#Police/Defence Jobs

[indgovtjobs-net]

ITBP Recruitment 2022 – 293 Head Constable & Constable Apply Online

ITBP Recruitment 2022 – 293 Head Constable & Constable Apply Online

ITBP Recruitment 2022 : Indo-Tibetan Border Police Force has released a notification for Head Constable & Constable . Those Interested in this notification and who have all the required qualifications can go through the Notification thoroughly and then apply online. Name of the Post:ITBP : Head Constable & ConstablePost Date:02-11-2022Total Vacancy:293 Online Applications are invited for Male…

[welcometololaland]

technically thursday here, but whatever! have some WIP from product placement ;) TK and Carlos are still hung up on the red vs. blue issue which is really an excuse for me to wish carlos was in a different profession.

Thanks for the tags @heartstringsduet @carlos-in-glasses @strandnreyes @alrightbuckaroo @three-drink-amy @lemonlyman-dotcom @freneticfloetry @bonheur-cafe i loved reading all your posts and they are in the queue ;)

When Carlos opens the door, he’s met with TK himself, an irritated expression on his face and definitely not unconscious.

“Babe, why are you knocking on—”

“Can I come in?” TK interjects in a huff. Carlos is extremely confused, but otherwise somewhat relieved, and he thinks it’s the latter which prompts him to stop asking questions.

“TK, this is your place too,” he says carefully, stepping aside to let his fiancé pass. “You don’t have to ask permission to enter.”

“I just wanted to give you the option of telling me to go and sleep at the firehouse,” TK mutters, attempting to kick off his shoes. “You know, because that’s all I do there.”

“TK—”

“You're a dick sometimes, you know that?” TK snaps, growling as the laces on one of his shoes get stuck underneath the other. 

Carlos narrows his eyes, watching TK fight with his sneakers. “You’re the one that told me my job was basically pointless.”

“I didn’t say that,” TK says hotly, looking up. “I said that you do a lot of paperwork. Which isn’t even untrue!”

“It’s— It’s not what you said, it’s how you said it,” Carlos protests, even though his argument is sounding weaker by the second. To his credit, TK didn’t actually say that police work was a desk job. In fact, Carlos is pretty sure he said that. 

Still, the stubborn part of him – which is definitely inherited from his father’s side of the family – refuses to let him back down. 

“Well I’m sorry you’re so sensitive about people talking about what you do for a living,” TK replies.

“That’s not an apology,” Carlos points out. “Besides, you’re the one who got sensitive when I said that thing about eating meals and sleeping on shift, which is not untrue either.”

“But it’s not all I do!”

“And I don’t just sit there and fill out forms!”

“Well I guess you hand out speeding tickets,” TK says venomously. “But that’s still technically paperwork.”

“You’re only mad about that because you got pulled over the other week and I told you I couldn’t get you out of it.”

Somehow, through their bickering, they’ve brought themselves closer together. TK, now shoving his shoes somewhere in the vicinity of the rack, Carlos cornering him against the wall. It’s becoming abundantly clear what’s about to happen, and TK doesn’t seem to be keen on addressing it. 

“TK,” Carlos warns, shoving down three thousand indecent thoughts as TK reaches for him. Instead of backing away, Carlos crowds him up against the wall and cups his jaw, thumb brushing over the apple of TK’s cheek while his fingers toy with the ends of TK’s hair.

“Carlos,” TK bites out, blatantly staring at Carlos’ mouth.

Carlos reaches his hand around further, threading his fingers through the soft strands. It feels familiar, grounding, and when TK pulls him in by the hips so they’re pushed into his own, there’s no mistaking where this is going.

“We said we wouldn’t,” Carlos gasps, wondering why they’re both so hard. It shouldn’t be normal to be so turned on from TK’s bitching, but somehow he is. He always is. There’s something about TK that is inescapable, even when he’s getting on Carlos’ nerves.

“We said we wouldn’t while we’re angry,” TK whispers, his nose nudging against Carlos’ as he slots their faces together, their lips millimetres apart.

“You’re not angry?” Carlos murmurs, rolling his hips into TK’s, even though he knows it's unhelpful to his prior statement.

TK whines in the back of his throat, something that does nothing but draw Carlos in closer. “I’m not angry,” he protests. “I’m frustrated.”

