of porcelain, a splash of boiling tea that stains the white linen and scalds your wrist.

A lapse. Corrective display. You panick.

You mumble an apology to no one in particular, retreat from the kitchen, and duck into the hallway. Up the stairs. Down the narrow passage behind the guest wing. You lock yourself in the small bathroom tucked between the laundry chute and the old broom closet.

It’s silent here. Dim. Safe.

You place your palms on the cold porcelain basin and exhale. Your knuckles are white. You focus on the tile pattern beneath your shoes. Breathe in. Out.

A few minutes. That’s all.

Until you hear the voice.

Not raised. Not loud. Just there.

“Clause Three. Observation compliance. You're aware of the terms, eh?”

Your heart lurches against your ribs. You twist toward the door. “Sir, I needed a moment. I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Silence.

The doorknob shifts slightly but doesn’t turn.

You add, softer, “Please.”

The pause stretches. You hope—naively—that it might end there.

Then: a metal click. Not loud. Not rushed.

A master key.

You step back just as the door opens. The dim overhead light flickers above you, and he steps into the threshold like the air itself yields to him.

You straighten reflexively. Your hands slide down to your skirt, smoothing it without thinking. You’re still standing in front of the sink, the water never turned on.

He closes the door behind him.

No words at first. Just the sound of the latch catching.

His eyes flick to your wrist — reddened slightly from the tea — then return to your face.

“You locked the door,” he says.

“I... I needed to calm down. It was five minutes.”

“That’s not the issue. You created an environment in which observation was deliberately obstructed.”

You open your mouth. Close it.

He steps closer, voice even.

“Lift your skirt,” he demands.

You stare at him in disbelief, feeling like a bad actress at the same time, because with everything that's happened so far, you could have - should have - known where this was going.

“Have I made myself unclear, darling?” he asks, his tone nothing but strict—more rhetorical than expecting an answer, since you both know he doesn’t.

Without responding to his question, you obey as commanded. You don’t dare to meet his gaze.

“You leave me no choice but to enforce my duties under the contract—and to ensure that you do not cross the boundaries set for you as me employee.”

That’s a pretty elegant way of saying he’s taking the right to punish you, you think.

He moves behind you.

You want to turn, to speak, but something keeps you still. He doesn’t touch you — not yet. Only waits.

“Do you understand?” he asks.

You nod, barely.

“Say it.”

“Yes, Sir. I understand.”

“Good. Then place your hands on the sink and bend over.”

You hesitate — not long — and obey. Your palms meet the cold porcelain again, this time not for comfort.

He pulls down your panties with clinical precision. You flinch when the air hits your thighs. He doesn’t pause. You hear him pulling his belt out of his pants.

The first strike is precise. Flat. It echoes against your skin with a sting that feels almost clean.

“One for the breach,” he hisses.

The second lands sharper. Lower.

“One for the concealment.”

You grip the edge of the basin. Your legs tremble, but you don’t move.

The third comes slower, firmer.

“One to remember.”

You gasp — not in pain, not entirely. Something in your chest cracks open just enough to let something else inside. Something you’re afraid of naming.

Then silence.

You’re aware of your breathing. Of how still he is behind you. The lingering heat across your skin.

He pulls up your panties and adjusts your skirt with deliberate care. Then his hands — warm, steady — rest briefly on your hips before he withdraws.

“You may stand.”

You do. Slowly. Your eyes sting, though you haven’t cried.

He moves past you, opens the small cabinet above the sink, and retrieves a glass. Fills it. Hands it to you.

You take it with both hands, fingers shaking slightly.

“You didn’t cry,” he says.

You sip. Say nothing.

“That’s self-control, you know,” he adds. “Which is admirable. And exactly how I expect my maid to be.”

You set the glass down carefully. Did he just praise you? For enduring the pain he caused you?

Then, unexpectedly, he steps closer again. Lifts a strand of your hair behind your ear, almost absently.

“Clause Four,” he murmurs. “Shall I ask what was going through your mind... just before I unlocked the door?”

You freeze.

His voice isn’t cruel. Not mocking. Just... curious.

You shake your head. “I don’t think I can say it.”

“Then write it,” he replies. “You know where to leave it.”

He’s already at the door when you manage to speak again. “What purpose does it serve exactly?”

He pauses. Looks at you over his shoulder.

“Unvoiced desire has a tendency to misbehave. That’s why.”

The door clicks shut.

You're still standing there — pulse too fast, knees too soft.

The air still tastes like him. Your thoughts no longer feel like yours.

***

<<<You liked that? Click here for more>>>

Taglist @jbrownta @mythicalcowboyatheart @shelbybabysblog @simpfortoomanymen @moonbeamott @gothic-chinadoll @weaponizedvirtue

[604to647]

Safest with You - Series Masterlist

Modern AU with Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Din Djarin, retired mob enforcer, falls in love, but worries his past could put his future (you) in danger.

A/N: First time writer, please be gentle 🥹 This is a modern AU where Din is a former enforcer for the Fett family, and the world building and relationship development between Din and Reader takes place over many chapters. Some Star Wars names thrown in for fun, but there aren't meant to be any serious parallels to canon. Thank you for reading and hope you enjoy my brain rot for everyone’s favourite tin man 🥰

Series warnings: Chapters with smut denoted with 🚑, chapters with angst denoted with ❤️‍🩹, fluff throughout. Individual instalment warnings are included in each post.

Ch. 1 (The Coffeeshop)

Ch. 2 (The Bookstore)

Ch. 3 (The Drycleaner)

Ch. 4 (The First Date)

Ch. 5 (The Courtship)

Ch. 6 (The Courtship, Din's POV) ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 7 (The Third Date) ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 8 (The Cab) ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 9 (The Dam Breaks) 🚑

Ch. 10 (The Afterglow) 🚑

Ch. 11 (The Poker Game) (a summary)

Ch. 11 Addendum (After The Poker Game) 🚑

Ch. 12 (The Workout) 🚑

Ch. 13 (The Birthday)

Ch. 14 (The Subway) 🚑

Ch. 15 (The BBQ) 🚑

Ch. 16 (The Matchup) 🚑

Ch. 17 (The Preparations) 🚑

Ch. 18 (The Threat) 🚑 ❤️‍🩹 Inspo

Ch. 19 (The Betrayal) 🚑 ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 20 (The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 1)❤️‍🩹

Ch. 21 (The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 2)🚑 ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 22 (The Long Road to Forgiveness) 🚑 vibes

The Epilogue

Art

Dog walk (@kenobiwanx commission 🙏🏻)

Bedtime (@pinkiemme Ch. 11A commission 🥹) 🚑

101 Dalmations Inspired new! (@dazzlingjedi Epilogue commission 😍)

One-shots and Drabbles (same AU)

All the one shots and drabbles can be slotted in the above timeline as noted 😊

Carnival Fright Night 🚑 (set between Ch. 12 & 14)

Lingerie 🚑 (set anytime after Ch. 10) (Link to the Lingerie set)

The Wedding, Part 2 🚑 (insert btwn Ch. 17 & 18) (Moodboard by @hellishjoel - thank you!)

2 More Days (A Textfic) 🚑 - Part 1, Part 2 (set anytime after Ch. 12)

Holiday Remix (A Textfic) (set anytime after Ch. 12)

Let Me Carry It For You (SBowl 🏈 Drabble) (set right after Ch. 11)

The Mando Roll (Valentine’s Day Special) (set anytime after Ch. 10)

Hat Trick (set anytime after Ch. 12) Part 2 (The Playoffs) 🚑

Birthday Bunny 🚑 (HBD P! 🥳) (set anytime after Ch. 12)

Gouda Girl (Happy Pedro Hours Challenge) (set before Ch. 19 or after Ch. 22 but before The Epilogue)

The Craft Market (takes place after The Epilogue) new!

Thots

Alfredo’s the best dog

Favourite nook

Walking the dog

POV: On a date with Din

Naming of Mando’s Gym inspo

Working at Mando’s

Paz Vizsla face cast

Excellent boxing advice

Young boxer Din inspo

Rotta Hutt face cast, I guess 😂

Pretty Bird’s IG

Another Valentine’s Day 💕

Where’s My Wife inspo

Series vibes and this amazing graphic by @gasolinerainbowpuddles (thank you!)

[lightdancingwords]

Breaking The Wall - Part Eleven of ?

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Original Female Character

Series Summary: When Sergeant Tim Bradford is partnered with Officer Rachel Grace—a sharp, emotionally guarded transfer with a reputation for pushing the limits—tension ignites from day one. Rachel operates with cold precision, often disregarding protocol in the name of efficiency, while Tim, shaped by trauma and discipline, clings to order and control. Though their approaches clash, their results are undeniable, forcing them into a reluctant partnership that slowly deepens through shared pressure and unspoken understanding. As they navigate high-stakes calls, moral boundaries, and the weight of unresolved grief, what begins as friction evolves into trust—and eventually, something neither of them expected.

Word Count: 9,815

Tags/Warnings: Police work, police procedures, angst, fluff

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: Please see THIS POST about the new posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Dividers: credit to @firefly-graphics

Chapter Eleven: Peace Worth Holding Onto

Wednesday – 6:13 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Rear Parking Lot

The shift had ended with paperwork, the way most did. A long call, a final debrief, tired bodies and heavier boots. The sun was lower now, casting deep gold across the parked cruisers and long shadows against the asphalt.

Tim and Rachel walked out together, not by design—but it happened that way more often than not now.

He carried his gear bag over one shoulder, keys in hand. She matched his pace, sleeves rolled halfway, hair pulled back a little messier than this morning.

There was a stillness between them that didn’t feel like the end of a shift.

It felt like a pause.

A door waiting to be nudged open.

Rachel stopped near her car, hand on the door handle, but didn’t open it right away. Instead, she looked over at Tim, her voice even, casual—but with intent.

“You got plans?”

He turned to her. “Tonight?”

She nodded once.

Tim shook his head. “Nothing that can’t wait.”

Rachel shifted her weight slightly, then said, “There’s this place a few blocks from me. Good food. Quiet. I was thinking…”

She hesitated—not out of uncertainty, but because this mattered. “I was thinking about having dinner. With you.”

Tim didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said it all. No surprise. No pressure.

Just yes.

He adjusted his bag. “Want me to follow you?”

Rachel smiled—small, warm, entirely real. “Yeah.”

She opened her door, climbed in, and started the engine.

And as Tim stepped into his truck, watching her taillights pull ahead, he couldn’t stop the quiet curve of his mouth.

She had asked. Not because she needed him. But because she wanted him there. And that?

That meant more than anything.

Wednesday – 7:03 P.M. – Corner Café, West of Wilshire

The restaurant Rachel had picked was understated—nestled on the edge of a quiet block, brick exterior faded from sun, the name etched in a hand-painted sign above the door. Inside, it was cool and dimly lit, the smell of roasted garlic and warm bread curling softly in the air.

Rachel had chosen a corner booth. Not the back wall. Not a seat with her back to the entrance. A corner booth. Somewhere along the way, she’d stopped needing the exit at her back.

Tim sat across from her, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, water glass in hand, gaze on her—not intense, just present.

They ordered simple food. Nothing fancy. Chicken for him. Pasta for her. Shared a side of roasted vegetables. There was no rush.

No weight.

Just conversation.

She asked about his sister. He told her about her kids, about the time he tried to assemble a trampoline in a backyard too small to hold it. He asked her about a street artist she mentioned once during patrol—she surprised herself by talking about her college years and the paintings she hadn’t touched since Jake.

And the more they talked, the more Rachel realized—she wasn’t thinking about grief. She wasn’t scanning exits. She wasn’t checking her posture. She wasn’t trying to manage the air between them.

She was just sitting with him.

And laughing.

God—she laughed.

Not just a smirk. Not a huff of breath. A real, warm, unguarded laugh.

Tim watched her when it happened. Didn’t comment on it. Didn’t need to. But she saw it. In his eyes. That quiet knowing. That he’d known—maybe even from the beginning—that this would come if she just had space enough to find it.

Rachel set her fork down, her fingers brushing the edge of the napkin. Her voice, when it came, was soft. Thoughtful. “You were right.”

Tim looked up from his glass. “About?”

She met his gaze. “Sometimes normal does find its way back.”

Tim didn’t move. Didn’t press. Just held her gaze with the kind of steadiness that said he’d never once doubted it.

Rachel leaned back slightly in her seat, her body relaxed, her hands no longer knotted in her lap. She didn’t say it out loud. But inside, the words landed with clarity.

This is the beginning of something. Something that feels good. Something she’s not afraid to want. Not yet love. Not yet more.

But peace.

And peace?

That was something worth holding onto.

Wednesday – 8:41 P.M. – Outside the Café, West of Wilshire

The evening had cooled, a soft breeze threading through the trees lining the narrow sidewalk. Streetlights glowed faintly above them, and the city had shifted into its nighttime hum—quieter now, but alive in the background.

Tim held the door open as Rachel stepped out, her jacket slung over her arm. They stood near her car, both of them full—not from food alone, but from the ease that had settled into the air between them.

They didn’t speak at first. Neither one made a move toward their vehicles. It wasn’t hesitation.

It was presence.

Rachel tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her expression thoughtful, open in a way that had nothing to do with vulnerability and everything to do with trust.

“I’m glad we did this,” she said softly.

Tim nodded. “Me too.”

A beat.

Then another.

And still—neither of them stepped away.

Rachel glanced toward her car, then looked back at him. Her voice was lighter now, touched with something unspoken. “You’re not going to tell me you planned this moment too, are you?”

Tim smiled—just barely. “Nope.”

She tilted her head. “You sure?”

“I’m just good at showing up,” he said. “You’re the one doing the rest.”

That hit her. Not hard. But deep. She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching—not because she didn’t trust what she found, but because it felt good to look and know.

Then—quiet, deliberate—she stepped forward.

Just enough that her shoulder almost brushed his. “Goodnight, Bradford.”

He nodded once. “Night, Grace.”

Neither of them moved for a heartbeat longer than necessary. And then she smiled—small, real, steady—and turned toward her car.

He watched her go.

And in the warm hush of the sidewalk—something stayed behind between them. Not a kiss. Not a touch. But the feeling that next time?

It might be.

And that?

Would be worth waiting for.

Wednesday – 8:56 P.M. – Rachel’s Car, En Route Home

The city rolled by in soft pools of yellow light and quiet shadow, the traffic light at the end of each block blinking a slow rhythm that felt more like breathing than order.

Rachel drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, her window cracked just enough to let the breeze through.

She hadn’t turned on the radio. She didn’t need to fill the silence. Not tonight. Not after that.

