#Forensic Fingerprint Analysis

[simplyforensic]

Unraveling the World of Poroscopy in Forensic Science

The Paramount Significance of Personal Identification Dive into the intricate world of poroscopy in forensic science. Discover how the study of sweat pores enhances fingerprint identification, aiding in personal identification, gender determination, and crime scene investigation. In criminal investigations, personal identification serves as a critical tool in bringing clarity to cases. Whether…

[aksharhandwritinganalysis]

Writing speaks..!! Understand yourself & others better through Handwriting..A session for revenue department officials..!

For More contact us: 7038383806/8087382763

Akshar Handwriting Analysis, Chh.Sambhajinagar(Aurangabad). 

#akshar #handwritingexperts #publicprosecutor #expertevidence #aurangabadmh20 #allcounsellingsavailable #fingerprintexpert #signatureMakeover #aurangabadgovt #marathwada #traininginstitute #judicialofficers #educationconsultant #aptitude #careercounseling #writingspeaks

[bob3160]

Tech Talk - 1-17-2025

[forensicfield]

Investigative Tools in Forensic Psychology in India

The Article provides a comprehensive overview of various forensic psychology tools used in investigations, including polygraph, BEOS, Brain Fingerprinting, SDS, and LVA. Authored By Prashansa Tripathi #forensicpsychology #forensicscience #forensicfield

Continue reading Investigative Tools in Forensic Psychology in India

[doomdoomofdoom]

With the ongoing investigation into the CEO Killer, it's interesting to see how little people know about police investigations. Which is funny, because most of that stems from Copaganda and is now kinda biting the cops in the ass.

Semi-Educated rambles about copaganda and real procedures below the cut

I say semi-educated because I am writing a thesis paper on copaganda, but much more about the brutality aspects and not the crime solving ones. I did write a much less intense paper on that almost ten years ago, and presumably some things have changed. Take my "expertise" with a grain of salt.

The Copaganda Thing

Copaganda (Cop Propaganda) is basically what the name suggests. Anything that makes police look good. Social media posts about community outreach, the adorable little K-9 units, kneeling next to a protestor that you brutalize after the camera turns off. But the massive elephant in the room here are Cop Shows. There are literally too many for me to name. NCIS, Blue Bloods, True Detective, any of those weird "live" police shows, and yes, Brooklyn 99, too. These shows (often produced in cooperation with the police btw) serve to humanize cops and portray them as good, honest people, who maybe have to cross the line sometimes but it's always for a good reason and they're always right and save the day! The other half of it is vastly misrepresenting how (and if) crimes get solved.

Reality

Ripping this band-aid off first: Police are dogshit at solving crimes. There are aspects technically outside their control, like that only about half of all crimes (excluding murder) actually get reported to the police. (Based on comparing the 'Uniform Crime Reports' and the 'National Criminal Victimization Survey') But this also means that the Police Clearance rates are only half of what they calculate. Numbers get further skewed by not accounting for a lot of online crimes because the system hasn't caught up with like, the 90s. Anyway, for reported crimes, investigations will lead to an arrest in about 20-25% of cases. Three out of Four cases die without ever apprehending a suspect. (While there are ways to deal with a case without an arrest, ask yourself if you think that's likely in a system that measures success by arrest numbers) Conviction rates (which vary massively depending on crime) even out to about 4%, or 2% of total known crimes. (x) Worth noting: Generally, violent crimes have higher clearance and conviction rates. For murder, the conviction rate is around 60% while larceny-theft can dip below 1% of reported crimes. (It's generally assumed that the number of known and reported murders is the same, as the NCVS doesn't track it. Because murder victims are bad at filling out surveys.) To recap: Police solve about 4% of crimes reported to them. Meanwhile in your average cop show, you've got a success rate of about 100%. That's a stark difference, even if you take only murder rates of 60%. If you're an average citizen who's the victim of a crime, the most helpful thing the cops will do is file a report you can submit to your insurance.

Forensics & Procedures

I've seen these float around a bit and it's mildly ridiculous. Supposedly they've found a bottle and a protein bar of our killer and will be testing fingerprints and DNA. If those worked flawlessly, they still would only bring up results if the killer has been detained before. Databases of random civilian fingerprints/DNA samples are not kept by law enforcement. These analyses only work by having a point of comparison (and even then fingerprint analysis remains subjective), so they won't actually help finding the culprit, but they would be relevant to confirm the identity of an apprehended suspect and as evidence in an eventual trial. (There is also something called familial DNA which would work if they had a couple of relatives in the system, but that's both a flawed and incredibly time intensive approach. We're talking months of drawing family trees.) Also your average DNA test takes like 24 hours and fingerprint analysis is algorithmically supported now, but still mostly done manually. And both require a clear sample, so good luck with that. Fingerprint might as well be the clerk who sold the bottle. There's an infamous case of a serial killer whose DNA kept being found on crime scenes all Central Europe with no connection to each other. Turned out the Swabs were contaminated during production. There was no serial killer. Quickfire round of unrelated notes: 1) Lie detectors don't detect lies, they detect stress, anyone can trick one with some practice. the guy who popularized their use thought they could detect stress in plants too and that the plants could read his mind. 2) We're not actually sure if all fingerprints are completely unique. 3) Bite mark analysis is a pseudoscience that needs to be removed from criminal and legal proceedings asap. 4) Any algorithmic detections inherit the flaws of their human predecessors. Those are their training data. (That's also how they keep turning up racist)

And as a final note, it's common for the police to not share details on their ongoing investigations. That's just common sense. The only details that get released to the public are ones that could lead to direct hints or vague ones if there's a lot of public attention, to assure everyone there is progress. For similar reasons, while everyone and their grandma has put together the motive from the bullet casings, cops can't actually go out and confirm that. It's like how Bulbapedia has to say Flamigo appears to be based on a flamingo. Contrary to the cops, Bulbapedia does not have to carefully watch what data they release that might elicit more sympathy for Flamigo.

Why tho

So after literal decades of copaganda brainwashing, the public perception of crime and punishment is heavily skewed. We've been told over and over that cops can catch any criminal in a matter of a 60 minute episode, max. And that's by design. Aside from the image polishing, copaganda is a deterrent. If you're convinced you'll be caught after committing a crime, you wouldn't commit it, right? You don't wanna go to jail. And the bad guys always get what they deserve on TV, no matter how smart they are. You're not gonna risk that, are you?

That's why we keep using lie detectors, that's why the news are full of arrests being made constantly, that's why cop shows get so much support from the police. That's also why we keep pouring money into policing. Part of it, at least. We've built a police force that isn't about solving crimes. If that was priority, we'd invest more into forensics and labs to keep up with the demand of samples that need to be analyzed. Instead, we built a police force that gets new tech gadgets and military gear. It's an arms race against the general public that isn't even running. We take cops and we give them paranoia, weapons, justifications for violence, and targets to brutalize. I don't have to remind you of the riot gear and responses to peaceful protests. The police isn't your friend and helper. You must fear them. Fear their superior intellect, fear their crime solving abilities, fear the high tech arsenal at their disposal. Fear them so much, you won't even think of doing a crime unless you're rotten to the core. And if someone's rotten to the core, then surely the violence is justified.