Open tag because it's very late but also tagging: @rmd-writes @rosedavid @ambiguouspenny @catanisspicy @noxsoulmate @lightningboltreader @nontoxic-writes @hoko-onchi-writes @sunshinestrand @jesuisici33 @orchidscript and @goodways FOR THE FIGHT

[hotdadlicense]

best kindof people in the world are ppl that flash their headlights at you when theres cops ahead. where would we be without the heroes that warn me to slow the fuck down so i don't get done for speeding on back country roads every other afternoon. thankyou for saving my life and my license

[bluastro-yellow]

if I ever give in to my father's noggins and join any kind of police or military force because it's a stable job I authorise all of you to cyberbully me

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

when an unknown intruder breaks into your apartment, you call hotch. he races to make it to you in time. requested here. fem!reader, 3.7k

cw home invasion, assault, attempted sexual assault, reader is badly hurt/held at gunpoint, please read with care for the content warnings above

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Hotch?" you whisper into the phone, your voice barely audible. 

"Who is this?" 

Hotch doesn't always look at who's calling at night, he just answers. Bad habit. You curl in on yourself where you're on your knees in the closet, trying not to wheeze breathlessly down the receiver. "Hotch, it's me. I need you to come and help me." 

"What's wrong?" He doesn't ask why you're whispering. "Are you at home?" 

"There's someone in my apartment." 

"You're sure?" 

You shift backwards into the embrace of your hanging coats and dresses. It feels as though tens of hands are petting your shoulders, a shiver racing along your spine as a floorboard creaks somewhere in your kitchen. 

"I heard them open my door. I don't have my taser, I…" You stop talking when you hear more movement, terrified you'll be discovered. Regret clings to you. How many times has Morgan offered to teach you self defence personally? "I don't know how they got inside."

It doesn't take more than that for Hotch to click into work mode. "Stay on the phone with me. Don't talk. I'm going to put you on hold to call Morgan. I will be ten seconds at most. Don't panic. Don't hang up. If you think you can leave without being seen or heard, leave, but if you can't, don't show him where you are." 

The invader's footsteps track to the bedroom. You know at once that your tired mind isn't hallucinating a bad scenario to keep you up —this is real. 

You had the hindsight to close your laptop and push it under the bed along with your go-bag, a rucksack full of clothes that you take on cases in different states as part of the BAU. You'd made a quick assessment —your job more than prepared you for this— based on the little information you had. Either the invader knows nothing about you and has assumed you'd be home, or they watch you enough to think you'd be elsewhere. If they think you're here, you're in danger of being assaulted, kidnapped, or murdered. If they think you're away, you're in danger of being robbed. One scenario is a thousand times more preferable than the other. 

You can't help but think of the horrible things you've seen. You know intimately what kind of damage one person can do to someone at their mercy. 

The hold sound is a quiet droning that freaks you out. If you can hear it, the intruder might be able to, too. Like the low hum of the fridge at night or the bumping of the dyer. 

You hang up the phone. 

"I know you're here." 

Your pulse flies through the roof. It pounds so hard you can feel it everywhere, the tip of your nose, your eyelashes. You look through the dark of your closet and panic in the fullest definition of the word. Your heart can't sustain this for long. 

You failed to think of a third possibility. The intruder watches you enough to know you're home. The BAU has a lot of enemies. Anyone could be waiting for you on the other side of the door.

"Come out and I'll be kind," the intruder sing-songs.

You type out a text with shaking hands, your message nearly illegible. 

They knowa 8m hjome. Cant talkk dontcall me

Thirty seconds elapse. A reply comes through. You smother the chirp with your chest. It sounds loud as a shot in the relative quiet. 

Police dispatch 5mins. I'm 10mins. Morgan 12. I will be there as soon as I can. Protect yourself 

That's easy for him to say. You drop your phone in defeat but scramble to pick it up again when you realise it's your best weapon. Or… You crawl to the opposite end of the closet to your shoe rack and slide the shoes apart with honey slow movements, your breath coming in quick, too-loud pants. You never expected to feel this way, you thought you'd know exactly what to do, how to react, but this feels outside of reality. 

You brace the long heel of a shoe between your fingers. Your hand is a vice. 

In your bedroom, the intruder goads you. "I know you're home, Y/N. There's only so many places for me to look, you know? But if you make me check each one, I'll be unhappy when I find you." 

What the fuck? you think. Breaking apart the fear like a knife is anger, a new shot of adrenaline. Who is this guy? You want to spring from the closet and show him how unhappy you are, but your chances of survival improve the longer you can hide. If he has a gun, that's it. You could be dead in the next two minutes. No amount of anger would save you. 

You could be dead in the next two minutes. 

thank you dpr everything, for being my friend aaron, you text. You know how embarrassing it will be to have said goodbye if nothing bad happens to you, but you also know how haunted Hotch will be if he can't get to you in time. You aren't foolish enough to unravel your feelings for him over text, but you're sentimental enough to think they'd matter to him. He'd want to know. 