The dinner had been simple. No pressure. No expectations.

Just him.

Just her.

And the space between them that no longer felt like something to guard against—but something to lean into.

Rachel exhaled slowly, her fingers tapping once on the steering wheel. She’d asked him to dinner. That thought alone echoed louder than she expected.

She had asked.

And not out of loneliness, not out of obligation.

Because she wanted to.

And now—on this drive, in the quiet that once used to choke her—she wasn’t carrying the same weight. Jake was still with her. He always would be. But the grief had shifted. It wasn’t pulling her backward anymore.

It was just… part of her.

And she could feel, for the first time in what felt like forever, that there might be room for more.

Rachel turned onto her block, easing the car into a parking space beneath a flickering streetlamp. She sat there for a moment, keys still in the ignition, engine running low and steady.

Her mind drifted back to the way Tim had looked at her as they stood outside the café. Not expectant. Not cautious.

Just there.

Good at showing up, he’d said.

And he was.

Every step of the way.

Rachel finally reached for the keys, cutting the engine. The silence deepened. She looked at her hands in her lap for a long moment.

Then, softly, only to herself, “…This feels different.”

And it did. Not like falling. Not like breaking. But like standing still and not being afraid anymore.

She opened the door, stepped out, and walked toward her apartment with the kind of quiet strength that comes not from being untouched by grief—but from having walked through it and still choosing to reach for something more.

Thursday – 6:11 A.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Front Door

The city felt wrong before the sun even fully rose.

The heat pressed down with a weight that had nothing to do with the hour—thick, heavy, clinging to the air like a second skin. Windows fogged from the inside. Concrete already warm beneath bare feet.

Rachel stood barefoot just inside her apartment door, hair tied up in a loose bun, already dressed in the bottom half of her uniform. Her undershirt clung slightly to her back from the humidity, a slick sheen on her skin.

She hadn’t slept poorly, but the night had been restless—too hot, too still.

Still, she was up early.

Moving with purpose.

There was a still-cooling cup of coffee on the counter, and the kettle on the stove had just clicked off when she heard the footsteps.

Three seconds later, she opened the door—before he could knock.

Tim stood there, takeaway tray in hand, hair slightly damp from a cold shower, sleeves rolled up. His uniform looked crisp, but there was sweat already at his collar.

He blinked once, surprised. “You beat me.”

Rachel stepped aside. “Didn’t sleep well. Heat’s miserable.”

Tim stepped in, handing her the coffee she always liked. “Forecast said high of 118 today.”

She groaned. “That should be illegal.”

“City’s already getting heat-related calls. Elderly, rolling brownouts, one report of someone passed out at a bus stop.”

Rachel took a sip of the coffee. “And it’s not even 6:30.”

Tim nodded. “It’s gonna be one of those days.”

They moved through her space easily, familiar now—him at the kitchen counter, her tightening her vest. No words wasted, just quiet rhythm.

But under it all?

There was something taut in the air. The heat didn’t just sit on their skin—it pressed into their nerves, into the day waiting to unfold.

Rachel turned toward him as she clipped her badge on. “You feel it?”

Tim met her gaze. “Yeah.”

Something in the air. Something coming. And maybe it was just the heat. Or maybe it was something worse.

Rachel tossed back the last of her coffee, then grabbed her keys and stepped toward the door. “Let’s go before the city melts.”

Tim followed, a subtle check of her body language—shoulders straight, eyes alert, jaw just tight enough.

She was ready.

But so was whatever was out there.

And today?

They’d both have to hold the line.

Thursday – 6:38 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire District, South Rampart

The sun was barely up, but the sky was already white-blue and shimmering with heat. Asphalt steamed from the overnight humidity, and the air smelled faintly of burnt rubber and dry dust.

Rachel and Tim were ten minutes from the precinct—no radio check-in yet, no roll call—when the call came in over dispatch:

“Units in the area of South Rampart and 14th, reports of multiple individuals in an altercation. One possibly armed.”

Tim hit the lights without hesitation. “We’re closest.”

Rachel’s hand was already on the mic. “This is 7-Adam-07, responding to South Rampart. ETA three minutes.”

They both reached for their sunglasses, slipping them on as the cruiser surged forward. Sweat clung to the back of Rachel’s neck, but her voice was calm.

“Domestic?”

“Sounds like a heat-snap brawl,” Tim muttered. “Tensions high, nothing new.”

But as they turned the corner onto Rampart, it was clear: This wasn’t just a yelling match.

At least a dozen people were gathered on the sidewalk and spilling into the street—two men grappling near a parked car, others shouting, pushing, trying to pull them apart or jump in. A woman screamed for someone to stop. A child clung to a tree with wide, terrified eyes.

Tim pulled the cruiser up fast and hard. Rachel was already out the door before the wheels stopped.

“LAPD!” she barked. “Everybody BACK UP!”

Her voice cut through the noise—sharp, trained, unshakable.

Tim flanked the opposite side, moving fast. One of the men had a pipe in his hand, raised mid-swing.

Tim didn’t hesitate—he tackled the man clean, taking him down hard into the gutter. Rachel was already moving to separate the others, one hand on her belt, voice raised and firm.

“This stops NOW!”

It was chaos, sweat, concrete heat, shouting voices—and beneath it all, the drumbeat of the sun rising fast and unforgiving.

More officers arrived within minutes, but by then Rachel and Tim had already deescalated most of it—cuffed two, talked down three, separated the rest.

Rachel wiped her forearm across her brow, her skin flushed, shirt clinging from effort and heat.

Tim looked over at her, his chest rising steadily from exertion. “You good?”

She nodded. “Yeah.” Then muttered, “Barely six-forty and we’re breaking up heat riots.”

Tim smirked, breathless. “Told you it’d be one of those days.”

They both looked out across the street—neighbors now calming, paramedics tending to a bruised shoulder, sirens fading in the background.

And somewhere between the blistering sun and the pulse in their chests—they both knew this was only the beginning.

Thursday – 7:12 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Briefing Room

Rachel leaned over the sink in the locker hallway, splashing cool water on the back of her neck. Her undershirt was damp and clinging to her spine, her ponytail pulled tighter to keep sweat from dripping down her temples.

Tim stood nearby, sipping lukewarm water from a bottle, his uniform shirt wrinkled from the earlier scuffle. A streak of dirt ran along his forearm, but his expression stayed calm.

“Didn’t think I’d need a full uniform change before roll call,” Rachel muttered, reaching for paper towels.

“Could’ve been worse,” Tim said. “Could’ve been two calls back-to-back.”

As if on cue, Sergeant Grey stepped into the briefing room with his usual clipped authority, scanning the faces already present—sweaty, tired, and barely caffeinated.

He set a file on the table and looked out across the room.

“Morning,” he said, voice cutting clean through the noise. “We’re skipping formal briefing today. You’re already in it.”

That earned a few groans from around the room.

Grey didn’t flinch. “Today’s going to be worse than yesterday. We’re looking at record-breaking temperatures and short tempers across the board.”

He looked straight at Rachel and Tim, then to the others. “You see someone escalating? Shut it down early. You feel yourself overheating? Tag out. We’re not losing someone because they didn’t drink enough water or didn’t take a beat when they needed it.”

Rachel nodded subtly. Tim’s jaw flexed once.

Grey added, “Dispatch is already backlogged with heat-related calls—check-ins on the elderly, people passed out on buses, domestic disputes spiking. Watch yourselves, and watch each other.”

A long pause.

Then: “7-Adam-07.”

Tim and Rachel both looked up.

“Domestic call just came in—multiple noise complaints, possible restraining order violation. Apartment complex off 6th and Alvarado. Move.”

“Copy that,” Tim said, already grabbing the tablet.

Rachel wiped her face with the paper towel, then tossed it in the bin as she followed him out.

The heat outside hit them like a wall, no breeze, just sun like a spotlight and air that barely moved.

Rachel slid on her sunglasses.

Tim handed her the water bottle again as they climbed into the cruiser.

“Welcome to summer,” she muttered, voice low, dry.

Tim started the engine. “And it’s only Thursday.”

Thursday – 7:38 A.M. – 6th & Alvarado, 3rd Floor Walk-Up

The apartment building was old—paint peeling at the corners, swampy heat clinging to every stairwell. The elevator was out of order, graffiti scrawled across the doors, and the air inside smelled like fried onions and summer sweat.

Rachel and Tim climbed the stairs, boots heavy on concrete steps. Third floor. Apartment 3B.

Voices echoed faintly from inside—raised, sharp. A woman’s voice, urgent. A man’s voice, low and dangerous.

Rachel reached for the door, knocking twice, hard.

“LAPD. Open up.”

The woman inside shouted something that was cut off by the sound of glass shattering.

Tim’s eyes flicked to Rachel.

She didn’t hesitate. “Going in.”

She moved forward, hand on the knob—and that’s when Tim saw it.

From the crack in the door, just before she moved: the glint of something metal, shifting low—near the baseboard. A hand. A shadow.

And then—

Motion. Fast. Too fast.

“Rachel—”

He moved.

Grabbed her.

Not gently.

Not politely.

Fully.

One arm locked across her chest, the other bracing her back as he pulled her back hard, pivoting her body behind his just as the door was kicked open from the inside.

A man came out swinging—knife in hand, rage blind behind his eyes.

But Rachel wasn’t in the line of it.

Because Tim was.

Gun drawn, stance solid, voice commanding.

“DROP IT! Now!”

The man froze—just long enough for backup boots to thunder up the stairs.

Tim shoved the guy back with a firm shoulder, disarming him with practiced speed, and cuffed him against the wall as the hallway flooded with backup and stunned neighbors.

Rachel leaned against the opposite wall, catching her breath, her heart racing not from fear—but from how close it had come.

And the way Tim had moved.

The heat between them had nothing to do with the weather now.

He turned to her once the man was secured. “You okay?”

She looked at him.

Really looked.

His chest still rose with fast breath. His hand still twitched with adrenaline. The way he’d pulled her—not to restrain, but to protect—still burned against her skin.

Rachel nodded once. “Yeah.”

But her voice was quiet. Almost reverent. Because it hadn’t just been reflex. It had been instinct. And for the first time in a long, long while…

She felt what it meant to be seen and protected—not because she was weak, but because she mattered. And something in her chest stirred.

Not grief.

Not guilt.

Just... something undeniably alive.

Thursday – 8:03 A.M. – Alley Behind the Apartment Building

The scene was handled. The suspect cuffed, read his rights, transported. The woman safe, statement taken. Officers remained inside, taking photographs, asking questions.

But Rachel?

Rachel stepped outside.

Down one flight of stairs, through the side exit, into the narrow alley behind the building where the heat didn’t ease, but at least the noise was gone.

She leaned one hand against the brick wall, her other bracing her hip, head bowed just slightly. Her breath was steady—but her chest still hummed with everything that had happened.

Not from danger.

From what it awakened.

The press of Tim’s arm. The way he’d pulled her back like it was second nature. The feel of his body anchoring hers in motion. The voice in her head that whispered—

Jake.

He would’ve done the same. He had done the same.

Right before he—

She closed her eyes. Fought the pull of memory. Fought harder against what came next. Because what shook her most wasn’t the memory of Jake. It was that when Tim grabbed her, when his voice rang out and she felt herself protected, seen, important—

She hadn’t thought of Jake at all.

Until afterward. And now? She didn’t know what to do with that. The alley door creaked open. She didn’t turn. Didn’t have to.

Tim stepped out quietly, the sound of his boots softened on the concrete. He didn’t say her name. Didn’t ask if she was okay. He just stopped a few feet away. Gave her space. Offered his presence like a tether.

And when she finally spoke, it was low. Controlled. But raw. “That was close.”

Tim’s voice matched hers, quiet and steady. “Too close.”

Rachel straightened, rubbing the side of her neck, still not facing him. “You didn’t hesitate.”

“I saw the glint,” he said simply. “I moved.”

She turned halfway, looking at him now. Not with walls. Not with pride.

With something bare.

“I froze for half a second.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t freeze. You moved exactly how you were supposed to.”

“No.” Her voice cracked, just slightly. “You moved for both of us.”

Tim took a small step forward. “That’s what we do.”

Rachel’s eyes locked on his. There was gratitude there. But also something else. Something she wasn’t ready to name yet. And maybe he saw it too, because he didn’t move any closer.

He just said, quietly, “I’ve got you.”

She swallowed once. Then nodded. Not because she was fine. But because he was right.

And for now?

That was enough.

Thursday – 8:03 A.M. – Back Lot Behind the Apartment Building

Tim stepped out the door slowly, letting it shut behind him with a quiet thud. He spotted her immediately—Rachel, standing near the edge of the alley wall, her body still, shoulders high, hand pressed against brick.

He didn’t call her name. Didn’t ask. Just stood there, two steps back, letting the silence breathe between them.

Because he could feel it from here: She was shaken. Not from fear. But from something else. And the truth was?

So was he.

He hadn’t thought when he moved. Not in the way most people mean it. His eyes caught the shimmer of the blade. His mind clocked the angle. His body pulled hers out of the line before he even registered her weight against him.

It wasn’t strategy.

It was instinct.

Because that was Rachel.

And Tim Bradford wasn’t losing her—not on his watch.

He’d known she wouldn’t appreciate being shielded. That wasn’t who she was. But it wasn’t about shielding. It was about refusing to hesitate when someone mattered.

And when he felt her against him in that split second—her body close, her heart pounding hard through the vest—something snapped in him.

Something quiet. But undeniable. Because it wasn’t the first time he’d touched her. But it was the first time he realized just how much he cared.

He watched her now, her back to him, her breathing controlled, but not calm.

And when she finally turned—met his eyes—Tim felt it again.

That flicker.

That shift.

He wasn’t just her partner anymore.

He was someone she reached for in a moment she hadn’t prepared for.

And that?

That meant more than anything else that had happened since the day she walked into his squad.

8:39 A.M. – Cruiser, Mid-Wilshire Streets

The day pressed on.

Heat rising, calls stacking.

But something between them had changed.

It wasn’t visible.

Not to anyone else.

But Tim felt it in the way Rachel moved now—closer, more aware of where he was without needing to look.

And in the way her fingers brushed his wrist when she passed him a report pad.

And the way she didn’t say thank you when he handed her a water bottle—because she didn’t have to.

It was already understood.

Tim drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the console. He glanced at her only once. And in that second?

Rachel looked back at him. Held his gaze. Just a beat longer than she normally would’ve.

And Tim knew—quietly, irrevocably—

They were already in it.

Even if neither of them could say it yet.

Thursday – 11:46 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Cruiser

The sun was high now—bleached out and merciless. Pavement shimmered with heat mirage. Air vents inside the cruiser blasted warm air that barely kept them from sweating through their shirts.