But that's also why this guy in particular is so dangerous. They've built up this image of being near infallible (to anyone who never actually interacted with police proceedings, at least) and being able to stop any threat, catch any criminal. And yet, this guy shot someone in broad daylight, in the juristiction of the country's largest police department, and he's currently getting away with it.

[goblinhoursinsomniaramblings]

I Know Those Eyes, Part 1

one dramatic in-universe reveal per chapter, let's go!

writing based purely on vibes, but i do have an actual plot brewing.

@grimdarling69 made more feel free to dm things you might want different

Prologue here

Tim had been the first to see the shape of his family’s future collective stress nightmares.

He’d been right there, after all. He had been asleep in the Batcave when Damian had decided to… he’d been right there, waking up to a single chance, loud noise Damian normally would have never made, with a chance to stop him, bring him to the others, talk it out, find a solution to whatever Luthor had been planning with concentrated Lazarus water. But he hadn’t woken up fast enough.

He had nightmares about that night for years. Sometimes, he knows exactly what’s going to happen and lets it happen anyway. Sometimes, he gets Damian to promise he’ll talk it out, only for him to run when Tim’s back is turned. The worst are the ones where he stops him, and everything works out for the best, and Tim wakes up and remembers what actually happened. Sometimes, he wakes up after getting to see Damian grow up, take on a new mantle, and haze a new Robin.

He always dismissed those dreams as filtering a fresh wave of grief through his knowledge of forensic analysis. He’d seen both Talia and Bruce, therefore he could map rough predictions of what he would grow up to look like, once he hit various milestones. It was all academic, since he would never get the chance to prove what he would have… been.

At least up until Oracle called him to verify something.

(“Red Robin, I need a judgment call.”

“A judgment call? Seriously? What exactly is stopping you from sending this to–”

“Luthor might be alive again. Check the footage I’ve sent you.”)

And… sure enough… here Tim was, three cups of coffee into an all-nighter, manually highlighting every shot in the security camera footage he’d been sent of a visiting CEO of a new tech startup that showed the man’s features. Which, actually, weren’t a lot, but once he started going through them all–yeah, that was Luthor alright. Same build, same face, the only thing that son of a bitch did was grow hair.

Like that wouldn’t have been the first disguise anyone who saw Lex Luthor would have suggested. Hair! Long, practically a lion’s mane of the stuff, tied into a low ponytail, with one of those chin beard things to hide the shape of his face more! All of it silvered by age and possible Lazarus contamination, and he hated that Luthor might purposely be affecting a ‘silver fox’ look.

And the worst part is it would have worked if anyone had removed him from the high priority list for being flagged for recognition. Tim almost had, but… Lazarus water. A mysterious death around concentrated Lazarus water. And apparently he had been, once again, completely right!

Tim had been furious by the time he’d combed through enough angles of his face getting out of a sleek black car to confirm, without a doubt, who he was. But then, the passenger side door had opened. All his anger had become shock. His hands shook as he opened a different, far more heavily encrypted profile.

Damian Wayne, priority 0.

Almost nothing came back an exact match, of course. The growth between 14 and 18 would have affected every feature, and the footage wasn’t nearly good enough to lift a retinal pattern or fingerprint from a distance (he noted the black gloves and mirrored shades blocking both), not to mention forensic prediction wasn’t an exact science, and beyond all of that, he could be totally wrong and Luthor was hauling out a clone, or a doppelgänger-

But as each feature lined up in his predictive model, as he watched the young man get out, brusquely close his door, and fall in at Luthor’s side without a word, a (surprisingly slight, far closer to Talia than Bruce) shadow falling into his wake like it was old habit, Tim felt certain he was right. He was certain he had dreamed of a world where Damian lived long enough to have that exact face. He called Oracle back.

“Hey, Oracle? I need a judgment call.”

***

It had taken minutes for Vlad and Danny to begin calling each other by their original names again. It had taken far longer, however, to get back to a familiar dynamic.

Oh, in the short term, it hadn’t been a problem at all. However, it was simply a matter of fact they had both led very different lives before remembering who they were meant to be. Vlad’s disgust at who he had been had colored much of his early days reclaiming his ghost half, and Daniel…

A childhood as a trained assassin had not been kind on the boy. Parts of Damian Al Ghul had needed to be chipped away over these last few years, most especially the fear of the League of Assassins that still hummed through him. Thankfully, Vlad had some help on that front and oh flaky pastry he was smiling again-

Though on second thought he supposed a warm and fatherly smile would help distance himself from ‘Lex’ Luthor. Yes, Lionel Vladimir Luthor, CEO and founder of VladCo, would be a man of warmth and fatherly compassion, and absolutely no one would suspect how thoroughly he could destroy them until they had dared to cross the line.

“You know we passed a dozen security cameras, right?” came a quiet voice to his left, the young man’s eyes flashing an even brighter green on occasion behind the shaded glasses he used to mask as Vlad’s bodyguard.

Oh, Daniel. So paranoid these days.

“Really? I only counted eight,” he replied, as the two of them were waved in by the desk clerk of their hotel.

“You’re not being creative enough with the word ‘security’. We’re meeting investors with ties to organized crime.”

Ah. So they were connected to weapons instead of larger networks of cameras. Classic Gotham City logic. Why only be corrupt, when you could be corrupt and violent? Though, it wasn’t as if he and his companion had to be careful anymore.

It had taken years to get to this point. Reclaiming their ghost halves, their powers, their lairs, their titles–their many, many titles, in Daniel’s case. Not to mention dear Daniela and Dante had taken years to recover, were still recovering, really, but at least now they could be comfortable staying with a substitute caregiver-

“Oh, any word from Frostbite?” he asked absently as he plugged the number code into the elevator to bypass the purposefully broken button for their intended floor. He had never encountered these kinds of silly little spy games after regaining his memories, it was almost endearingly pointless now.

“Nothing critical,” Daniel said with a small smile as they found their way to their specific unmarked door.

That meant there were pictures. Well. Good reason to get this nonsense done quickly. He raised a hand to knock.

“Game face, badger. We have a foundation to lay here.”

“Right back at you, frootloop,” said Daniel, slipping back into the resting scowl of his new childhood.

Honestly. Spy games. Next to what he and Daniel had planned?

Minor leagues.

***

-dramatic reveal in this chapter: the lazarus tech event brought back its victims.

-i don’t want to spoil their whole plan here but they’ve got obsessions to feed that are aligning super well right now and vlad wants to take the opportunity to show he cares and ruthlessly fuck over people who have personally wronged daniel/damian along the way.

-yes i am referencing the name used by luthor's father in the tv show, but in practice i'm referring to the time superman died and luthor pretended to be his own son, replete with luxurious hair.

[britishassistant]

An Act of Infinite Optimism

The plan, as Ema explains to Apollo, is meant to be simple.

Apollo will buy Trucy one of the overpriced bubble teas from the vending machines at the courthouse. He’ll get her to drink from it.

Then he’ll take the can without being a creep and give it to Ema for saliva analysis.