Rachel adjusted her sunglasses, squinting out the windshield. Her hair was pulled tighter now, a few wisps clinging to her neck.

She hadn’t said much in the last hour. But she hadn’t withdrawn, either. It was a different kind of quiet.

And Tim knew that quiet.

He could still feel the memory of her back against his chest—how fast her heart had been hammering after the door burst open. How she hadn’t shoved him off. Hadn’t yelled. Just stood there, breathing hard, and then let him stand nearby without saying a word.

Now, she passed him the next call update without looking directly at him, but their fingers brushed again.

Neither of them pulled back.

“Noise complaint,” she said, her voice even but scratchy from the heat. “Possible fireworks being set off in the park behind 5th and Venice.”

“People trying to self-combust, apparently,” Tim muttered.

Rachel’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile. But close.

They pulled onto the road again.

Traffic thickened with lunchtime chaos—honking horns, food trucks, heat distortion rising off car hoods. People outside looked frayed, tempers hot. The city was holding its breath.

Inside the cruiser, though?

Tim and Rachel were steady.

1:17 P.M. – Park on 5th and Venice

The fireworks call turned out to be teens with leftover Fourth of July stash and zero common sense. Rachel diffused the situation with five words and one glare. Tim made them pick up every piece of trash before letting them go with a warning.

Afterwards, they found a shaded corner by a quiet bench.

Rachel drank from her water bottle like it was sacred. Her shirt clung to her back in the oppressive heat, darkened with sweat. She rested one hand on her hip, her skin flushed and hairline damp.

“You alright?” Tim asked.

She didn’t answer immediately. Just looked at him. Then nodded. “I am.”

It wasn’t reflex. It wasn’t armor. It was truth. And Tim knew better than to push. He just nodded back and glanced out toward the street. But when they started walking again, she fell into step just a little closer than before.

3:43 P.M. – Cruiser, Again

The radio stayed busy.

Traffic incidents. Medical aid. A street fight that turned out to be a heat-exhaustion faint followed by panicked bystanders yelling at each other.

By the time they settled back into the cruiser, Tim looked over and saw Rachel leaning back, head tipped toward the ceiling, her eyes closed.

He didn’t disturb her.

Didn’t speak.

He just watched the way her breath evened out. The way her fingers relaxed around her bottle. How she sat still, but not stiff.

She trusted him enough to do that now.

To rest.

And something in him settled, too.

They didn’t need words. Not today. Because what had happened between them?

It stayed.

And in the world they lived in—loud, brutal, uncertain—that kind of constancy?

It was the beginning of something unshakable.

Thursday – 6:08 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Parking Lot

The sun was still high, refusing to retreat, casting long orange streaks across the precinct lot. The concrete radiated heat like a second sun. Officers peeled off gear, dragging themselves to their cars like survivors of a long war.

Tim slung his gear bag over his shoulder and looked over to where Rachel was securing the last of her equipment into her trunk.

She didn’t look as tired as she had yesterday. Still flushed from the heat, yes—but her movements were looser. Calmer. She closed the trunk, turned, and caught his eye.

“Dinner?”

Tim blinked once. “Wasn’t sure you’d have the energy.”

She tilted her head. “I don’t.” Then added, more deliberately: “But I still want to.”

There was something in her tone that made the space between them go quiet for a beat.

She hooked her keys on her finger and glanced toward her car. “I was going to make something at my place. You know. Avoid the oven. Maybe pasta. Salad. Whatever passes for civilized food after a twelve-hour bake.”

Tim’s mouth tugged to the side. “Can you cook?”

Rachel stopped, turned to him slowly, and leveled him with a glare so perfectly deadpan it nearly made him laugh. “Did you just ask me if I can cook?”

He held up both hands, faux-innocent. “Just verifying I won’t need a med kit.”

Her eyes narrowed.

He grinned.

And then—for the first time today—she smiled. Fully. Freely. “You coming or not, Bradford?”

He nodded, already heading for his truck. “I’d follow you anywhere for food.”

She opened her car door, paused just long enough to meet his gaze again.

And in that look?

Ease.

Trust.

The beginning of something real.

Thursday – 6:42 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment

The sun still blazed on the horizon, but inside, the lights were dimmed, shadows stretching long and soft across hardwood floors. The AC unit hummed tiredly, pushing semi-cool air into the room—but it was enough.

Rachel moved around the kitchen barefoot, her uniform shirt replaced by a worn tank top and hair half-twisted up off her neck. She tossed pasta into boiling water with the precision of someone who’d done this a thousand times.

Tim leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, arms folded, watching her like she was something worth studying.

“You’ve got a system,” he observed.

Rachel didn’t look up. “Because I hate cleaning up after chaos. Everything’s staged. Strategic.”

He tilted his head. “So you're tactical in the kitchen.”

“I’m tactical everywhere.”

Tim smirked. “Explains why your knife drawer is alphabetized.”

Rachel turned, wooden spoon in hand, and pointed it at him like a weapon. “Mock me again and I’ll make your salad dangerously bland.”

Tim raised both brows, mock-scandalized. “You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.”

She turned back to the stove, but her shoulders shook once—laughing.

And that sound?

Tim hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it since that weekend. And now it was back, freer than before. Like something that had been locked up inside her had finally breathed.

He stepped forward, picking up a knife and a bell pepper from her pre-chopped stack.

“You trust me with this?” he asked.

Rachel glanced sideways. “That depends—do you know how to julienne without bleeding on my countertops?”

Tim sliced one smooth motion.

Rachel blinked. “Okay. Not bad.”

“I told you. Meal plan support, full package.”

She gave him a look—part challenge, part amused disbelief.

They fell into an easy rhythm—him chopping, her stirring, the clink of utensils and low boil of water filling the space between them.

Every now and then, their arms brushed as they moved past each other. Neither flinched. Neither stepped back. The music was in the silence. In the timing. In how they fit into the space without needing to try.

When dinner was plated—simple, fresh, steaming slightly from the heat of the stove—they sat across from one another at her tiny kitchen table, legs brushing under the table.

Rachel twirled her fork through the pasta, looked across at him, and said, “This is the first time in a long time I’ve wanted someone here.”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t heavy. It was just true.

And Tim? He didn’t fill the silence. He just nodded, voice soft: “Me too.”

Thursday – 8:03 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Living Room

The dishes were done. Counters wiped down. The scent of garlic and roasted vegetables lingered faintly in the air.

The AC pushed a steady current through the apartment, low and steady, a soft hum beneath the quiet.

Rachel had changed into looser cotton pants, feet tucked under her as she sat on the couch. A chilled glass of water rested in her hand, beads of condensation slowly slipping down the side. Her body was relaxed—truly relaxed—for the first time all day.

Tim sat at the far end of the couch, one arm along the back cushion, posture easy, long legs stretched out. He didn’t lean in, didn’t push.

But he was close enough that Rachel could feel his presence. Not in a loud way. In a solid way. The kind of steady she didn’t realize she’d come to rely on.

She glanced at him once, her gaze slow, thoughtful. “You know,” she murmured, “you were right.”

Tim turned his head slightly, eyes on her. “About what?”

She took a sip of water before answering. “That normal finds its way back.”

He didn’t smile—but something softened in his face. “Yeah?”

Rachel nodded, slow and quiet. “Yeah.”

They let the silence stretch after that—not uncomfortable, just full.

Outside, the sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting the apartment in blue-gold twilight. The city lights glimmered faintly through the blinds.

Inside, the only light was from a lamp near the couch—dim, warm, enough to see the shape of each other’s expressions.

Rachel leaned her head back, letting her eyes close for a moment.

Tim didn’t move.

But when she opened them again, she found him watching her. She didn’t look away. And neither did he.

No touch.

No words.

Just the kind of stillness that said this—whatever this was becoming—had weight.

And it wasn’t going anywhere.

Thursday – 9:03 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Front Door

The lights were dimmed now, the apartment cooled just enough by the hum of the AC to make everything feel a little softer. Dishes cleaned, counter clear, the quiet between them like a low tide—peaceful, and full of unspoken things.

Rachel walked Tim to the door, barefoot and steady, a water glass still in her hand. He moved slow too—not dragging his feet, not hesitating—just unwilling to break the rhythm they’d found.

At the door, she turned to him, hand resting lightly on the edge of the frame. Her voice was soft, not tentative. “I’m glad you came.”

Tim met her eyes. “Me too.”

The words landed like more than just gratitude. They were recognition. Of the way she’d let him in—physically, emotionally, meaningfully. Of the fact that he saw her.

Rachel exhaled through her nose, her posture relaxed but something coiled just beneath—something she didn’t yet name.

Tim’s gaze lingered on her face—on her eyes, her mouth, the way the lamplight traced the curve of her cheekbone. For a split second, he looked at her lips. Not hungrily. Not impatiently. Just as if weighing something.

And Rachel saw it. She didn’t move. Didn’t lean in. She just stayed. Letting him choose.

Tim’s jaw flexed once. And then he looked up, met her eyes again. And made the decision. He wouldn’t kiss her. Not tonight. But everything in the way he looked at her said: not because he didn’t want to. Because it mattered.

Rachel didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back. She just gave a small nod. Something like understanding.

And Tim stepped back through the doorway. “Goodnight, Grace.”

Her voice was quiet. “’Night, Bradford.”

And she closed the door with a softness that said she knew—this wasn’t the end of anything. It was just the next step in something neither of them was ready to let go of.

Thursday – 9:41 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Bedroom

The apartment was quiet now. Lights off, blinds drawn. The AC hummed low and constant, pushing the heat back just enough to make sleep feel possible.

Rachel moved through her bedtime routine without rush—brushing her teeth, tying her hair back, peeling off the soft cotton tank top and trading it for a looser shirt. Her skin was still warm from the day. The heat clung in low places, behind her knees, under her arms.

But her mind? Her mind was still on the front door. Still on the look. The pause. The almost.

She climbed into bed slowly, sheets cool against her legs. One arm tucked under the pillow, the other resting loosely across her stomach.

She closed her eyes. And there it was.

His arm.

Tim’s arm across her chest, pulling her back just in time. The solid press of his chest at her back. The shout in his voice when he took control of the moment. The feel of him holding her with zero hesitation.

It hadn’t felt like a reaction. It had felt like a choice. She remembered how tightly her body had fit against his. How quickly her heart had raced—but not in fear.

In recognition.

And now? Now it left a different kind of ache. Slow. Deep. Not painful. Just… present.

Rachel shifted slightly in bed, pulling the sheet higher, her fingers brushing her collarbone. She exhaled softly into the dark.

That feeling—his arms around her—had stayed. Even now. And while she didn’t need to name what it meant, or chase it down tonight—she knew.

One day, she would.

That need?

It wasn’t a ghost.

It was real.

And it was growing.

Thursday – 10:03 P.M. – Tim’s Apartment, Bedroom

The windows were closed tight, the AC droning in the background. Tim lay flat on his back, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting across his stomach. The sheets were pushed down to his hips—too warm, too restless to sleep just yet.

The room was dark. But Rachel was still vivid in his mind. He hadn’t meant to stay so long. He hadn’t expected to be invited.

And he damn sure hadn’t expected to feel what he did when he pulled her back earlier that morning—not just fear, but a lightning-strike certainty that he couldn’t lose her.

Not her.

Not Rachel.

He’d moved without thinking. Body before brain. And the way she’d fit against him? The way she didn’t push him away? That had stayed with him all day. So had the look she gave him at the door. When she saw him glance at her lips. When she didn’t close the distance.

When she didn’t need to. Because something passed between them anyway. Something unspoken, but understood.

Tim exhaled hard into the dark. He didn’t fall fast. But this? It wasn’t fast. It was steady. And it was real.

He could still feel the phantom of her weight against him. The way her breathing changed when she realized she was safe. The way she looked at him over dinner like she wanted him there—not out of politeness. Not out of loneliness.

Just wanted.

Tim dragged his palm across his jaw, eyes staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t need more tonight. But someday?

Yeah.

Someday, he’d kiss her. Not because he was caught up. Not because he couldn’t resist. But because he meant it. And she would know. Because the look in her eyes tonight told him: She would be ready.

And when she was?

He’d be waiting.

Right where she left him.

Friday – 6:41 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Briefing Room

The AC couldn’t keep up. The building itself seemed to radiate heat, its concrete bones still holding onto yesterday’s sun.

Rachel sat near the edge of the row, uniform shirt damp at the neckline before the shift even began, her hair pulled into a high, no-nonsense ponytail. She’d brought her own electrolyte mix this time, added to her water bottle before the meeting even started.

Tim entered a minute later, looking like he’d barely escaped a sauna—his sleeves rolled, his collar already creased, the back of his neck flushed from the walk in. He gave Rachel a short, dry nod as he dropped into the chair beside her.

Neither of them said anything.

They didn’t need to.

The weight of the air said enough.

Grey stepped up to the front, sleeves rolled, brows furrowed, already holding a bottle of water in one hand. “Listen up.”

The room stilled.

“It’s gonna be worse than yesterday. Record highs expected by noon. Expect more medical calls, more street tension, and more people losing their tempers over things they wouldn’t blink at in the cold.”

A beat.

“I don’t want a single one of you skipping water, skipping rest, or trying to push through heatstroke. Check your partners. Check yourself. We are not heroes today—we are guardians. Be smart. Be safe.”

A quiet murmur of agreement followed.

Then Grey’s eyes moved across the room—settling briefly on Rachel and Tim.

Lingering.

Because he’d seen them yesterday.

And whatever passed between them—whatever crackled in that hallway when Rachel was pulled out of danger—he hadn’t missed it.

And he wasn’t going to name it.

But he wasn’t going to ignore it either.

“All right,” Grey finished. “Get out there. And remember—it only takes one second of heat-addled judgment to make a routine call a tragedy.”

He stepped away.

Tim stood slowly. Rachel beside him. Their gear felt heavier than usual. But when they looked at each other, just for a flicker of a second—ghere was no tension.

Just a quiet steadiness.

They were ready. Together. No matter what this day threw at them.

Friday – 10:27 A.M. – Pico Union, Outside a Corner Store

The call came in as a “verbal altercation”—two men shouting at one another outside a convenience store, frightening passersby. Tim and Rachel rolled up with no lights, no sirens. It looked, at first, manageable.

A crowd had gathered.

Nothing huge—maybe ten, twelve people—most holding phones, a few shouting. The heat hung low and violent over the sidewalk. Tempers snapped like dry branches.

Rachel and Tim stepped out of the cruiser, both already slick with sweat.

Tim moved first, calm and commanding. “Everybody step back. Let’s give each other some space—”

That’s when one of the men—a younger guy, sweating profusely, twitching from something more than just heat—jerked suddenly, pulling something from the back of his waistband.

A flash of silver.

Rachel saw it first. She moved. Fast. Sharp. No hesitation. “Bradford—!”

Tim barely turned before she was on him—her hand grabbing the front of his vest, yanking him backward with all her strength as she shoved her shoulder into his side.

The movement pulled him clear just as the weapon was revealed—not a gun, but a metal pipe, swung hard toward where his head had been a second ago.

Tim regained his footing instantly, already drawing his taser as he pivoted.

Rachel was ahead of him—already closing the distance. “Drop it now!” she barked, voice cutting through the roar of the street.

The man blinked, wavering.

And then dropped the pipe.

Officers from the other squad car swarmed in seconds later, cuffing the suspect while the crowd dissolved into murmurs and scattered movement.

Rachel stepped back, breathing hard—not from exertion, but from the adrenaline surge still burning through her system.

Tim stood nearby, hands on his hips, face unreadable for a long second. Then he turned to her. His voice was low. Intent. “You saw it before I did.”

Rachel didn’t flinch. “I wasn’t about to let you get blindsided.”

A beat. Their eyes locked. It wasn’t tension. It wasn’t relief. It was recognition. Because now they were even. Because now he knew what it felt like—to have her move first, pull him back, refuse to let him fall.

And it changed something.

Again.

Friday – 11:08 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Streets, Cruiser Parked in Shade

The suspect was in custody. Statements were taken. Backup had cleared. The crowd dispersed.

And now, Tim and Rachel sat in the cruiser, parked in a thin sliver of shade beneath a dying tree, engine running, AC barely fighting the rising heat. The silence inside the cab was thick—not strained, but full.

Tim leaned forward slightly, forearms braced on the steering wheel, fingers curled tight. He hadn’t said a word since they pulled away from the scene.

Rachel didn’t push.

She sipped from her water bottle, then rested it between her knees. Her eyes stayed on him—not probing. Just… present.

Tim finally spoke, voice low and even, but there was something tight behind it. “If you hadn’t moved when you did…”

He trailed off.

Didn’t finish the thought.

Didn’t need to.

Rachel’s voice was quiet. “But I did.”

His jaw flexed, fingers tightening. “Didn’t even see it. I was too focused on the guy yelling.”

Rachel leaned back slightly, letting the cool air brush her flushed skin. “Because you were doing your job.”

He shook his head once, slow. “Doesn’t mean I get to miss something that close.”

“You didn’t miss it,” she said. “You had backup.”

Tim turned his head toward her, finally looking at her fully.

Rachel met his gaze, steady and unshaken. “This is what we do, remember?” she said, voice softer now. “You covered me yesterday. I covered you today.”

He held her eyes a moment longer, the tension in his shoulders still there—but beginning to loosen. “I don’t like the idea of you having to pull me out of the line of fire.”

Her mouth curved—just slightly. “Good. I didn’t like having to do it.”

A pause.

Then she added, more serious now: “But I would do it again. Every time.”

Tim exhaled slowly, the weight in his chest finally shifting.

Rachel didn’t smile. She didn’t reach for him. But the way she looked at him—that calm, unflinching gaze—settled him more than any words could.

Friday – 2:47 P.M. – Side Alley Behind a Community Center

They were passing by when they saw it.

A group of neighborhood kids—barefoot, wild, loud—mid-battle behind a local community center, neon water balloons flying through the air like tiny, doomed comets. Someone had set up a hose and a cooler. Another had set up a folding table loaded with balloons.

It should’ve been off-limits. But no one was getting hurt. And the kids weren’t causing trouble.

Just trying to survive the heat.

Tim slowed the cruiser, rolling down the window. “They’ve got the right idea.”

Rachel, still flushed from the sun and the lingering adrenaline, looked over and nodded once.

And then—one of the kids turned, eyes wide, and nailed Tim in the shoulder with a water balloon.

It burst spectacularly.

Silence followed.

Rachel blinked.

Tim looked down at the wet splatter on his shirt.

The kid froze. Then ran.

Rachel bit her lip, holding it in. Barely.

Tim looked at her. “You think that’s funny?”

Her mouth twitched. “Not at all, Officer Bradford.”

Another balloon whizzed by.

Rachel ducked instinctively.

Tim raised a brow. “We can’t just let that go unanswered.”

She arched hers back. “What are you suggesting?”

He put the cruiser in park, flipped the lights off, and stepped out.

Rachel followed—half amused, half horrified.

They approached the chaos slowly, hands raised like they were walking into a negotiation.

“Truce?” Rachel called out.

Another balloon hit the ground two feet from Tim.

Rachel turned to him. “You want to make this interesting?”

Tim’s eyes narrowed.

Five minutes later—

All hell broke loose.

They split sides—Rachel joining the younger kids, Tim siding with the two oldest—because of course they did.

Water flew through the air. Balloons burst with echoing pops. Rachel shrieked when a direct hit got her square in the back, soaking her shirt. Tim slipped once trying to dodge one and got pegged twice in the thigh.

Both of them were soaked. Both of them were laughing. Full-bodied, head-thrown-back, unguarded laughing. No badges. No guns.

Just them.

Two people soaked in city heat, letting the pressure melt off one ridiculous splash at a time.

At some point, Rachel lobbed a balloon directly into Tim’s chest and shouted, “That’s for the salad comment!”

Tim sputtered water and grinned, already reloading.

By the time it ended, they were drenched, panting, grinning like idiots.

Rachel leaned against the cruiser, water running down her arm.

Tim stood across from her, shirt clinging to his chest, hair wet and curling slightly at the edges.

He looked at her—really looked at her.

Laughing.

Alive.

And God, he wanted to kiss her.

But he didn’t.

Instead, she met his gaze, chest rising and falling, hair plastered to her temples, and just whispered: “…Worth it.”

Tim chuckled low. “Yeah.”

So worth it.

Friday – 3:22 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Locker Room

The ride back to the station was full of leftover laughter, hair drying in the cool breeze of the AC, water still clinging to their clothes.

Rachel’s vest sat in the backseat, too soaked to wear. Her shirt clung to her skin, heavy and damp. Her boots squelched slightly when she walked down the hallway. The moment they reached the edge of the locker room, she stopped, sighed, and pulled at the hem of her shirt.

“It’s like wearing a portable swamp,” she muttered.

Tim laughed beside her, shifting the gear bag on his shoulder. “Should’ve dodged faster.”

She shot him a dry look. “I had air support throwing six at once. Don’t blame me.”

He chuckled again, then gestured toward the edge of the locker hallway. “Come with me.”

She blinked, curious. “Where?”

“My locker,” he said simply.

She followed.

And when he opened it, he pulled out a neatly folded dark blue t-shirt—standard cotton, probably worn a hundred times, softened by age.

“Spare,” he said, holding it out. “Fresh. Clean. Won’t win any style awards, but it’s dry.”

Rachel stared at it for a second. Then took it, fingertips grazing his. She didn’t say thank you. But her eyes did.

Tim leaned against the wall, arms crossed as she stepped into the adjoining restroom. A few minutes later, she emerged, hair tied back again, Tim’s shirt hanging loose on her frame, sleeves cuffed slightly, the hem brushing mid-thigh over her uniform pants.

And for a moment—

He couldn’t look away. Not because she looked good. (She did.) But because she looked at ease.

She rubbed the back of her neck, glanced up at him. “Fits better than expected.”

He smirked. “I’ve got decent shoulders.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, but the smile behind it was real.

They started walking back toward the cruiser, steps slow, the air between them easy, content. Their shoulders brushed once. Neither of them moved away.

And for the first time all day, the heat didn’t press between them. It just wrapped around them like a shared thing. Not a burden.

Just presence.

And they carried it out together.

Friday – 6:04 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Rear Lot

The shift was winding down, the sun sliding low across the skyline, orange-gold light spilling between buildings like melted copper. The air hadn’t cooled much, but the worst had passed—for now.

Tim and Rachel stood by the back of the cruiser, filing their final reports via tablet, half-listening to the low hum of passing traffic. The kind of moment where the world wasn’t demanding anything of them. Not yet.

Rachel shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She’d changed back into her uniform shirt, but his spare t-shirt was folded carefully under her arm—she wasn’t giving it back just yet.

She glanced sideways at Tim. He was focused on the screen, brow slightly furrowed, jaw relaxed. Tired, but settled. And suddenly—her heart kicked.

Now.

She told herself now.

She cleared her throat, but he was already glancing over.

“You good?” he asked.

Her voice was calm. But inside? Everything fluttered. “Yeah,” she said. “I just… wanted to ask you something.”

Tim turned to face her fully, reading her body language instantly. She never fidgeted. She was fidgeting now. His expression sobered, gently. “Okay.”

Rachel looked down at the shirt in her arms, then back at him. Her gaze didn’t waver this time. “I was thinking... maybe we could get dinner sometime.”

A pause. Then, clearer. “Not takeout. Not debrief dinner. Not food after shift. I mean—”

A breath.

“An actual date.”

The words left her like a truth that had been waiting all day to be spoken.

Tim’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and for half a second, the surprise flickered behind his eyes—not because he didn’t want it. Because he did. And he wasn’t sure she’d ever ask.

He stepped forward, just enough that the space between them shrank—but still gave her room. His voice was warm. Quiet. Grounded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

Rachel’s heart didn’t slow. But it settled. Because she saw it in his eyes. This was real.

And they were both ready.

Friday – 9:17 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Living Room

The apartment was quiet again, the lights dim, the blinds pulled halfway down to catch the last shimmer of sunset against the skyline. The AC hummed, soft and steady, but even that low drone couldn’t drown out the rhythm in Rachel’s chest.

She stood barefoot in the center of the room, Tim’s folded t-shirt still in her hands. She hadn’t put it away. Couldn’t quite let it go just yet. Her thumb brushed the fabric, still faintly smelling of detergent and something undeniably him—clean, steady, grounding.

Her mind hadn’t stopped running since she asked him.

A real date.

Tomorrow.

He’d said yes. So simply. So easily. As if he’d been waiting, but never pushing. And that meant more than anything. Rachel exhaled and sat down on the edge of the couch, the t-shirt still cradled in her lap.

She expected to feel the weight of it.

Expected guilt to creep in, whisper that she was moving too fast, stepping into something she hadn’t earned. But it didn’t come.

Instead—she felt quiet. Not numb. Not hollow. But still. The kind of stillness that comes when you stop running from something and turn toward it.

She rested her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes. Tim’s face surfaced—not just his smile, not just his hands steadying her during a takedown—but his eyes when she asked him. Not surprised. Not hesitant. Just present.

Jake’s face floated in, too. But it didn’t make her flinch. He wasn’t eclipsed by this. He was part of the journey to it. And for the first time in so long… Rachel didn’t feel like she was betraying him.

She felt like she was honoring the life she still had. Her eyes opened slowly, and she whispered into the quiet, “I’m ready.”

Not for love yet. Not for promises. But for something that could become both.

And tomorrow?

She’d take that first step.

Saturday – 6:28 P.M. – Outside Rachel’s Apartment

Tim stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands in his pockets, dressed down in dark jeans and a soft slate-blue button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His hair was clean, a little tousled in the heat, and there was a tension in his shoulders he hadn’t felt in years.

Because this wasn’t a casual dinner. This was a first step into something else. He’d been on dates before. This wasn’t like those.

This was Rachel Grace—someone who knew the weight of silence, who’d pulled him out of danger without blinking, who laughed with her whole chest when she let herself.

And she’d asked him. The thought still hadn’t worn off.

He glanced up at her door—just as it opened.

And there she was.

6:29 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment Doorway

Rachel stood just inside the threshold, one hand on the doorframe. She wore black jeans that hugged her long legs, and a sleeveless olive-green top that brought out the deep tone of her eyes. Her hair was down, lightly curled, cascading over one shoulder—intentional. Feminine.

But not for anyone else.

For her.

Tim looked up, a breath catching for just a second. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. Because the look in his eyes told her everything.

Rachel stepped out, locking the door behind her. “I clean up okay,” she said dryly.

Tim smiled. “You really do.”

They walked side by side to his truck.

7:11 P.M. – Small Neighborhood Bistro, Patio Seating

They were seated at a quiet corner table outside, a string of soft lights glowing overhead, the smell of rosemary and citrus rising from the nearby herb planters. The city noise was faint from here, as if they’d carved out a pocket of peace inside the chaos.

They didn’t talk about the job.

Not right away.

They talked about the food. The heat. A story from Tim’s sister about one of her kids stuffing crayons into a DVD player. Rachel laughed hard, nearly choking on her drink.

Tim grinned across the table. “You laugh more now,” he said.

Rachel sobered slightly, meeting his eyes. “Yeah.” She hesitated, then added, “That’s because of you.”

Tim didn’t move. Didn’t joke. He just held her gaze with a softness that ran deep. “Good,” he said.

And they kept going.

Talking.

Listening.

Not rushing.

Not retreating.

Just becoming something real.

Saturday – 9:37 P.M. – Sidewalk Outside Rachel’s Apartment

The evening had grown quieter.

The worst of the heat had eased, leaving only the heavy warmth of a summer night lingering in the air. Streetlamps cast long shadows as Tim and Rachel walked slowly, side by side, past closed shops and sleeping trees, the sidewalk warm beneath their feet.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Not because there was nothing to say.

But because everything had been said already.

Dinner had been easy. Conversation natural. Laughter real. And now, walking together, the silence was comfortable. Settled.

Rachel tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, her heels clicking softly on the concrete. Tim walked with his hands in his pockets, relaxed but watching her—the way her eyes flicked up to the sky, the way her body leaned slightly closer to him than before.

When they reached her building, she slowed at the bottom of the steps.

Then stopped.

He turned to her, close but not crowding. One foot resting on the bottom step, looking up at her. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Just…” She trailed off, looking at him. And in that stillness between them—the air changed.

Tim’s eyes dropped, for the briefest second, to her lips.

Rachel saw it. Felt it. Her heart didn’t lurch. It settled. Because this wasn’t about if anymore. It was about when.

And Tim? He didn’t move in. Didn’t reach for her. He just let the moment sit between them—intact. Real. Because he knew—she was already his.

And rushing it would only ruin what had taken them so long to build.

Rachel gave the softest smile, something like awe touching the corners of her mouth.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “For tonight.”

Tim’s voice was low, sure. “You don’t have to thank me. You let me in. That’s enough.”

Her eyes flickered. Something caught in her chest, then settled deep. “I’ll see you Monday,” she said.