Ema is somehow going to get a saliva sample from Lamiroir, though she refuses to disclose how exactly she’ll accomplish that, then beg the forensics lab on her hands and knees to perform the tests that’ll prove whether the two of them are related or not.

Simple.

Really simple. Anyone can do it. Which is why Apollo is going to steel his nerve and spend twenty dollars right—!

“Pol-ly!”

Freezing cold and wet is pressed against the back of his neck.

“GAAAAAAH!!”

Whipping around with his hands clapped over the offended area reveals Trucy Wright laughing herself silly, a drink can in each hand.

“Pfft—! Oh Polly, your face!” She giggles. “I’m sorr-ee-hee-hee—!”

He scowls at her. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’d like to see you look nice if someone shoved ice against your neck.”

“Aw c’mon Polly, don’t be mad!” Trucy pouts. “And after I got you something too.”

He should know better than to fall for the bait by now, but. “Got something?”

She proffers one of the cans, which Apollo recognizes as the coffee he often stares longingly at but never has the funds to justify buying for himself.

“I made a mint in tips at the Wonder Bar last night!” She boasts. “Besides we need a pre-celebratory drink for winning the trial today!”

Apollo thinks of the ten dollar bill Ema lent him to help pay for the bubble tea that Trucy’s holding.

He quietly vows to return it alongside the evidence as he takes the coffee. “It’s not about winning. We know Machi didn’t do it, so now we just need to prove it.”

“Of course! We’ll show that Lamiroir is telling the truth and Machi is innocent!” Trucy clenches a fist, looking determined.

A small pang goes off in his chest. He can’t help thinking how lucky Lamiroir and Machi are to have someone like Trucy in their corner. To have a family.

He grins as he clinks their cans together. “I’ll drink to that.”

The two of them sit in comfortable silence as they enjoy their drinks.

“Whoa,” Trucy says. “Lookit their clothes!”

“Don’t point at people!” Apollo scolds, before he follows her finger. “…Although those are. Wow.”

The clothes in question are suits with more excess fabric and frills than is common in the U.S. style. Dark shades, with swirling trims of bright color to make them pop. The people wearing them look like models or something, a certain stiffness to their movements and severity to their faces.

They confer briefly, before heading through the doors that lead to the gallery.

“I guess they’re here to watch the trial…” Apollo mutters to himself.

“Hm!” Trucy tips her drink back to catch the last drops, before holding the empty can out to him. “D’you mind throwing this away for me Polly? Pretty please?”

Apollo can hardly believe his luck.

“Oh, u-uh, sure.” He takes the can carefully, trying to make sure he doesn’t smudge any of her fingerprints. “Just this once, okay?”

“Yay! Thank you Polly!”

He’s grateful she doesn’t ask any questions as he speedwalks away to give the vital evidence to Ema.

He goes to take one last swig of his coffee after he rounds the corner, but frowns when it seems to have mysteriously vanished from his other hand.

That’s weird. He didn’t drop it or leave it somewhere, did he…?

Trucy claps her hands together and sends a brief prayer of apology to the plant she just emptied the rest of Polly’s coffee into.

She knows that coffee isn’t good for plants, but this is for a good cause! She’ll bring water with her for it the next time she comes by, she swears!

She slips through the courthouse until she reaches just outside the prosecutor’s lobby, and does her secret knock.

She’s not even halfway through the second part of it when the door is wrenched open and Prosecutor Gavin’s head pops out.

“Ach, it’s just you Fraulein .” He slips outside, closing the door behind him. “I thought a schlagzeugerin was attempting to audition for the Gavinners. Were you successful in your mission?”

“Of course I was! It’s—!” Trucy pats herself down, face rapidly growing worried. “Eh? Wait, that’s weird, where’d it go?”

She continues to search as Prosecutor Gavin goes from curious to concerned, thumb spinning one of his rings.

“It’s vanished!” Trucy gasps. “Just like magic! So we’ll need… these!”

With a flourish, she produces her magic panties and rummages around inside, tongue poking out for effect.

“Is this what you were looking for?” She proclaims as she produces the empty can of coffee, neatly sealed in a plastic baggie.

“Wunderbar, Fraulein.” Prosecutor Gavin enthuses, taking the bag. “And preserved perfectly as well! The officers in the lab will be pleased when I ask them to look at this.”

“Of course!” She nods proudly. “Daddy always says it’s vital to maintain the integrity of evidence!”

Prosecutor Gavin raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything to that other than a noncommittal, “Hm.”

Which is fair, Trucy supposes. Daddy did kind of deliberately make a bad name for himself, but now that the evil Gavin is in jail, she’s gotta do her bit to start clearing it up now he doesn’t need to put on an act anymore!

“I’ll send this to the lab now, along with Lamiroir’s glass.” Prosecutor Gavin takes out a large paper bag, places the coffee can inside, and seals it with red tape. “It was quite difficult for me to coax her to drink—it seems Fraulein Detective has been overwatering my witnesses.”

She would respond to that, except Prosecutor Gavin’s started messing with that ring again, spinning it around with his thumb.

She doesn’t need a bracelet like Polly does to see he’s tense. Unhappy.

Trucy scuffs the floor delicately with the toe of her boot as she takes the plunge. “Are…are you doing okay, Prosecutor Gavin? I mean, it kinda seems like this trial’s been. A lot.”

Prosecutor Gavin’s smile falters. For the briefest of moments, his shoulders sag before he pulls them back into his rockstar perfect posture.

“Ach, I won’t say that this hasn’t been slightly stressful, professionally.” He shrugs, lackadaisy painfully feigned. “But I will admit, this little puzzle has been an enjoyable diversion to refresh my mind, keep my skills sharp.”

“Oh, that’s good!” Trucy wouldn’t be half the magician she is if she couldn’t cover for her fellow performer’s slips. “It’d be no fun if Polly beat you too easily today! His head would get all swollen! I’m not sure if his forehead is meant to get any bigger…”

“Achtung, so again I combine my enjoyment with my philanthropy! After all,” Prosecutor Gavin’s fingers slip through his hair the way they always do when he’s about to lie. “When I find Herr Tobaye guilty, Dame Lamiroir will need her other son to lean on once this one is incarcerated.”

“What?! No way!” Trucy’s cheeks puff out indignantly. “We’re gonna prove Machi is innocent! You’ll see!”

“Will I now?” Prosecutor Gavin is back in full Gavinners’ mode, smirking. “You and Herr Forehead better be ready to rock, Fraulein. Once I’ve sent this off, I won’t hold back.”

“Neither will we!” Trucy calls over her shoulder as she hurries back to the defendants’ lobby.

She collides with Polly outside the vending machines. “Oof!”

“Ow, easy!” He rubs his shoulder where she made contact. He holds something out to her. “Here. Thanks for the drinks earlier.”

Trucy takes the packet of Swiss rolls. “Really? All for me? Thank you, Polly!”

He chuckles sheepishly. “Just don’t eat ’em all before the trial, okay?”

There’s a pang in her chest as she squeezes the snack close and beams back at him.

Machi and Lamiroir are really, really lucky to have Polly.

Apollo collapses into bed, absolutely exhausted.

He did it. After everything that’s gone on in this trial, the truth was found. They cleared Machi’s name.