He nodded once, backing down from the step. “Unless you need anything before then.”

She watched him turn.

Watched the way he moved—steady, sure, and hers in a way that didn’t need words yet.

And when she closed her door behind her…

She leaned against it, smiling.

For the first time in forever—she wasn’t afraid of what came next.

Tag List: @immastealurkneecaps, @maybefanficting, @kmc1989, @fuckingsimp4azriel

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here!

[dumb-but-happy-trist]

Top 15 fate ships

1. Carmilla x Gudako

2. Gudako x Mash

3. Artoria Lancer alter x Francis Drake

4. Sherlock x Romani x Da Vinci

5. Altera x Kiyohime

6. Fran x Mordred

7. Consort Yu x Xiang Yu

8. Shehzerade x Gudau

9. Edmond dantes x Florence Nightingale

10. Cleopatra x Paracelsus

11. Billy x Beowulf

12. Goddess Rhongomyniad x Lancelot

13. Arjuna x Fergus

14. Quetzalcoatl x Gorgon

15. Siduri x Boudica

1. Sure why not

2. I like this one

3. I like it too

4. A woman, her malewife, and the high dude they picked off the sidewalk

5. Huh?

6. YES!

7. YES!

8. Sure why not.

9. Huh? I’m pretty sure Edmond is aroace actually.

10. HUH?

11. … sure.

12. Hilarious

13. This is a terrifying mental image

14. … if I squint I see it.

15. Now where did that one come from?

Little Addendum : Paracelsus and Nightingale are besties.

[thevulturesquadron]

THAT LATEST EPISODEEEE

Okay okay I have many thoughts and I apologise if this is gonna end up very incoherent and disjointed but I NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT BECAUSE AHHHHH

You know what the episode did very well (the writers, man)? Make the audience feel like they're taking crazy pills. There's this almost cognitive dissonance from the rest of the squad (Charles esp) with the way they say and behave because as Rogue stated "none of you were there". This is SO good in showcasing that you can be as understanding as you want, be literally a part of the same group... and STILL it's not enough because you didn't have the (in this case unfortunate) exact experience. The previous episode is a great addendum to this. The rest of humanity's (majorly the big wigs of course but you get what i mean) scared and at worst callous and apathetic reaction to the genocide. They're not scared because of what happened to those mutants, they're scared because of what Magneto would do in retaliation. Cooper is another example of how much actual experience can wholly change a person. She's not a mutant... but she was THERE. Erik and Rogue were there... right in the middle of it. How does anyone expect SOMETHING to not happen. You know who else saw what happened? Us, the audience. The latest episode felt frustrating and cathartic in the best way. It felt like decades of repressed righteous anger spilling in the most messiest manner, but it's OUT there. It needed to be said. Rogue's rant at the group before joining Erik, Erik's iconic "SHUT UP" line (yo lemme tell you istg i said the EXACT thing after that drivel Charles said). That's another thing that was so well done. Showcasing that no matter how well meaning Charles is... sometimes it feels like the dude's not LISTENING (Erik talks about watching a child be eviscerated in front of his very eyes, and I feel like all he's getting from others is an 'aw im sorry thoughts and prayers now can you please CHILL out') and does need this slap in the face. And the consequences keep piling up (the last big thing being what happened to Logan). Nothing will ever be normal and it's sad and scary and I'm very much looking forward to what comes next.

On a small note, showing how Roberto's decision was unsure with him trying to apologise to Jubilee and then his shocked reaction at her not wanting to hear him was so sad. It truly felt like a boy who only realised how massive of a consequence he's facing but just wanting his friend back.

I'm pretty sure I had more things to say and a more thoughtful way of saying them but anyway... 10/10. VERY ANGERING AND FANTASTIC. I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE LAST EP!!!

HI!!! ✨SAME!! 💜💜💜💜 thanks for coming in kicking the door down and shouting my way cause I needed that!! My brain has been stuck on a loop with the events in E9.

I love, love, love this episode exactly because of the strong emotions it made me go through. To see the division, to see where everyone stands, to see what matters most to them: what they are going through or an ideal? It. Was. So. Good! It was skin itching to see it at the same time. Each episode has continued to take me by surprise and go beyond my expectations.

I love how well the writers have been able to portray the difference between people who have been through horrible events, and those who have seen them ‘on screen’. Remember in episode 7 when Amelia said 'a survivor is the last thing I’d wanna be.’? Now it resonates even more than ever. It’s poetry. And yes, Cooper isn’t just someone who ‘saw it Magneto’s way’. No. She was one of the perpetrators caught in the middle.

So that when Scott goes around saying ‘Magneto is responsible for this.’ When Wolverine is out for blood - it should make you angry cause it feels like the crimes that Bastion has orchestrated are secondary to the X-men's agenda of 'righting a wrong'. Bastion is just a battle, another villain they need to defeat. But the call was coming from inside the house all along.

I’ve seen people online saying that this episode did Magneto dirty. But I think it’s the opposite. Magneto had always been capable of awful things in his pain and anger, but that’s not the point the writers are trying to make. The name of the episodes is ‘Tolerance is extinction’ - the whole point is to put the viewer in the uncomfortable position of understanding Magneto’s anger, but knowing his actions have big consequences, all the while making you lose your mind at how backwards and ignorant Charles' side seems. People are dying because ultimately his dream is more important than the people the dream is made for. And Rogue and Magneto are calling him out on it. The beauty of it is that Charles is preaching an ethical way where everyone matters, but how entitled and arrogant he must come across when everyone else around him is just ‘sacrifices he is willing to make’ for the sake of an ideal. It’s beautiful and awful that the cry for battle and survival is coming from the mouth of those that have nothing left but violence in them, while the champions of the just offer shackles and tell those that suffer to endure more for the greater good.

Yes this episode is supposed to make people angry and confused. And I think it succeeds.

If there is one less positive thing to say about the show, it's the pacing. You can feel that they were forced to put everything in just 10 episodes because there are a lot of moments throughout the show that are either missing or rushed. (For ex. in this last episode I would have liked to have scene with Rogue and Roberto on Asteroid M, in a similar fashion to what we got for the two X-men squads; just a glimpse at how things are impacting them instead of immediately seeing them in a 'villain guards' roles.) But I am not going to hold it against the show; from what they've delivered it reads a lot like cuts that they needed to live with.

[goldom]

Ave Mujica ep 7

Who's gonna suffer today? More importantly, will we ever get the 0.1 seconds of Classic Bandori Girls in the background to make old fans like me happy? Let's find out!

0:10 Oh yeah, Soyo was looking ready to punch Sakiko in the face at the end of the last episode. I see we are wasting no time getting there.

0:40 Violence is never the answer, unless it's Soyo putting Sakiko in a chokehold or whatever's going on here

I was expecting a slap at best. Go Soyo~

0:44 ...now kiss?

3:23 Mortis speaks the harsh truth.

3:58 "Tell me more about this being 'not human.'"

4:43 Is this the first time Sakiko has cried in front of others? Surely the start of her learning to not run away/push others away.

5:12 you wanna give that one another try, translation team?

5:40 Well, I thought Sakiko was ready to learn a lesson, but unfortunately she instead swerved into "I must repent by self-flagellation," helping nobody.

7:00 yknow, on instinct alone, I would have thought AveMu was giving a rather harmful depiction of DID, but I've seen multiple people with personal experience say that they've found it relatable and well-presented. I don't have anything of value to add to that, just thought I'd mention it.

7:30 I will say in this scene they do a really good job of making it clear that Mutsumi/Mortis really are different, as opposed to it being one person with conflicted feelings.

10:10 Saya bringing snacks for her friends: choco coronet! — Soyo bringing snacks: ??? literally what ???

14:26 Well I'm glad these lyrics are so amazing sure would be cool if they translated the text on the screen so I could see why

14:42 "Raana-chan's gone somewhere" they need to put a bell on that girl

15:10 ok good, at least they're translating the song.

17:10 I feel a little dumb it took me this long to realize that this is CRYCHIC performing together again. A happier ending to go out on, perhaps.

18:18 ohhhh girl they're gonna do it they're gonna play Haruhikage

18:50 look, sometimes even I can understand things!

21:53 ehhhhhhhhhh, I really, really don't think you should do that...

This was a hundred times better of an It's MyGO finale than the actual finale was. But getting AveMu back together, like, why would it go any better this time? They're still all in it for completely different reasons and can barely stand each other.

[Addendum, on the topic of Soyo's weird food:

A reverse image search has led me to information I forgot: Mutsumi brought people cucumbers back in It's MyGO! Another person posting this exact image on X described them as "withered cucumbers."

So I guess maybe it's indicative of Soyo trying to help but doesn't quite know what she's doing?]

[what-a-strange-creature]

- ̗̀ bea ᨒ what-a-strange-creature ̖́- 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 ⊹ 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐜 ⟢ february 2025 | masterlist ⊹⠀ ﾟ ˖

⇢ original prompt post | full collection catalog | my ao3 ⇢ multi-ship. canon compliant, canon divergent, and alternate universe. ⇢ posted exclusively to ao3. ⇢ explicit content is clearly marked.

𝐄𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 ⊹ 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐧

⟢ lawyer up ⊹⠀ ﾟ ˖ ⇢ #12: bail money ⇢ 2,851 words | rated g ⇢ Edward comes home to find his wife behind bars… sort of. Post-Breaking Dawn.

⟢ be safe, part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ⊹⠀ ﾟ ˖ ⇢ #6: an anonymous letter, #24: a nightlight, #7: waist-high grass ⇢ 8,046 words | rated t ⇢ Bella finds a handwritten note tucked under the windshield wiper. No salutation. No name. Just a simple message: Don’t go into the woods alone.

⟢ the beauty of surrender (nsfw) ⊹⠀ ﾟ ˖ ⇢ #18: surrender ⇢ 4,807 words | rated e ⇢ Bella wakes up from a wet dream to find Edward watching her. Edward has some things he needs to know. Set during Eclipse.

⟢ new york city, 1962 ⊹⠀ ﾟ ˖ ⇢ #14: the smell of smoke at night ⇢ 2,875 words | rated t ⇢ Edward Cullen was a folk singer who has struggled for the past thirteen years to make it, in the music industry and in his personal life. His music was too dreary, and his relationships even more so. He knew what his place should be in the lives of others: useful, inoffensive, impermanent. One night in a venue alleyway, he meets Isabella Swan, another musician who shines as brightly off stage as she does when she performs.

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐛 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 ⊹ 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐧

⟢ repetition (addendum) ⊹⠀ ﾟ ˖ ⇢ #17: a persian carpet ⇢ 679 words | rated g ⇢ "You seriously aren't sick of me yet?" I wondered. [...] "Nope. Not yet." My take on a scene from New Moon that I really enjoy.

⟢ no need for explanations ⊹⠀ ﾟ ˖ ⇢ #8: fogged-up car windows ⇢ 725 words | rated t ⇢ Before I could talk myself out of it, I brought his hand to my face, molding it to my cheek. I looked up into his eyes to find them wide with shock. [...] “You don’t have to do this,” Jacob whispered. I inhaled shakily. “I know. But if I want to…?” An alternate version of a scene from Chapter 16 of New Moon.

⊹ 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. ( ships with 1 fic )

⟢ yellow silk (nsfw) ⊹⠀ ﾟ ˖ ⇢ edythe x bella | #11: yellow silk ⇢ 1,062 words | rated m ⇢ Bella dreams. Edythe lies with her.

⟢ credits ⊹⠀ ﾟ ˖ ⇢ banner: Michael Kahn on unsplash ⇢ divider: strangergraphics ⇢ & a big thank you to everyone who read/liked/commented on my fics 💘

[serpercival]

Tagged by @onekisstotakewithme to share the first line of my last ten fics! I'm going with most-recently updated so I have the chance to use Return to Sender in there :3

1 - Return to Sender (Trapper/Hawkeye, my in-progress longfic)

When Trapper got his travel orders, they came handed over from Frank in a sleek, white envelope addressed to Captain J. F. X. McIntyre, United States Armed Forces.

2 - Strokework of a Rembrandt (Trapper/Margaret, in the IBM MASH commercials)

The office had started emptying out earlier ever since the new IBM computers came in.

3 - Manual Treatment (Abbot/Robby, The Pitt)

Jack’s leg hurt like hell.

4 - Addendum: Tea Preparation in Non-Ideal Circumstances (Trapper/Hawkeye, Radar's Report missing scene)

Most of the stuff Hawkeye and Trapper told Henry about what they got up to in Tokyo didn’t approach the truth.

5 - Exposure Therapy (Trapper/Hawkeye)

Multiple days off work in a row were few and far between.

6 - California Golden Boy (BJ/Trapper, smut4smut piece)

Since moving to California—and in with Hawkeye and the boyfriend he’d picked up after Trapper—Trapper had spent a hell of a lot of time watching BJ Hunnicutt.

7 - Babydoll (Trapper/Hawkeye with some quiet background BJ/Trapper/Hawkeye)

Trapper would always readily admit that seeing a gal in nothing but her underwear was more exciting than just seeing her naked.

8 - Under San Francisco Stars (Peg/Trapper with a punnitraphawk backdrop)

Trapper didn’t often get to take Peggy Hunnicutt on dates.

9 - A Case Study in Sensation (Trapper/Hawkeye, rare kink buffet piece)

Trapper’s back hurt like hell.

h. hey. didn't we see that one before. it's fine don't worry about it. Trapper and Abbot don't exactly have the same speech patterns, but they've got something close. I found another place only a few days ago where I had a reused phrase like that! Once in California Golden Boy, once in Gay Business, which is my deranged Hot Touch/Playmates (1972) fic. Probably a result of drilling fun phrases in Return to Sender into my brain so I can reuse them as triggers.

10 - Caudal Morphology (BJ/Fox!Trapper, rare kink buffet piece)

BJ still hadn’t quite gotten used to the way Trapper’s body functioned, even though it had been a good few months since he came to Boston looking for Hawkeye.

leaving this open to anyone who wants to play <3 <3 <3

[starstruckbyacomet]

Inside Disney’s ‘Snow White’ Fiasco: Death Threats, Beefed-Up Security and a Social Media Guru for Rachel Zegler

By Tatiana Siegel

On Aug. 12, 2024, three days after Rachel Zegler hit the stage at Disney’s D23 fan event to introduce the first official trailer of “Snow White,” she thanked supporters effusively in an X post for driving the teaser to 120 million views in 24 hours. One minute later, she added an afterthought in the same thread: “and always remember, free palestine.”

Marc Platt. Photo Source: Joseph Viles/Fox.

Jonah Platt (left) and his now-deleted Instagram post, responding to a crificism about his father's action.

That addendum, which amassed 8.8 million views, nearly four times the number for the initial post, quickly made the rounds, with many inside the studio expressing shock that the “Snow White” star would commingle the promotion of its $270 million tentpole with any kind of political statement. A Disney executive raised the studio’s concerns with Zegler’s team, while the film’s producer Marc Platt flew to New York to speak directly with her. But the actress, whose relationship with the studio began to unravel in 2022 during a contentious “West Side Story” awards season campaign and continued as she trashed the beloved original “Snow White,” stood her ground, and the post remained. Behind the scenes, death threats toward Zegler’s co-star Gal Gadot, who is Israeli, spiked, and Disney had to pay for additional security for the mother of four. 

“She didn’t understand the repercussions of her actions as far as what that meant for the film, for Gal, for anyone,” says one insider.

Three months later, following the presidential election, Zegler posted “Fuck Donald Trump” and “May Trump supporters … never know peace” on Instagram. Disney had had enough, given that the star was signaling to half the potential audience of an already troubled film plagued by costly reshoots to stay home. Platt made the case again to Zegler. After a back and forth, she began working with a social media guru paid for by Disney to vet any posts before the film’s March 21 bow. Disney declined comment. Zegler did not respond to a request for comment.

Now that the film’s dismal opening weekend — $87 million worldwide — is in the rearview mirror, Burbank brass are evaluating what went wrong. To put “Snow White’s” global box office haul into perspective, it’s about $34 million less than Warner Bros.’ “Joker: Folie à Deux” in October but with a bigger budget by $70 million.

“You can’t say that a live-action remake of the most iconic film in the vault that cost [$270] million and has been reshot multiple times opening to $50 million is OK. The math does not work. That movie should be a billion-dollar movie,” said an executive at a rival studio when the film was tracking for a $45 million-$55 million domestic opening. (It ended up at below even the low-end figure, at $43 million.)

Sean Bailey. Photo source: Philip Cheung for The New York Times.

The Disney-Zegler standoffs underscore the challenge Hollywood studios face as they attempt to rein in stars who court controversy on social media. For her part, Gadot kept her comments on geopolitics limited to offering support for the civilian hostages taken during the Oct. 7 Hamas attack and did not mix that message with the promotion of the film. Zegler had already strained nerves at both the studio and Steven Spielberg’s Amblin Partners when she complained on social media that she wasn’t invited to the 2022 Oscars as the star of best picture nominee “West Side Story,” a film distributed by Disney. Sources say she had just begun production on “Snow White” in London and Sean Bailey, then-president of Walt Disney Studios Motion Picture Production, declined to cut her loose for the telecast. After Zegler aired her grievances publicly, the Academy provided her with a ticket even though she wasn’t nominated. (Bailey was gone from the job by February 2024.)

Months later at D23, she criticized the original 1937 “Snow White,” noting that the prince “literally stalks” the heroine. One top agent says that was the moment that Disney allowed Zegler to control the narrative: “The first time she shoots her mouth off, you nip it in the bud.” Instead, the studio said nothing, and purists began to revolt. And as time went on, Disney became increasingly loath to weigh in on anyone’s speech considering that the studio was sued in 2024 by actress Gina Carano, who claims she was fired from “The Mandalorian” for voicing her opinions on hot-button issues.

Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures / Courtesy Everett Collection.

“They say all press is good press, but in ‘Snow White’s’ case, they were unabashedly wrong,” says box office analyst Jeff Bock of Exhibitor Relations. “Too much negative controversy surrounded this film for years, and it didn’t help that the reviews were subpar, likely rendering this latest live-action adventure to D+ for many potential ticket buyers. A possible saving grace? A feeble marketplace where ‘Snow White’ could stay awhile — as many family films have — despite the lackluster debut.” 

Many additional factors contributed to the film’s woes, including a COVID-related production delay and a fire on set, while the actors strike scuttled some reshoots. Meanwhile, Disney’s live-action movies, which were once reliable box office draws, have looked shakier in recent years, with the likes of “Dumbo” and “Maleficent: Mistress of Evil” bombing and “Peter Pan & Wendy” getting shipped to Disney+.

Rachel Zegler and Gal Gadot presented the Oscar for Best Visual Effects together at the 2025 Academy Awards. Photo source: Frank Micelotta / Disney via Getty Images.

Still, there was no bad blood between the two “Snow White” leads despite press reports to the contrary. Sources say the actresses got along well during production, and things only got awkward during the run-up to release. Case in point: Zegler referred to Gadot as “a professional pageant queen” in one Instagram reply that followed their joint appearance as presenters at the Oscars this month, considered a dismissive way to describe a fellow actress.

Marc E. Platt, Marc Webb, Rachel Zegler, Gal Gadot, Benj Pasek, Justin Paul and Jared LeBoff attend the world premiere of Disney’s “Snow White.” Photo source: Rodin Eckenroth/Getty Images for Disney.

Some observers say Disney fueled the perception of a feud by scheduling the actresses for separate events during junketing. At the March 15 premiere, which eschewed traditional red-carpet interviews and opted for photos only, the two stars were mostly kept apart. Inside the El Capitan Theatre in Los Angeles, Zegler sat two rows ahead of Gadot and her family.

But by that point, Disney had given up hope that the film could overcome the backlash that had been brewing like a fairy tale cauldron for years.

[deathsmallcaps]

I work as the person in an amusement park who watches the children who get lost. Here’s some advice. This also applies to any mentally disabled adults that are under your care. Keep in mind that many places will not look for a minor ages 13-17 unless it is close to closing or they are disabled, as corporate considers it a strain on resources and employee use.

1. Teach them your phone number. Best gift you can give them. I’m not supposed to have my phone out at work but I can cut down dependent’s being-lost-time by probably 400% if I can contact you. It also assures the children That We Are Doing Something and that They Are Helpful and Smart. If your dependent has a poor memory, apparently writing your phone number in sharpie and then covering it in nail polish makes it stay all day, even if they’re sweaty or getting in the water. I haven’t tested this but I’ve heard a lot of moms recommend it. I’ve also seen bracelets with little plates or the beads saying the phone number.

Addendum: your dependent may tell you that they know your phone number, but they actually only know your passcode. True story. This summer has been a lot better, but last summer exactly one child the entire season knew his mom’s phone number.

2. Acknowledge that dependent’s memories are faulty, especially in new places. If you tell them to meet you in X spot or that your stuff is all in Y place, they may not remember where it is or remember how to get there.

3. All dependents, but especially little ones, have shit time sense. They might find your stuff, wait there for a minute or two, and truly believe that they’ve been there for an hour. Half the small kids that are brought to me are ones who *know* where their stuff is, but haven’t seen an adult they know personally in 5 minutes, so they’re going to panic.

4. Don’t take naps!!! And don’t let your dependent go anywhere you can’t go or at least go where you catch them at the end!!! Yes you’re staring at the play structure your dependent entered, but can you see them? No? Then there’s a good chance they went elsewhere. So many of the littler kids that are brought to me are brought by genuine, good-hearted strangers who see lost children and take them by the hand. Away from the spot you’re napping in front of/staring vaguely at.

5. This might just be something from my work, but we will not call dependent’s descriptions over the loudspeaker. This is because if an asshole were to see your dependent, hear the description, know it’s a lost dependent, and decide to steal it, they can then use the excuse, “I know where your guardian is! Come with me!” And then lead them out of the park or toss the dependent over their shoulder. Do you know how many crying and screaming dependents leave the location every day? A lot!!! We’re a fun location!!! We’re not going to know if the dependent is screaming because they don’t want to leave or if a stranger is taking them away. We might call the description over the loudspeaker if it’s past closing time and the dependent still isn’t found. But before that, we will only report it over secure radios across the park.

6. Tell a park worker right away. Preferably someone with a radio. Even if you spot the dependent within the next minute, that means the dependent will have less being-lost time. Especially if we already have the dependent with, you guessed it, me. Also please tell us when you find the dependent.

7. Take a picture of your depdendent at the start of the day! That way security guards can have a good idea of what to look for. One mother told me her daughter was blonde and showed me a picture. Her hair color looked brown to me, but then I knew what to look for in the crowd.

8. Keep at least one person in your group in one spot at all times, especially if you don’t have access to your phone or forgot to give out your phone number to the guards. That way they can find you if they pick up the dependent. If you are the only person in your group, then PLEASE stay in one place or at least stay with ONE security guard. It sucks for the dependent if they can’t find you right away even if the both of you are looking for each other and a guard is helping them. You are NOT helping if you panic and run around. And keep your goddamn phone on you and answer calls from unknown numbers!!!!! God. This is a good time to do that.

9. If you lose your dependent in an attraction like the lazy river at a water park, and you have that ONE person staying in place, then this is what you can do with 1+ mobile people.

A. If only one person can be spared to be mobile, have them pick a spot and stay right there, watching the river go by. Eventually, if the dependent is in the river, they’ll go by.

B. If you have two people that can be mobile, both start at the same place in the river and go opposite directions. If you meet up again without spotting the dependent, well, they’re not there.

C. If you have more than 2 people, you can do B but also station different adults at the lazy river entrances/exits.

10. Don’t blame the dependent! Even if they ran away and/or are pissy that you’re upset once you all reunite, trust me, there’s a 99% chance they’re upset too. Yes, this is a good time to have a serious conversation with them. Yes, if this is a repeated problem, and/or you warned them you’d leave the park if this occurred, you should not back down. But also - they’re dependents. They’re not stupid, and they should be told consequences and dangers so they can make good decisions, but they will never have the adult/guardian perspective that you do. Be kind.

Also please for my sake teach them if they’re brought to someone like me, that it’s THEIR job to be safe and listen to me while us park workers look for you. It’s YOUR job to find the dependent, not the dependent’s job to find you. I had a six year old little girl genuinely toddler-howl at me because she wanted to go look for her mom. I’ve never before heard a kid her age howl like that. I can trick kids out of crying 9/10 times but howling came as a surprise lmao. I think I can manage it now that I’ve experienced it but damn.

Also make sure those kids are DRINKING. Being in a water park is NOT the same as drinking water. They should be drinking every 15 minutes at LEAST, I am NOT kidding.

Also if I call you to tell you your kid is here, please don’t call or text me back after you have the kid. I’m sure other places have phones for these types of things but the only one I have is my personal phone. And I am happy to get the kid off my hands and into your arms, but I’m using my personal phone so plz. Don’t call me back. Absolutely call me if you need directions to my ‘office’ in the park. Don’t call or text me after. I have stories about that hoo boy but this post is already long.

[dzthenerd490]

Addendum X-7 Part 7

The four of them got off of the cable car, none of them saw anything of interest except Rebecca who went to collect more of the green herbs. Paris and New York progressed first by walking up the stairs to a door. Paris tried but the door was locked he then punched it leaving a large dent, he grunted and raised his fist to try again. 

Rebecca: Paris!

Paris and New York looked back to Rebecca who was now behind them.

Rebecca: Maybe we should try the easy way instead.

Rebecca pointed to another set of stairs leading to a much higher level, she then walked up them, and Billy smirked while going up with her. Paris sighed and followed them while New York grunted in annoyance. Up the stairs the four of them found another door and walked in finding a very old part of the station that seemed to be mostly unused for storage having lots of barrels and tanks. Since there was nothing of value here, they just moved on into the other room. Thankfully in this room they found all sorts of ammo, especially a map of the area which Paris quickly took a picture of with his Foundation Computer Screen Pad.

Paris: Alright! Now it looks like we're in a place called the Factory and... Oh, I got another message from the Red Queen. Looks like there's something she wants us to find.

New York: You're sure it's a good idea to be taking orders from this Red Bitch? For all we know it's a Neo Sarkite Trick. 

Billy: As painful as it is to agree with New York I think he's right, Paris.

Paris: It's either that or keep running around blindly. 

Rebecca: I agree, besides, I think we're more than prepared to-

Paris and New York: DON'T!

Rebecca was taken aback by the sudden shouting but did as they both demanded and shut her mouth quickly.

Paris: ... Sorry, it's just that saying crap like that tends to be a jinx that actually causes bad shit to happen. 

Billy: Yeah, I think New York can attest to that.

New York: Suck a dick jarhead.

Paris: Both of you shut up! Now let's move. 

The group walked back to the previous area and Paris pointed out a little platform that acted as a single person elevator. One by one they all rode it down and walked alongside the skywalk. It led them all too. New York looked down and nearly threw up as a result but managed to keep it down, though Billy chuckled at him for this. They made it to a door which, inside, led to some kind of engine room. They walked inside following Paris who was following the directions given to him by the Red Queen. They eventually made it to what looked to be the control area of this engine room. There didn't seem to be anything until Paris looked down and found the factory key. Just then he got new instructions from the Red Queen.

Paris: Alright looks like this is what we needed, let's get out of-

Rebecca: Wait, wait, what the hell is that?

Rebecca pointed to the only monitor that was working and on it was a black and white display of some kind of humanoid monster. 

Billy: What the hell is that?

Paris: Kinda looks like a homunculus. 

Rebecca: What's a homunculus?

Paris: Something alchemists have been trying to create for years, basically an artificial human.

Billy: Like Frankenstein?

Paris: No, Frankenstein are created from already dead bodies, a homunculus is created through natural elements infused together to create the closest to a natural body science, alchemy, or even thaumaturgy can get you. 

Billy and Rebecca were both looking at Pairs with a mixture of fear and confusion.

Paris: Yeah, the anomalous world is a lot bigger than you think, it's also unfortunately everywhere so all you need is to know where to look. But that's enough of me rambling, the point is that even if it is a homunculus then we have nothing to worry about because not even the Sarkites can create a perfect homunculus.

Rebecca: How can you be sure?

Paris: The same way no one has ever successfully created a working Frankenstein, to do so, you need to make not just the body but the soul. Without a soul it won't work, so a that homunculus is just a husk, nothing more. Now let's get out of here. 

Rebecca: Hm, roger.

The four of them were about to walk out but as they passed an engine looking device a Hunter showed up and attacked Paris. Thankfully as it lunged on him, he proved to be stronger and threw it over the side and into the seemingly bottomless pit below. unfortunately, another one came soon after, so Paris grabbed out his SMGs and started shooting its stomach until it died. 

Rebecca: Woah! You okay Par- 

Unfortunately, the fight wasn't over as the first Hunter showed itself again having clung to the railings and climbed back up. it roared at them ready to attack but Billy shot it with the Magnum and to everyone's shock the bullet was so powerful it blew up the Hunter's head making it's lifeless body fall back into the pit. 

Billy: Woah... I'm definitely keeping this. 