There’s going to be another trial to determine his sentence about the smuggling, but he’s not going down for murder. He and Lamiroir and Trucy are happy. Apollo just needs to take what comfort he can from that, rather than feeling irrationally disappointed that he won’t be allowed to represent Machi in that trial too.

It’s sensible, he tells himself. It’s designed to prevent undue attachment and bias on the part of the attorney or the court. And this Raymond Shields probably is a really good attorney. Really professional and dedicated. Yeah.

He falls asleep with his head floating half-formed thoughts of seeing if Mr. Shields needs a co-counsel, or would let him just look over the documents…

When he wakes again, it’s pitch black.

He scrunches his eyes, brain unwilling to compute why he’s not asleep when it feels so grossly early.

His phone blares out its generic ringtone again, the one that sounds exactly the same as the alarm he’s set on it.

It takes a few minutes of confused searching before he finds the offending device under the covers. The urge to throw it across the room and roll over to try to sleep has never been stronger.

Grumbling and squinting against the bright light of the screen, Apollo hits “Answer”.

“H’lo?”

“Apollo!” Comes Ema’s harried whisper. “I’ve done the tests!”

Apollo blinks muzzily. “Wh—? Bu’ you said ‘rlier you didn’ have cl’r’nce?”

“I broke into the forensics lab!”

“You dID WHAT—?!”

There’s a furious banging on the wall next to his bed.

Apollo hastily lowers his voice to a whisper. “You did what?!”

“It’s fine, I covered my tracks!” Ema sounds far too dismissive for someone breaking into a place where the whole job is identifying people from even the tiniest pieces of evidence. “Besides, even if I did get caught, you’d defend me, right?”

“Well yeah, but that’s not the point—!”

“The point,” Ema cuts across. “Is the results. Which I’ve just got. Unless you wanna yell at me instead?”

“Wh—no! I mean, yes! I mean—!” Apollo stutters.

Ema must take pity on his flailing, because her voice comes down the line strong and sure, cutting through his panic. “It’s a match, Apollo.”

The confirmation knocks the wind out of him. “…Really? You’re sure?”

“Science can’t lie.” Ema grumps. “Lamiroir and Trucy are mother and daughter. No doubt about it.”

It feels like Apollo’s insides are fireworks.

He was right! They did it!

There’s the faint sound of a door opening at the other end of the line.

An unfamiliar, indistinct voice shouts, “Hey! What are you doing here?!”

“Shoot!”

There’s a tremendous clatter as Ema does something to get away from her pursuer.“Sorry!”

“Ema, you need to run! Get outta there!” Apollo urges.

“WHAT-huff-D’YOU THINK-huff-I’M DOING?!” Ema yells back at him, over the sounds of running and faint cries in the background of “Stop, thief!” and “Get her!!”

And so Apollo finds himself co-opted into helping Ema evade police custody long enough to get out of the building, resigning himself to being entirely sleep-deprived tomorrow.

Trucy hardly got any sleep last night.

She was riding the high of winning the trial yesterday and Prosecutor Gavin’s promise of getting the results of the saliva analysis and Apollo buying Eldoon’s for dinner, when she got back home and found the office empty again. Which is fine! It’s empty more often than not nowadays, so she figured she’d just put on the Gavinners to fill the quiet. And then she remembered midway through Atroquinine My Love that there was no more Gavinners. That she’d attended their last ever concert.

Which, again, is good! Daryan was definitely guilty and deserved to go to jail! She doesn’t regret helping Polly at all, even if it means her favorite band breaks up! Not one bit!

But behind closed doors she needed to have several emotions about it. That ended up lasting all night.

She feels bleary as she showers and gets dressed. She’ll probably take a nap this afternoon before going to the Wonder Bar instead of doing her reading homework. It’s really piling up, but she needs to be at her best as a performer!

She hears voices, low and angry-sounding, as she rounds the corner to the kitchen.

Daddy’s standing in front of the door, hands fisted in the pockets of his hoodie, tension in every line of his back even as he pretends to be relaxed.

“Daddy? Is everything okay?” She can’t help asking.

Daddy jumps a little, turning to her with a tired smile. “Ah, Trucy, it’s fine—“

“Guten morgen, Fraulein Magician!” Prosecutor Gavin’s head pops up over Daddy’s shoulder as he waves. “I trust you find yourself well on this beautiful morning, ja?”

Daddy’s smile twitches at the corners a tiny bit.

“I’m good!” Trucy chirps back, performance as comfy to slip into as her cape. “How come you’re here so early? Did you want to sign up to the talent agency for singing?!”

Daddy chuckles. “We’ve got enough musical talent already, don’tcha think Trucy? Anyway, Mr. Gavin was just finishing up—“

“Nein, I actually came to deliver a message to the lovely Fraulein here.” Prosecutor Gavin says, one thumb spinning his rings. “Any other business was purely incidental.”

Daddy’s eyes narrow.

“Well, so long as your intentions are honorable, have at it.” Daddy ambles back towards the office, calling over his shoulder. “As you mentioned, Prosecutor, I am friends with your boss.”

“Daddy!” She stomps petulantly to drive home the performance. “Don’t be gross! Ugh, I’m so sorry, Prosecutor Gavin—!”

“It’s no trouble, Fraulein .” He reassures her, though his jaw is clenched. “It’s touching, a vater’s protection of his tochter. Even if it does come at the expense of others…”

Well that’s cryptic and a half!

Some of her true feelings must show in her pout, as Prosecutor Gavin suddenly looks sheepish and chuckles. “Entschuldigen sie, Fraulein. There was a break in at the forensic labs last night, so I am slightly on edge, ja? But, luckily, our results were already logged. I received them when I dropped by today.”

“And?!” She’s on tenterhooks, just like when she used to watch Daddy and Uncle Valant. “What did they say?! Tell me!”

He looks her dead in the eye and tells her. “It’s a match.”

It feels like Trucy’s insides are confetti.

They did it! She was right!

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Prosecutor Gavin says. “I need to locate the suspect for last night’s break in and give her a thorough talking to. Auf Wiedersehen, Fraulein Magician!”

“Off Whee-der-sane!” Trucy parrots back as she waves him out the door.

She can’t stop smiling as she closes it and bounces slightly. This calls for a celebration! She’s sure they have some pancake mix that she can whip up!

When she goes to skip to the kitchen, she finds Daddy leaning against the doorway, faux-casual.

“Trucy,” Daddy says. “Mind telling me what that was all about?”

She opens her mouth—!

Daddy pulls a hand out of his pocket. In it is his anti-lying rock.

Trucy gulps.

[mindblowingscience]

Researchers have unveiled a method capable of detecting drug substances from fingerprints lifted from crime scenes, which could provide fresh insights into unsolved cases. The research is published in the journal Drug Testing and Analysis. Analytical scientists from Loughborough University have demonstrated for the first time that drug residue—namely the fast-acting sleeping pill Zolpidem, which has been linked to drug-facilitated sexual assault and drink spiking—can be detected on gel-lifted fingerprints. Dr. Jim Reynolds and Dr. Ayoung Kim say the breakthrough could shed new light on cold cases and unsolved crimes as forensic gel lifters—which transfer prints onto a gelatin surface—are used globally by scenes of crimes officers to preserve and visualize fingerprints.

Continue Reading.

[vodika-vibes]

Overworked

Summary: After almost dying at a crime scene, Commander Thorn realizes that things need to change.

Pairing: Commander Thorn x Reader

Word Count: 2173

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Reader gets Blown up, mentions of a crime scene

Mando'a used: verd'ika - lit. little soldier

A/N: I've been meaning to write for Thorn for, like, weeks now. But I finally had an idea.

Divider by saradika

In an ideal universe, you would never have to work a day in your life. You would be able to stay home, and spend your time writing novels, or painting pictures, or crocheting blankets, and you’d never have to worry about food or power or rent.

However, you don’t live in an ideal universe.

You live here, on Coruscant, which means that five days a week, you have to drag yourself out of bed, shower, brush your teeth, and put on your uniform for another 8 hour day of hell.

Also known as work.

And you, the clever person that you are, decided to major in Forensics. Which meant that not only do you have to drag yourself to work every morning, you also have to see the absolute worst of people every day.

Sometimes when you close your eyes, all you see are blood spatters and burn patterns and bullet trajectories. Those are the good days.

You don’t have many good days.

There is a reason that people in your line of work rarely last more than 10 years. Especially on Coruscant. 

You exhale slowly and press the palms of your hands against your eyes. You’ve been working close to ten hours, less than halfway through a double, that was probably going to turn into a triple, and you’re already so done with the day that you kind of want to cry.

You’re hungry, and tired, and you still have six hours before the next shift is supposed to roll in, and you have to start the DNA analysis from three different cases, and run the fingerprints from last night-

You look up when there’s a knock on the door, “It’s open.”

Your office door slides open, and you tiredly look up at the man who steps into the room, “You look like shit, verd’ika.” Commander Thorn says as he steps into the room, a teasing grin on his lips.

“Please tell me you didn’t just walk your happy ass all the way from the Corrie Bullpen to my office just to insult me?” You ask as you rest your chin on the palm of your hand as you half-heartedly glare at the handsome man who has made it his life's mission to make your life more difficult.

“I would never,” Commander Thorn replies as he presses the button to shut your office door, and lazily drops into a chair across from your desk.

“Oh, please, have a seat.” You say snarkily.

“Thanks, I think I will.” He counters cheerfully, as he slumps even further down the chair with a wide grin.

You close your eyes, and forcefully stamp down on your growing ire, it’s not his fault that you’re exhausted, and it’s not right to take it out on him. Especially since you actually enjoy his company, “Is there something you needed, Commander?”

“How long have we worked together, verd’ika?” He asks, dragging the nickname out obnoxiously. 

“I don’t…2 years, give or take?” You say with a shake of your head.

“Long enough that you should just call me by my name,” He says mildly, and he frowns when you curl in on yourself as though he yelled at you. He sits up and leans forward slightly, his sharp eyes scanning your face for a moment, and his scowl deepens, “How many hours have you been working?”

You glance at your chrono and sigh, “a little more than 10 hours. I’m working a double today…maybe a triple.” You tiredly rub your eyes, “What did you need, Commander Thorn?”

“...we have a case.” He says quietly, a look of guilt crossing his face as you utter an exhausted curse, “No one else is available for field work.”

“It’s fine, this is my job after all. Just let me grab my keys and I’ll meet you there. Send me the location?” You ask, as you get to your feet and grab your jacket off the back of your chair.

Thorn says nothing for a moment, and then he releases a deep sigh, and you hear the sound of some typing, “I’ll see you there. It’s just going to be the two of us, for now.”

“Alright, I’ll see you there.”

30 minutes later, you pull up in front of a run down building. The building itself is taped off, and Thorn is waiting for you with his arms crossed over his chest. You park near his speeder, and slip out of your jeep, having to essentially fall out of your van due to its height.

“Nice of you to join me,” Thorn teases lightly, though there’s tension in his shoulders and his hand rests on his blaster, “So we have a body.”

“It’s almost always a body in this part of Coruscant,” You reply as you pull your kit out of the back of your van, “You suspect foul play?”

“The person who called it in claimed that they witnessed a murder,” Thorn replies as he scans his datapad, “I have some shinies canvassing the area, looking for the witness.”

“Is that why you’re so tense?” You ask.

“What?”

“You’ve had your hand on your blaster like you’re expecting someone to jump out and start shooting at us.” You explain as you press the button that closes the trunk door.

“Just…a bad feeling, verd’ika.” His voice is tight, “I’m going to be staying close for now.”

You eye him for a moment, and then nod slowly, “If that will make you feel more comfortable.” You finally reply, “Is the body inside?”

“Yeah. The shinies cleared the house before you got here.” Thorn says, “At first blush, it looks like an execution.”

You flash him the smallest of smiles, “If you say so, then that’s probably what happened. But I’ll check anyway.”

“Ah, verd’ika, when you say stuff like that it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” Thorn teases flirtatiously, and you know that if he wasn’t wearing his helmet, he’d be smirking at you, in spite of the tension running through his body.

You pull your gloves on and shoot him a look, “You know that you’re probably right. I just need to verify it for legal reasons.” You shake your head and take half a step towards the house, “I assume I’m free to enter?”

“Yep, the scene is yours.”

You nod at him, and grab your camera, and slowly make your way into the house, taking pictures as you go. You snap a series of photos of the victim, a woman, likely in her 70s. True to what Thorn told you, she had two bullet holes in her head.

“If the execution was what killed her,” You say to Thorn, “She wasn’t killed here. There’s not nearly enough blood.”

Thorn is somehow even more tense than he was outside as he makes a note on his datapad, “Anything else?”

“Give me a minute,” You reply, standing and moving around to the other side. You look over the victim, and then tilt your head when you notice something strange. “Huh. What’s this then?” You murmur, more to yourself then Thorn as you reach out and adjust the thick jacket the victim was wearing. Your hand presses against something hard, and metal, and you hear a click that makes your blood freeze, and you slam your hand down on the victim’s chest. 

“Verd’ika?”

“I think there’s a bomb.” You say, turning panicked eyes up towards Thorn.

Thorn swears and tosses his datapad out the front door, and crosses the room to kneel across from you. He scans the body, and then swears again, “It is.” He confirms, “It looks like a pressure plate.”

“Sorry.” You whisper, “You should probably-”

“If you think I’m leaving you here, alone, with a bomb then you don’t know me well at all,” His voice is sharp, and for a moment you hate that he’s wearing his helmet, because seeing his face would offer you a little comfort. “Okay. Disarming the bomb isn’t possible, not now that it’s been triggered,” Thorn explains as he stands and walks around the body until he’s behind you.

“So what do we do?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder as he turns a thick table onto it’s side and moves it so it’s nearly pressed against your back.

“You are going to sit there,” Thorn replies, moving so he’s behind the table, and then reaching over the table and grabbing you under the arms, “Verd’ika?”

“Yeah?”

“This is going to hurt.” Is the only warning he gives, as he tightens his grip and pulls, jerking you away from the bomb, and over the table, and covering you with his own body in one smooth motion that he’s had to have practiced before.