New York: Lucky asshole.

Paris: Alright that's enough gawking, let's get out of here before more of those freaks show up.

The four of them left the room and went out to the skywalk towards the elevator back up and went to the original control room. Paris then went to a computer and followed the Red Queen's instructions on what to do. After inserting the key and pressing some buttons, everyone heard a loud noise. It sounded like someone large rising up like a massive elevator. 

Paris: I like the sound of that, it means progression.

Billy: Or we're getting deeper into some nasty shit.

New York: In this line of work, that unfortunately means the same thing.

The four of them left the room and found a large elevator for what looked to be large equipment and even a cart to transport said equipment with cart rails and everything. Paris then pressed the buttons of the controls and after the sirens of the elevator sounded they started descending downward. They found only one way forward which was a short hall leading to a longer hall to the left, a metal door to the right, and two large metal doors in the middle. 

New York: ... Alright, what does the Red Bitch say now?

Paris: She's not sending any more messages, I guess we're on our own now.

Billy: Great. I really hope I was wrong about us being in deep shit.

The four of them walked forward to the two large metal doors first but as they did Paris head footsteps. He quickly signaled to everyone to stay quiet and stick to the sides. Paris and Rebecca got to the left side while Billy and New York went to the right. Suddenly the doors opened and out came Enrico of the S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team. However, Paris, New York, and Billy didn't know this and quickly surrounded him with their guns up. 

Paris: Put your hands up!

New York: Do it motherfucker!

Billy: We don't want to hurt you, but we will if we have too. 

Rebecca: Wait! Guys stop! That's Enrico! 

The three of them looked at Rebecca in shock then to Enrico and quickly lowered their weapons. Enrico was silent in shock but was clearly about to talk so Paris quickly processed his name into the recording.

Enrico: ... I... Wha... Rebecca?! Wha- What?! What one earth is going one here who are these men and... who is this?

Enrico then pointed to Billy who was now looking around in panic.

Enrico: Don't tell me, are you-?

Rebecca: No Enrico! He's not Billy Coen, I uh... I think Billy Coen is dead.

Enrico: ... How can, you be sure? Ah, wait just let me... Huh? Damn it, I lost my file and picture on Billy Coen. 

Paris quickly grabbed Billy's dog tags while Enrico was checking his pockets. He then quietly handed them to Rebecca who quickly held them out.

Rebecca: Be- Because this is all I found of him...

Enrico looked at the dog tags and sighed in relief.

Enrico: ... What a relief just makes things easier for us, that bastards deserve to rot after what he did.

Billy clenched his fists in frustration, but Paris placed a hand on his shoulder to help comfort him a little. 

Enrico: especially after all the nightmares I've seen tonight. I assume you've encountered them too. 

Rebecca: Yeah, I was worried you weren't alive. 

Enrico: I though the same about you and the others, speaking of which where are they and who are these men.

Paris: CDC Lambda-12 special forces for anomalous pathogens spread through aggressive vermin. We were told leeches spreading a deadly pathogen were on the train we found Rebecca on earlier but uh... we ended up finding more than we bargained for, I already lost two men and we have to work with this civilian and Rebecca in order to survive. We were very lucky to have them both by our side, otherwise we might not have made it this far. 

Enrico: Damn, I'm sorry for your loss.

Paris: And we're sorry for yours.

Enrico looked at Paris confused then to Rebecca who looked at him with sadness.

Rebecca: ... Edward is dead, and I haven't had contact with the others so I think they might be dead too.

Enrico: ... Then we have no choice but to regroup with Alpha team, I got a message from Albert Wesker, Alpha Team is going to rendezvous with us at a mansion not far from here. We should expect them tomorrow so if we can make it tonight, we can rest there while we wait for them come on. 

Rebecca: Uh, actually I'm going to continue working with the CDC.

Enrico: What?!

Paris: Rebecca, you don't need to.

Rebecca: But I have too, whoever is responsible for all of this is still on the loose we have to catch them now.

Enrico: Rebecca that's suicide. If someone really did create all of these monsters, then we're clearly unmatched. Just let the CDC handle this... actually no, you guys should come with us, if we all go to the mansion you can radio for backup and then come back here with stronger numbers. 

Paris: We can't, we have to deal with this now, whoever is behind this probably knows we're here and is trying to kill us so they can escape. Besides we have some valuable information, but we still need more to confirm some things about who is behind this.

Enrico: ... I see, but still Rebecca, I insist you come with me, you know this is too much for you. You're just a rookie after all.

New York and Billy both shuttered when they heard Enrico say that and looked to Rebecca who seemed greatly annoyed. However, she quickly inhaled and exhaled allowing her to calm down.

Rebecca: Thank you for worrying Enrico but I'll be fine, I will catch up with you but for now I can't leave things like this. If I can, I have to find out what's going on here and stop it. 

Enrico: ... sigh alright fine but be careful! If you run into too much trouble just wait for me and the Alpha Team okay! We'll be here by tomorrow! As for you CDC Soldiers you better watch over Rebecca or else I'll sue the CDC! You get me!

Paris: You have nothing to worry about.

Enrico nodded and ran off to head to the mansion.

New York: ... If he was actually worried about Rebecca, wouldn't he have stayed or something?

Paris: No point in worrying about him anymore anyways. If he's survived this long on his own, heading to that mansion would be fine.

Billy: Paris, I know it's a bad time to say this, but shouldn't we go with him, I don't think he's wrong about finding a place to rest and call for backup. 

Paris: Backup was supposed to be here an hour ago actually, I don't know why it's not, but I have a feeling of what happened, and I really don't like it. Though I wasn't lying before... Billy, Rebecca, if you both don't want to stay here, you're under no obligation too, you can still catch up with Enrico and take a chance on the mansion. 

Rebecca and Billy looked at each other in shock while New York looked at Paris in shock.

New York: What the hell boss?! Protocol "Join or Die" states that any government body weather police or politician has to obey the Foundation once they are exposed to the Anomalous World.

Paris: I'm not concerned with Protocol right now New York I'm concerned with survival. Rebecca and Billy's life matter even if they are not with the Foundation, I'm not some Foundationist bastard who abuses Foundation power. Are you?

New York grunted and looked down in shame. Paris huffed and looked to Billy and Rebecca again who both smiled at him with their answer. 

Billy: Sorry Paris but you're not getting rid of me that easily.

Rebecca: I'm not leaving either; I owe it to London and Hong Kong to get the bastard behind this. 

Paris: ...When this is over, I'd like to offer you both positions within the Foundation, though I wouldn't be surprised if you'd both want to say no. I'm just saying the Foundation needs more strong and brave people like you two.

Billy and Rebecca looked at one another and smiled again, though this time they just remained silent.

Paris: Ahem, alright I think that's enough. Let's get this done tonight. 

Suddenly Paris received another notification form his Foundation Screen Pad. As he read he walked over to the corner and picked up a key.

Paris: She says there's an elevator over there it will lead us to where we want to go.

New York: sigh I hate to admit it, but the Red Queen is actually kinda usefull.

Billy: Let's hope it stays that way.

The four of them travel to the other side of the large elevator platform and go to the doors of another elevator right next to a collapsed tunnel. Paris activates the elevator and presses the correct button. However, Rebecca notices the rubble moving and sees on top a large humanoid monster walking forward into view. 

Rebecca: Uh guys? What's that?!

New York: Huh? HOLY SHIT!

Paris: FUCK ENEMY CONTACT, BACK UP! BACK UP!

They all backed away as the monster jumped down from the rubble towards them Rebecca was on its right, so it quickly swung its blade infested hand at her. She dodged and rolled forward in time but still the resulting damage showed she would have died painfully otherwise. 

Paris: Hostility is confrimed! Engage!

Rebecca got up quickly and started firing with her assault rifle while Paris shot at the Tyrant with his dual SMGs. New York quickly fired with his Shotgun expecting it to make quick work of the Tyrant. However, even as large patches of its skin were getting eaten by the necrosis venom these patches quickly dried up and fell off and were replaced with regenerated flesh super-fast. 

New York: What the fuck is this thing?!

Paris then unloaded both magazines in his SMGs into the Tyrants head hoping the overwhelming damage would kill it. However instead all the damage quickly healed, and it just glared at Paris in anger. It then charged at him with great speed and raised its blade arm to strike him down. Paris only barely caught the blade in time, but the Tyrant still had great strength and forced him down hard. Paris's feet dug into the metal below bending it badly and clearly showing the inhuman among of strength the Tyrant was forcing on him. 

Thankfully just in time Billy shot it in the back with the magnum making the Tyrant cry out in inhuman pain. New York then loaded his Foundation spray gun with the flame canister and started blasting the Tyrants back while Billy kept shooting. Paris then grabbed one of his SMGs and started shooting at the legs of the Tyrant further weaking it. Rebecca aimed for the other completely throwing it off balance. Billy then finished it off by shooting it one last time in the head making it explode. However, it quickly regenerated for a moment making it seems like the battle was still going, only for all the pieces to fall apart and fall to the ground dead.

Billy: Ha... Okay I think it's actually dead this time...

Paris: We all good? Ugh... No one is dead?

New York: Not so far, thank God.

Rebecca: Paris! Your hurt!

Rebecca ran over to Paris and quickly opened up the Foundation Medical Case she was given thankfully the visor Paris gave her started working and showing her what medicine to use and in what dosage. She quickly filled up an injection tool and placed it onto Paris's shoulder to inject it. Paris grunted but then popped his shoulders as he seemed to quickly start recovering his strength.

Paris: Thank you, Rebecca. 

Rebecca: I see you weren't lying when you said you wouldn't have gotten this far without me.

New York: Hmph, beginner's luck.

Billy: Hey! I think the elevator has finally come.

Paris: Would have been nice if it came sooner. Well, it's here now but before we leave, New York you got any more Necrosis Venom Gernades?

New York: Just one boss, but uh, you sure we won't need it? Could be more leech men where we're going. 

Paris: I'd rather make sure this thing, whatever the fuck it is, doesn't get back up again. 

Rebecca: Isn't this the homunculus? I thought you said bringing them to life was supposed to be impossible.

Paris: Yeah, it's supposed to be, whatever this virus is, it sure is full of surprises. All the more reason to find the bastard and kill him before he decides to do some real damage.

The four of them then got onto the elevator and as the doors closed New York pulled the pin and threw the grenade at the Tyrant.

New York: Wake up from that you fuck. 

Once the doors were closed the sound of the grenade going off and the necrosis venom gas disintegrating the Tyrant could be heard. 

Rebecca: which floor.

Paris: Fourth Floor definently.

New York: Did the Red Queen tell you that?

Paris: ... Her last message was her just laughing over and over. Then she said that even if the Tyrant didn't kill us then Doctor Marcis will. 

Billy: So, he is still alive, and probably behind all of this.

New York: God damn it I knew the Red Bitch couldn't be trusted.

Paris: Doesn't matter anymore, it's her own fault for leading us down here, now we can get Marcus and end this damn nightmare for good. 

Once they made it to the 4th Level, they found themselves on a metal bridge over water, they simply just walked over it and through the doors leading to another bridge. This one had a large control station office and a small elevator near it on the other end. without being ordered the four of them went to the office first and quickly found some ammo but not much else. They were about to leave before New York noticed a control pannel for the power routing of the dam.

New York: Oh, hey check this out... huh... this right here... then there... then... Aha! That should do it!

Suddenly the entire underground area lit up showing a large workplace factory like area. 

Paris: Woah, otherwise, we would have been walking in the dark, nice one New York.

New York: You got it boss. 

New York was clearly happy though he turned to Billy and Rebecca who were staring at him in confusion.

New York: What?

Rebecca: ... it's just... weird to see you being useful.

New York: Oh, fuck off, both of you. 

Billy: Ah, there's the New York we know. 

New York grunted in annoyance as they all left the control office and went to the elevator taking it to the lower floor. There they were on another walkway but this time there were zombies down there waiting for them. 

New York: Oh, thank God!

Rebecca: Can't believe we actually reached a point where I miss dealing with zombies. 

Billy: Guess that's part of the fun, now time to earn some points. 

Paris: You're all getting way too into this... but I guess I am too. 

Paris walked out first and started shooting zombies down with his dual SMG's. Rebecca and Billy decided to go back to their pistols as they shot them down, headshot after headshot. Everyone expected Billy to shoot well but Rebecca wasn't expecting herself to be so good at aiming. Rebecca smiled at how much she improved in just a single night, she only wishes everyone in S.T.A.R.S. could see her now. New York on the other hand was just hanging in the back, using his assault rifle to shoot down the zombies the others missed. Once they made it around to the other side, they found a metal green door, and on the other side led to another walkway. However, this time upon entering a Leech Mimic slipped in from the other end of the walkway and started walking irregularly towards them. 

New York: Stand back I got this! 

Everyone back away for New York who stepped forward with his Foundation spray gun loaded with the flamer fuel canister. He quickly scorched the Leech Mimic but as it was flailing around in pain, he quickly switched out the canister for the sterilizing chemical canister. He sprayed the Leech Mimic with that and not only did the leeches start burning more but they were quickly drying up too. What was left of the Leech Mimic started falling apart and quickly fell over the railings into the unseeable ground. 

Billy: Holy shit, you're on a roll New York. 

New York: about time you noticed.

Paris: keep it up while we move along.

The four of them moved down the walkway, then around the corner where they saw two doors one that was closest was a large metal rusty door and the other was a clean metal office door. Everyone then looked to Paris which left him in confused.

Paris: ... What?

Rebecca: Oh, come on, we all know you're going to do it.

Billy: There's no point in playing dumb Paris.

New York: It obviously needs a wheel or something to unlock the door, and I bet you it's on the other side of that door, right behind a bunch of other doors. AND I also bet it's the ONLY valuable thing in all the rooms beyond that door. Sooo...

Paris: Alright! alright, stand back all of you. 

Prais raised his fists and started punching the door, he looked at his hands in shock after the first four punches as the door was sturdier than he thought. But after relaxing a little was back to punching and soon the door finally came down. Unfortunately, as it did come down, on the other side was a whole lot of zombies. However these ones were different, they were clearly the result of experiments with all the stitching and clear surgical cuts on their bodies. 

The four of them were clearly disgusted but knew better than to stand around, so they all started shooting. It didn't take long for the zombies to all die but the disgust lingered in all their minds for a moment. However suddenly another zombie dropped in from the ladder in the corner of the room, but Paris quickly killed it by stomping on his head. Though when he looked up the ladder, he saw more zombies up there slowly inching towards them.

Paris: Move now!