The bomb detonates at the exact same time, and the last thing you remember, clearly, is the pain the Thorn warned you about.

You wake to the sound of a heart monitor beeping annoyingly in your ear. You slowly blink the sleep out of your eyes, and you can taste bacta on your lips. 

You half expect to be in the hospital, but you’re also not really surprised to see that you’re in the Guard’s Medbay. Slowly you try to sit up, only to stop when gentle hands press against your shoulders, laying you back. “You’re not supposed to move, verd’ika.”

“Thorn?” You quickly look him over, he’s wearing casual clothes, rather than his armor, which means you can see the bruises covering his arms, “Are you okay?” You ask.

“Me? Yeah, a couple of bruises. A minor concussion.” Thorn waves away his injuries as unimportant, “How are you feeling? You’ve been in a bacta tank for two days.”

“Pretty good, all things considered.” You lightly take his hand and squeeze it, “I thought that I would be in the hospital?”

“Yeah, well…” There’s something grim on Thorn’s face, “Someone put a hit on you.”

“On…me?”

“You’re very good at what you do,” Thorn replies, “We moved you from the hospital when one of the nurses tried to kill you.”

“I don’t…why?”

“You’re very good at what you do, cyar’ika.” Thorn says with a sigh, “You’re being moved into protective custody until we can figure out who’s trying to kill you.” He lightly takes your hand and squeezes your fingers, “I’m afraid you’re not going to have much privacy for a bit.”

You lay in the bed, thinking on his words, “Am I being forced to leave Coruscant?” You ask.

“No. You’re being moved into protective custody under the care of the Coruscant Guard. Well, to be more specific, we’re being moved into protective custody.” Thorn explains.

“Ah, you got stuck with babysitting duty.”

“I volunteered, cyar’ika.” Thorn replies, “You almost died because I didn’t do my due diligence.”

“It’s not your-”

“It is my fault. If I had done my damned job, the bomb would have been disarmed before you even arrived on scene.” Thorn interrupts, “So, I’m afraid you’re going to be stuck with me for a while.”

You sigh quietly, “It’s not that much of a hardship,” You murmur, “When I’m not working, I actually like spending time with you.”

He laughs quietly, and slowly releases your fingers to brush his fingers against your cheek, and you turn your head into his touch. “You know I only bother you as much as I do because I want you to look at me, right?” He asks quietly.

You smile gently, “I’m looking now, Thorn.”

His fingers pause, mid stroke, and his gaze locks with yours, “Yeah. I guess you are. And…do you like what you see?” Thorn asks, something hesitant in his voice.

“Always did.”

“You never said anything.”

“You never come to talk to me alone when we’re not working,” You reply, “Or I would have.”

A look of amusement crosses his face, “I didn’t know that you’re shy.”

“I didn’t either,” You admit with a laugh, “Just about this one thing, I guess.”

You fall into a comfortable silence, with his fingers gentle on your cheek. “Cyar’ika,” He says slowly, “Do you know what that means?”

“Something less insulting than verd’ika, I hope.”

“It means sweetheart.”

“Oh, that’s much nicer than being called Little Soldier.” You joke lightly.

He laughs quietly, and his thumb lightly ghosts across your lips, “Can I kiss you, cyar’ika?”

“I’m in a hospital bed and covered in bacta.” You reply.

“That’s not a no,”

You smile at him, “Yes, Thorn. You can kiss me.”

He flashes an almost blinding grin, and then he leans in and gently presses his lips against yours. His kiss is so breathtakingly gentle that you’re helpless to do anything more than let out a quiet whine into the kiss.

He breaks the kiss, and lays his arms on the bed and then he lays his chin on his folded arms, a grin on his lips, as he looks at you with a lovesick look on his face. And all you can do is blush and try to pull the blanket up over your head.

[steelsamuraifangirl01]

— Video Transcript—

Hi there! Detective Ema Skye here. If you’re watching this video, chances are I’m the lead forensic investigator in your local precinct. Well, things are changing around here. Since my promotion, I've been travelling around nonstop. You'd think I'd be busy, but I also have a lot more free time on my hands … There’s only so much science you can do on a plane, you know. Anyway, I thought I’d use my time to spread the word about my job … what goes down, what the day-to-day life of a world class forensic investigator looks like… a sort of pro-bono Q&A! You lucky things. Just hit that ask button with 🅰️ and let the scientific questions flow! Easy as pie. Pick your poison - fingerprinting, luminol testing, X-ray spectroscopy, toxicology screening… blood splatter interpretation, DNA analysis, cr—

(cameraman): Ahem.

Can it, you. Can’t you see I’m talking here?

(cameraman): Eep!

Point is, no matter the inquiry, Ema Skye is on the case! I’m looking forward to hearing what you come up with. See you around!

— END —

[This is an Ema Skye ask blog! (No rps at the moment, sorry). Square brackets like these are for OOC commentary!]

[simplyforensic]

Forensic Fingerprints Analysis Demystified: Techniques, Trends, and Technologies

In the intricate dance of forensic science, forensic fingerprints analysis stands as a cornerstone, shedding light on the unseen trails left behind at crime scenes. This profound method of investigation has not only bolstered criminal investigations but has also significantly contributed to the realms of law enforcement and biometric security. The unique patterns of whorls, loops, and arches…

[csistudies]

Tuesday 1st October 2024 [8/100 DOP]

(Again pretend this was posted yesterday)

Happy 1st of October! Spooky season and autumn properly in swing now.

Today's lecture was Forensic Casework and the Expert Witness.

DNA - extraction, DNA Fingerprinting, DNA analysis.

The Prosecutor's Fallacy.

Then on the way home popped to the shops to get food supplies.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

The smell of someone’s hand can reveal if they are a man or a woman, a study has found.

Key components in body odour are increasingly being used by scientists to unpick a person’s identity, with age and ethnicity already able to be determined by smell alone.

Now, research from Florida International University found that machine analysis was able to tell with 97 per cent accuracy the gender of a person from a swab of their hand sweat.

It opens the door for law enforcement to be able to use scent recognition to find criminals at some point in the future. However, the scientists say the work is still in its early stages and more analysis is needed to rectify the findings before the technique is used by police forces.

The hope is that a hand mark, which does not have any DNA or fingerprints, could still be used to help identify a perpetrator.

15 key chemicals

“We identified 15 key chemicals, and seven were the most important in differentiating females from males,” study author Dr Kenneth Furton told The Telegraph.

“To date we still cannot say what men and women in general smell like but we can say that they smell different chemically and we are now closer to discovering which chemicals are responsible for that difference.”

Dogs have long been used in criminal investigations to reliably identify and track people based on their odour, but replicating the hyper-sensitive nature of the canine nose with a machine in a lab has proved difficult.

Scientists used a technique called mass spectrometry to analyse the scent compounds present on the palms of 60 people – half male and half female.

Participants were asked to squeeze a piece of sanitised material for ten seconds and their skin secretions were then taken from the absorbent pad and put into a machine.

Odour ‘barcodes’

The scientists found odour “barcodes” which each person possesses that is unique to them and found they were able to pull apart male and female individuals based on the olfactory signature.

“Criminal activities involving robberies, assaults (sexual, simple, or aggravated), and rape are often executed with the use of the perpetrator’s hands,” the scientists write in their study.

“As a result, hands are a focal point of investigations as contributors of trace amounts of evidence that can be deposited on everyday objects through touch interactions.

“There is an exchange of both biological and inorganic material between the perpetrator and the crime scene during these interactions.”

Trace evidence

They add that the interaction and contact between a criminal and victim, or the crime scene, will leave behind trace evidence, but sometimes in quantities too small to help solve the crime.

“Fingerprints and DNA are the biometrics most commonly utilised to identify a suspect or victim of a crime,” the team continues.

“However, these forms of evidence can be found in quantities that are too small to be used, leaving little to no forensic evidence that can be used for prosecution.

“Even in these instances where no physical fingerprint or DNA evidence is found, human scent evidence may still be recovered and used as an individualising feature in an investigation.

“Though previous works have revealed this using an individual’s human scent from either breath or armpit, this study expands on this capability using hand odour which may be of great forensic value.”

According to the study, published in PLOS ONE, the analysis successfully predicted a person’s sex with a 96.67 per cent accuracy rate.

Sexual arousal

Studies are increasingly learning more about the role of human scent and how it may be detected not only by machines but by people too.

One study recently found the chemical makeup of a person’s exhaled breath changes when in a state of sexual arousal and it could be picked up by others around them.

Researchers from the Max Planck Institute of Chemistry found a noticeable spike in three chemicals called indole, cresole and phenol during arousal. There was also a significant drop in the level of CO2 and another molecule called isoprene.

Prof Jonathan Williams, the lead researcher, also found last year that humans have an invisible aura around our bodies which could be cleaning the air we breathe.

A study found that an invisible haze of air-cleansing molecules is produced on human bodies when ozone in the air reacts with oil made by our skin.

[infodump-matchmaking]

OFFER: Forensic science. I know: fingerprinting and print matching, blood spatter analysis (not great at this one admittedly), human decomposition (my favourite), general evidence processing procedures, hair/fiber analysis.

also know a good deal about forensic psychology and specifically how court cases and insanity defense work. (in the US)

[intersectingparadigms]

Forensic science - the "CSI stuff" is one of the least tested areas of the sciences there is, and deserves an overhaul. It does nothing but break peoples lives apart with false courtroom testimonies. The CSI effect means that people believe it is real when it's mostly bullshit.

Stop believing the courts every time an expert testifies. (Or at all. Most judges are cop-loving bootlickers who will gladly send you to your ruin if it speeds up their case log.)

Bite mark analysis is indisputibly fake and wrong, but courts still use it. The very first case was later proven to have had the results faked to fit, but any results after are also

Travel analysis (Where a person has been) from shoes is impossible to prove

Fingernail evidence is easy to fuck up, or confuse the courts with because many cosmetics and foods may distort findings

Hair analysis, hard to prove beyond a reasonable doubt, as it's interpretive. It uses a shitty test that can false positive hairspray or shampoo to frame people as alcoholic or drug-using (which should not be a crime). It also is used to this day. Look up Motherisk Lab for how garbage the science can be!!! None of the lab members were ever trained. This practice is same all over the world. The science is pretty bad

Fingerprints. Both not unique to each person, and the results easy to fudge. Super interpretive and hard to prove it was them or another with a similar print. Partials used as evidence too often imo

Roadside drug tests cops give? Eaaaasy to set off that mouthwash residue, aspirin, or even chewing gum can get you a positive.

DNA is also interpretive. Sure, you may be able to match it with someone, but what markers say about that person is nothing but a maybe. This is doubled or tripled as a maybe for animals - animal DNA testing is absolutely terribly regulated

Actual science welcomes challenge. Forensics often bars it, and stands by faulty labs and science that often was just imagined up as giving results by a random guy a century ago

[xxelliewxx]

Fire and Frost {Ellie x Reader} Chapter 5

Pairings: loser!(AFAB)Reader x hockey player!Ellie

Synopsis: When y/n is requested to tutor Ellie Williams in organic chemistry, she expects arrogance and attitude from the hockey player. However, she discovers a different aspect of Ellie’s tough exterior, revealed through humor and fleeting glances. This raises the question: why does Ellie go to great lengths to embarrass and harass y/n whenever they are in the presence of others?

Warnings: Mentions of depression, anxiety, sexual/physical assault, alcohol, violence, trauma (if I miss any let me know!)

w/c: 1.9k

an: this is my first time ever posting fanfic on Tumblr, so feedback is completely welcome! this is not proofread and is a work in progress.

Radon Fears

The weekend passed by in a haze of blurry hours and restless nights. You spent most of it lying low, nursing your injuries and letting the stitches Dina had carefully tended to do their work. The physical pain was a dull throb now, more of an uncomfortable reminder than a constant ache. But the emotional strain was harder to shake. 

You and Ellie would sometimes exchange messages, with her reaching out to check on your recovery and to confirm if Dina had indeed tended to your injuries as you had mentioned. Each message from her lit up your day, revealing a playful side of the captain that you rarely saw. You even shared silly doodles reminiscent of the ones you had sketched on your now-broken iPad, its shattered state lingering in your thoughts, a reminder to keep your guard up.

Sunday evenings were the designated time for your chemistry club's biweekly gatherings, the other being Wednesday nights. This past week had been filled with anticipation as you prepared for an exciting theme: forensic chemistry night! The weekend meetings always brought a lively energy that the weekday sessions, which were primarily dedicated to gearing up for the chemistry olympics organized by the American Chemical Society, simply couldn't match.

Ensuring that the tote brimming with props and supplies was all set, you grasped the hefty bin and stepped out of your apartment, securing the door with a firm click behind you. With the bin balanced in your grip, you juggled your keys, using the fob to unlock your car before sliding the tote into the back seat of your Jeep Cherokee.

The journey to the science building on campus was brief, allowing you to bask in a cozy silence, anticipation swirling inside you as you approached the meeting spot. Lavoisier Chemistry Hall, the venue for your gatherings, was the very lecture hall where Dr. M delivered her captivating lectures. Outside, your friend and assistant, Yara, stood eagerly, prepared to assist you in carrying all the props inside. 

With a grin spreading across your face, you shifted your car into park and leaped out in a burst of enthusiasm, flinging the door open and grabbing the tote with eager hands. "Did you bring everything?" you inquired, panting slightly from the heft of the bin and what it held inside.

Yara grinned, giving a playful nod, "Oh fuck yeah, I did!" You had asked her to bring along her trace evidence analysis kits, including her fingerprint development kit. A surge of exhilaration coursed through you as you dashed inside, with Yara trailing right behind, her enthusiasm shining just as brightly as yours. 

Dr. M was filled with anticipation as she awaited your entrance into the lecture hall, her face beaming with a bright smile that mirrored yours. As you and Yara got ready for the club members to arrive, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. Today's meeting centered on utilizing the kits to uncover trace evidence scattered throughout the room, while you all delved into the fascinating chemistry that underpins trace evidence analysis. 