The four of them quickly went to the other side of the room where they found a green door. On the other side of the door were two hunters ready to pounce on them. Though Paris, Rebeeca, Billy, and New York looked at them unimpressed and started shooting until the mutants died. Though as they walked by Rebecca spat on one in disgust.

Rebecca: That was for Hong Kong you freaks.

New York chuckled, as he walked down the hall toward the next room where they seemed to have found themselves in a living quarter. They found a few corpses but thanks to the visors Rebecca, New York, and Paris had they knew there was no virus in them and therefore no risk. 

However, Billy didn’t know this and shot the corpses in the head which spooked the other three. They all quickly glared at him in disappointment.

Billy: … What? Better to be safe than sorry.

New York: Fuck sake! At least warn us! We could have told you the corpses weren’t infected.

Billy: Oh… sorry.

Paris: Ugh, let’s just get the hell out of here. 

The four of them moved out of the room and into the next area which as just a hall with a set of stairs. Though as they walked by they noticed some leeches, a few of which they accidentally stepped on.

New York: Augh! Fucking gross! 

Paris: Shit! Try avoiding stepping on them as much as possible, for all we know doing so releases a pheromone that will draw in more zombies and monsters.

The Four of them moved out of the area and entered another area with a walkway, this time they were able to go through without conflict or leaches. However after passing through they found another longer and more zigzagged walkway, filled with zombies. They shot them all down with ease and made their way to the other end where they found a lift that led to the lower floor. At first this area seemed clear as they were passing one of the walkways around the water level, the same giant humanoid monster form before only now it darkened skin that was hardened yet slippery. 

New York: What the fuck?! 

Rebecca: H- How?! I thought that Necrosis Venom was supposed to burn through anything!

Paris: Worry about that later! Take this fucker out!

The four of them started shooting at the Tyrant, it was clearly doing damage, but the Tyrant didn’t seem to notice as it charged at them. When it slashed down its claw, Paris pushed Rebecca and Billy away but used the momentum to push himself out of the way as well. Thankfully this resulted in them all dodging, and with the Tyrant hunched down New York shot its head with his shotgun blowing it apart and hitting it with necrosis venom. However, he didn’t stop as he actually used what was left of the necrosis shells to shoot the Tyrant’s chest full of holes in hopes of killing it completely this time.

It however, started swinging it’s claws around blindly, despite not having a head it kept moving and nearly killed all of them had they not stayed low. Though as it kept swinging it started getting farther from them alluding the four to raise their guns again and start shooting, aiming for its legs to destroy its balance. Once this was achieved its right leg fell apart and the whole body fell back into the water line. Billy, Rebecca, and New York looked into the water wondering if it was dead, though Paris pulled out the grenade launcher and shot a grenade into the water. The resulting explosion made a splash, but it was unsure if it actually hurt the Tyrant. 

Paris: It better be fucking dead this time. Come on, let's move.

Though Paris said that they ended up quickly reaching a dead end, or at least that would be the case if Billy hadn’t found a button on the wall and pressed it. Suddenly a ladder started unfolding itself and extended down to allow them all to climb up.

New York: … If we go up this ladder doesn’t that mean, we’ll have gone around in a circle?

Paris: I don’t want to hear it New York, we’re all frustrated by the way.

Billy: Yeah it’s just you that complains all the time.

New York: … fine whatever.

One by one they all walked up the ladder, and they were back on the upper floor, however this area wasn’t the same at all. Furthermore, Rebecca noticed a chip falling out of a fuse box and walked over to pick it up.

Rebecca: Well, look at that, I saw a fuse box form before that needed this, guess it was worth coming this way after all.

New York: whatever…

Paris: Let’s just get back quickly so our big and ugly friend doesn’t get the chance to follow us. 

***

Thankfully on the way back there were no enemies to encounter but also nothing worth recording. New York took the chip from Rebecca and placed it correctly into the new fuse box and suddenly the gondola powered up. The gondola started moving across the factory area and towards where they were.

New York: What the hell are we supposed to do with that thing?

Rebecca walked up to the gondola box and opened it, to show that it was hollow and large enough for two small people to fit in.

New York: … No, no fucking way! Absolutely not!

Rebecca: Come on New York, don’t you want to leave this place? 

New York: Ugh, this is such bullshit!

Paris: Sorry New York, no other way to progress at this point.

New York and Rebecca got into the gondola and Paris went over to turn it on. Once they made it to the other side they both stepped out and surveyed the area. 

Paris: Paris to New York, can you guys hear me?

New York: We hear you boss, it seems to be all clear here, we’re progressing now. Over.

Paris: Good, if anything goes wrong head back to that Gondola as fast as you can because there’s no way we can fit in there to come after you guys. Over.

New York: Well maybe Billy if you force him inside. Over.

Paris: Not happening, now see what you can find and report back once you're ready to return to us, Paris out.

Rebecca: Hey New York, give me a hand here!

New York looked to Rebecca who was trying to turn a lever, he quickly ran over to help and the two of them managed to turn it. Once it was complete, the water levels to certain areas started lowering, allowing access to new areas. 

New York: Cool… so can we go back now?

Rebecca: Hey what about that metal door back there.

New York: Oh come on!

Rebecca: You come on! What if there’s something important back there?

New York grunted and followed Rebecca to the back door, where they found a lab-like area with lots of giant camel crickets. New York quickly loaded the flamer fuel canister into his spray gun and started flaying the crickets. Rebecca shot down the ones that refused to die so easily, with their team up the crickets died quite quickly. 

New York: Oh gross, were they breeding the bugs here?!

Paris: Honestly not the weirdest nor the most messed up thing they’ve done. 

Rebecca and New York raised their guns at the stairs only to see Paris and Billy there.

Billy: Woah hey! Take it easy, it's just us.

New York: What? How did you get here?

Paris: Thanks to you guys actually, after you lowered the water we found a bridge to cross, though uh, as we crossed it there was a giant frog that tried to stop us.

Billy: Paris punched it to death.

Rebecca: Not surprising. 

Paris: Alright I get it! Let’s move on now. That door should lead out of here and where we need to go.

.

End of Part 7

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Continue to Final Part

Go back to Part 6

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[i-have-dots-in-my-brain]

Item #: SCP-████

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-████ has free permission to roam its designated site. SCP-████ should not be allowed access to SCPs higher than its personnel level. SCP-████ is to be allowed Level 4 personnel privileges. These privileges are to be immediately revoked should SCP-████ show any signs of aggression or hostility towards the foundation or fellow personnel. SCP-████ is to reside in a foundation monitored apartment in ████, one (1) mile away from Site-██. SCP-████ must report to Site-██ everyday at ████. In the event that it does not report to Site-██ at the mandated time, it must be swiftly located and questioned immediately about its absence.

SCP-████’s location should be monitored at all times via a tracker embedded in a specialised collar. If SCP-████ is ever found to have removed its collar for a non-foundation approved reason, its privileges are to be revoked and it is to be re-contained.

In the event that SCP-████ becomes hostile, MTF Epsilon-9 (“Fire Eaters”) are to be deployed and used to corral SCP-████ into a standard humanoid anomaly cell.

SCP-████ has been serving the foundation since June/19/1999.

Description: SCP-████ has the appearance of a middle aged woman of mixed-race with curly brown hair.SCP-████ is composed of micro-organisms that bond together to mimic a humanoid body. These microorganisms are capable of flight, flight patterns resembling those of /rhopalocera/(butterflies). This “schooling” could be a possible survival mechanism to scare predators or mimic human behaviour for reasons unknown.

Individually the organisms that make up SCP-████ do not possess any degree of intelligence or sentience. When SCP-████ is damaged, the organisms begin to replicate themselves at high speeds to replace the lost members. The organisms have a high resistance to sharp objects, blunt force trauma, projectiles and asphyxiation, though they are weak to fire.

SCP-████ has no blood or bodily fluids, X-rays of its body only show mass amounts of dots in the shape of a humanoid. SCP-████ emits an unknown form of non-ionizing radiation that has yet to be identified, though it does not have any effect on humans whatsoever.

SCP-████’s humanoid form claims its name to be “Vera Dixie” and that it was born in “March/7/1974”. It dislikes being referred to by its item number and prefers to be called by its name. SCP-████ has a base IQ of 140 that increases with the number of organisms in its form. SCP-████ has demonstrated the ability to break apart and reform to avoid attacks or projectiles. This ability can also be used at will, as seen through testing.

SCP-████ is not hostile and has not shown any open hostility to the foundation or fellow personnel. SCP-████’s humanoid form claims its name to be “Vera Dixie” and that it was born in “March/7/1974”, though no records of anyone by the name “Vera Dixie” bearing SCP-████’s characteristics have been found. It dislikes being referred to by its SCP designation and prefers to be called by its chosen name.

SCP-████ has a base IQ of 140 that increases with the number of organisms in its form. SCP-████ has also shown the ability to increase muscle mass and modify its form in certain situations when it or its comrades are in danger. Use of SCP-████ to contain other anomalies has been considered.

Addendum-████: In light of Incident-████, SCP-████ is no longer permitted access to the site microwave. -Dr. O. Hex.

please look at this i need to know if i should put it on the site or if its a pile of hot steaming garbage (its on the sandbox site too https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/dr-dots)

constructive critique is welcome as long as it's phrased in a friendly way DON"T JUST LIKE THE POST COMMENT PLEASE

[kingofthewilderwest]

@lightraize Ohhhh. Oh. That is. That is actually a good point. HAH.

@deaderrose I would be willing to swap notes with you about movies! I've been intending to dive more into that era of movies, too, and have watched little.

Short Answer:

The number one A&C movie that'll probably get recommended is Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, and I'd agree with that rec. It wasn't a typical A&C film when it came out, but it since set the standards. The comedians would be rolling in their graves -- the two movies I've highlighted are two they didn't appreciate -- but this is a fun (and prototypically cheesy) one and gets a sense for their characters's usual mannerisms.

And frankly once you've seen one A&C movie with their mannerisms, you know what you'll see in basically any A&C movie. So that'd be enough to watch before encountering the unique difference in The Time of Their Lives.

Unnecessarily Long Rest of the Answer:

I got into Abbott and Costello around a year ago. I've primarily watched their materials in release order. But this means, of their films, I've only I've watched:

One Night in the Tropics (1940), Buck Pirates (1941), In the Navy (1941), Hold That Ghost (1941), Ride 'Em Cowboy (1942), The Time of Their Lives (1946), and Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948).

I'm aware their movies have different periods, but I haven't gone far enough to see all flavors. Their earliest period involved A&C being the show-stealing C-plot sidemen while the Andrews Sisters sang upbeat pop numbers and a blandly straightforward main plot rolled through. Of those I've seen, I'd probably nod toward Buck Pirates or Hold That Ghost. Buck Pirates has several routines I like and an iconic Andrews Sisters scene, while Hold That Ghost tends to be considered one of the better A&C movies by The General Fanbase.

I'm almost tempted to suggest a few television episodes instead to internalize the A&C standard. The Abbott and Costello Show (1952-1954) was the end of their film career, and they are repeating material from their movies several times over. Sometimes the movie slapstick is better (higher budgets, y'know?), other times the slapstick is unrestrained fun that upends the movies. But consistently, they kill their routines in the tv shows, even more than in the movies, and that's why I'm sometimes preferenced towards the show.

A&C are burlesque comedians repeating comedy routines that were passed down through the years. While they'll do original comedy, the routines are fascinating bits of history and can have cleverness to them. 7 x 14 = 28 is my favorite routine they do, and my favorite rendition of that is from S1 E8 The Army Story.

But this is where the give/take happens. The Army Story's slapstick scenes suffer a ton and are way better in Buck Pirates.

Other pros/cons of show: I hate the adult-child character Stinky. But I love the premise of the tv show as Abbott and Costello being poor roommates making their landlord go batty.

Final Addendum:

Actually I have the most fun with A&C on radio. But that's a whole other horse.

[pluralsword]

(one must be gentle) they can hold hands. Love Flamewar and Shadow Striker together so much. The smaller side of Flamewar's hand, where the thumb is, is what we squeezed through Shadow Striker's hand slowly, be careful

Also spinning wheels image that is either just non-sexual sensuality pg13 or somewhat lewd (imo also in pg13 territory) depending on context. Going by Lost Light where Roller is spinning Nickel's wheel feet in public and commenting that she has very nice wheels while Nickel smiles about it and enjoys it, it isn't necessarily horny enough or intimate enough to avoid doing in public. But on a basis of Devils Due (humor, decidedly, but still) it might be given that in G.I. Joe vs. The Transformers III Arcee flirts with Bumblebee by saying 'forget kissing you if you win our race to the spacebridge, I'll rotate your tires instead,' which while decidedly different than spinning someone's wheels since rotating tires means switching tire positions on a vehicle/bot (which is actually important for maintenance and upkeep which raises more questions), Bumblebee then yelling 'Wahoo!' and racing ahead makes us wonder how he'd feel about wheels getting touched in general.

For the sake of our own writing we share on this account and this image, we write sensory touch of different parts of the body of a transformer in this manner whether wings or wheels or back stacks or doors or tails or what have you as something partnering bots do for aesthetic/gender affirmation and euphoria which does confer a sort of pleasure of 'making real' (if you want to be academic, reification) in particular in part because it helps them connect with their alt mode and the shape they enjoy, rather than er, a sexual drive, though it certainly can be sensual. We suppose that touching one's corresponding arm or thigh parts while they are in alt mode would be similar, though we haven't written that yet. It's not just a multimodal thing though, its also just, sharing one's shapes with each other and making love in that regard. Which is a very trusting intimate thing to do with someone whether or not sex is involved, as many asexual people could tell you. If you want examples of our writing in this sense, you can check out:

-some chromeblade smooching and wing and wheel touching in Chapter 7 of Rekindling Flight, before we figured out how to write the euphoria aspect of this in a lovemaking manner. We might go back and add to this.

-Chapter 3 and Chapter 15 of Addendum (an IDW1 Arcee novel fanfic) with Arcee/Codexa and Anode/Lug respectively, amusingly Chapter 3 is before Arcee's surgery and Chapter 15 is before Anode's while she and Lug are still trying to figure out their genders, so they both have a sense of trying to give and/or receiving euphoria to help with dysphoria by reifying parts of the body the two wanted to change

-Trusting Transformations is an Arcee x reader fic that also touches on this (the reader's character is a gender/aesthetically expansive transformer)

We want to talk about casual or reassuring contextually non-sensual public touch of alt mode kibble is commonplace among friends or from aesthetic/gender kinship but don't have the spoons to get into that and real world human bodied parallels rn. And yes that, and intimate affirmation touch are all things we have experienced and that we are deeply glad for