As the minutes passed, club members began to trickle in, their excitement palpable as you and Yara added the final touches to the setup. With a warm smile, Dr. M welcomed each person at the door, presenting them with a delicious chocolate chip cookie—a delightful tradition that had become a hallmark of these gatherings. The members looked on with curiosity at the setup you had created, eager to dive into the meeting. With a clap of your hands to announce the beginning, you exclaimed, "Welcome, everyone! I trust you had a wonderful weekend. Today’s meeting promises to be an exciting one. There has been a murder!"

All activity came to a halt, concern etched on their faces as they failed to grasp that you were merely joking. With a playful cough, you announced, "Hey everyone, no actual murder here—just go with the flow!" 

 As they caught on, the crowd erupted in exaggerated gasps, prompting you and Yara to burst into laughter. "Now, it's your turn to uncover any clues in this room that could stand up in court!" Yara declared, her enthusiasm bubbling over as the meeting aligned perfectly with her passion for forensics. 

As you prepared to speak once more, a gentle knock echoed from the door. You turned to Dr. M, who gestured for you to carry on. Taking a deep breath, you declared, "You have 35 minutes to gather all the evidence in this room. Feel free to collaborate as a team or tackle it solo." 

 Dr. M then beckoned you closer, her hand waving in your direction. A look of bewilderment crossed your face as you turned to Yara, silently requesting her to step in for you. As you approached Dr. M, your gaze shifted past her to spot Ellie, who stood there, beads of sweat cascading down her chin, a clear sign of her recent hockey practice. 

 Your throat felt dry as you took in her appearance: a black cap worn backwards, a snug dri-fit shirt that accentuated her toned abs adorned with the school's hockey logo, and joggers emblazoned with the Bauer name along the thigh. Fuck.

Her chest heaved rhythmically, another clear indication that she had just finished practice, and she offered you a shy wave. "Could I steal you for a sec?" you nodded, reluctantly pulling your gaze from her deep forest green eyes, warmth flooding your cheeks as you stepped out of the lecture hall. 

With a hint of tension, she rubbed the back of her neck with her right hand, her bicep taut and defined, while her left arm remained hidden behind her back. This little quirk of hers caught your attention, finding her anxious gestures adorable. "Is everything alright?" 

 Ellie averted her eyes, giving a slight shake of her head. "Yeah, no, everything's fine. I, um, swung by your place, but Dina said you’d be here." You nodded, observing as she shifted uncomfortable under your stare, her fingers nervously toying with the gift bag she had hidden behind her. As she extended it toward you, her eyes fell to the ground, fixated on her sneakers.

As you eagerly unwrapped the tissue paper from the bag, a pristine white box came into view. The familiar Apple script elegantly spelled out iPad on the side, and a wave of disbelief washed over you. It dawned on you with stunning clarity—Ellie had gone out of her way to replace the iPad she had broken. While you appreciated the gesture, it still left you in awe that she had done such a thing. 

Gazing up at her, it was hard to determine whether the rosy hue on her cheeks came from gliding over the ice all day or if she was simply feeling shy. "Listen, I messed up and I shouldn’t have wrecked your stuff. I genuinely regret it, and I hope this can help make up for it." 

Not knowing what to say, you leaped forward and enveloped her in a warm hug, inhaling the delightful fragrance of her cologne that lingered in the air. You found yourself captivated by the firmness of her muscles, sensing her initial tension before she melted into your hold, her arm finding its way around your waist. The sensation of her embrace sent a flurry of butterflies dancing in your stomach, a thrill you hadn't experienced in ages.

"Thank you, Ellie. This is so thoughtful." 

Ellie rolled her eyes at your words, stepping back and leaving you longing for the warmth of her hug. "Thoughtful? Y/N, I fucking broke it to begin with, of course I was going to replace it. Listen, don't make a big deal about this, I just wanted to apologize." 

A slight pang of disappointment washed over you as she dismissed your compliment, clearly attempting to distance herself. You nodded slowly, your gaze dropping to the bag clutched in your hand, unsure of how to respond to the awkwardness hanging in the air. Ellie tilted your chin upward, her gaze meeting yours as she released a gentle sigh. "Are we still on for tomorrow?"

She seemed to possess an uncanny ability to leave you utterly speechless, leaving you with no choice but to nod in response. You observed as her typically stoic demeanor melted away, replaced by a gentle smile that warmed the air between you. "Good," she said softly. Releasing her grip on your chin, the brunette tucked her hands into her pockets as if to resist the urge to reach out to you again. "You should probably head back to your meeting. I’ll catch you in the library, just like last time. Take care of that cut please." Without waiting for your response, Ellie turned on her heel and walked away, her figure gradually fading from view. You were fucked. 

The meeting whirled by in a haze, your thoughts tangled in a tapestry of greens and the anticipation of tomorrow's tutor session. Yara noticed your wandering focus and stepped in to steer the discussion, allowing you to drift deeper into your own reflections—a familiar dance between the two of you. You were grateful for her. 

After the meeting wrapped up, you loaded your car with the remnants of the evening's discussions, feeling a sense of satisfaction with how everything had unfolded. As you crossed the threshold of your home, thoughts of Ellie danced in your mind, and you found yourself biting your lip while you tucked the bin away in the closet. Dina snuggled close to Jesse on the couch, engrossed in a Marvel movie, while the inviting aroma of freshly popped popcorn filled the air.

As you popped a few kernels into your mouth, you settled down next to the couple, attempting to grasp the unfolding plot of the film, using it as a diversion from the events of the night. "Did Ellie come find you." Dina pulled you back from your reverie, mentioning the very distraction you had been trying to steer clear of. 

With a reluctant grunt of affirmation, you brushed her off, feigning interest in the screen. "Do you forgive her?" Jesse chimed in, eager to join the discussion. You rolled your eyes and popped more popcorn into your mouth, stalling for time. "Well?"

With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself off the couch. "Enough already, you two. I’m not in the mood to discuss this." Snatching the gift bag you had set on the counter earlier, you trudged to your room, the door slamming shut behind you in a fit of irritation. A thrill surged through you, igniting a spark of enthusiasm to resume journaling. So many thoughts had slipped away, lost in the void created by your absence of a writing tool. 

As you lifted the cover off the iPad, a slip of paper caught your eye, resting atop the sleek surface of the device. Curiosity sparked within you as you set the lid aside and reached for the paper. The front was blank, a canvas of emptiness waiting to be explored. Turning it over, you were greeted by a vibrant drawing of a cow with a sulky expression, accompanied by Ellie’s tidy handwriting that read, I made a mis-steak, I am sorry.

You burst into laughter at the sight, your heart brimming with admiration for the brunette's dedication not only to the iPad but also to her artwork. With a sense of purpose, you took the drawing and secured it to your cork board with a tack, ensuring it would be in clear sight every time you settled down at your desk to write or draw.

A wave of excitement washed over you at the thought of seeing her again the following day, a rush you desperately tried to contain. You kept telling yourself to stay grounded; your role was strictly that of a tutor, nothing more. Yet, you found yourself craving the brief moments of affection she provided, however rare they might be. Deep inside, you recognized the importance of maintaining some distance, but uncertainty gnawed at you—was it really possible to step back now?

Absolutely not, and that scared the fuck out of you.