If things go bad please knoeew that I loved my life and my work and you and the tram more than anything

After a moment, you add, If things don't go bad please nevrr mentiom this 

Footsteps at the closet door. A pause that feels gargantuan, the silence so heavy it threatens to snap the floorboards beneath your knees. 

"Found you." 

You leap up and throw yourself at the closet door as hard as you can, gasping when it swings on the hinges and clips your opposition in the leg. You don't think, you don't look at his face, you simply drive the point of your shoe into his collar. 

He gasps. Something hard and rigid whips upward, your neck snapping to one side as the skin of your cheek splits, gunmetal glancing off of bone. You drop down onto your ass, half out of necessity and half to get away from the pain. You can't outrun it, nor can you escape the forthcoming assault, grunting in shock as the bottom of the gun comes down atop your head. It was likely meant to incapacitate you, but all it does is hurt. 

You flip onto your front, stagger onto your hands and knees, and launch yourself up through the bedroom doorway. You only have to get away. 

He sweeps your legs from under you barely ten feet down the hall. 

You fall. Your knees hit the hallway slats and your face follows, the nerve endings in your teeth ringing one by one and your eyes tearing up as your nose makes a huge thwacking sound. Gasping, you rush to cover your face though the damage is done. Your gasp turns to a sob, hands quickly wetted by blood. 

"Stupid bitch," he hisses. 

You crawl into the kitchen. He steps on the back of your thigh. 

"I have a G43 pointed straight at the back of your fucking head."

"Good for you?" you say, eyes squeezed closed. 

You whimper as he grinds his foot into your leg. 

"Don't think I won't use it when I'm done with you." 

You shake your head from side to side. That can't be what he's here for.

You should ask him what he wants, or threaten him with the approaching police sirens. You should've tried to climb out of your fire escape. You should've set the door alarm as soon as you came home, but you're just so fucking tired lately you must've forgot. Everything feels like a chore. Right now, you're exhausted. 

"What are you going to do?" he asks you. 

You won't negotiate. You don't answer.

Forceful, no time to protect yourself, he kicks you in the side of the face. It hurts worse than the fall, that shattering pain like a firework under your skin. You struggle to keep your mouth shut, hoping that your whining cry is less audible to him than it is to you, scrambling backward toward the cabinets. You're defeated. Maybe you deserve it, for it to happen so easily. Three minutes and you're down. 

"I asked you what are you going to do, Agent?" 

"What am I supposed to say?" you ask. Even to your own ears, you sound pathetic. 

"Whatever I want you to. Now get up, honey." You cringe. "Unless you want to stay on the floor like a dog?" 

"Don't call me that," you say, wincing at the grinding sensation of your jaw. 

"What, a dog? Or… honey?" His tone is smug. "I thought you'd like that. It's what your boss calls you, isn't it? Late at night when he drops you off. Not strictly professional." 

You groan and turn onto your side. The police sirens are getting close. You live in a busy place near a main road, the sirens could be for anybody, but you need them to be for you.

"Get up, honey. You can pretend I'm him, if you like. I'll make it easy on you. I can be nice." 

You deliberate. Do as he says, or risk further agitation. Do what he says. Live to see the end of the night. 

Or drag it out. Give Hotch enough time to get here. 

"You'll pretend to be him?" you ask, sniffing. You can't tell if you're crying or there's blood on your face. 

"Aw. To begin with, sure." 

You sit up. For the first time, you look your attacker in the face. It's difficult to tear your eyes from the barrel, but you do. He has a cruel face, as tall and formidable as Hotch is but with none of his lightness. You put on your softest expression, gazing at him through tears. When you speak, the fear is real, even if you're attempting a facade. "You'll be gentle?" 

"No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?" His lip curls in disgust.

"I don't know," you mumble, looking down at the floor. "You said you'd be nice." 

"We both know you don't like nice." 

"I do," you say, finding your footing in the charade, the sorry victim, whatever he needs you to be for now. You hate giving him anything, but you know in the moment that you'll do what you need to do to save yourself from injury. "I haven't… I haven't done stuff in a long time, I can't just rush into things." 

The gun makes a quiet clicking sound as he points it with more fervour. "Like I believe that. You're probably fucking Hotchner on the side." 

There, that jealousy. He's been watching you, he knows where you live, what you want, and he's still convinced that you're fucking Hotch. It's not logical.

You cling to the threads, trying to pull apart his composure. You'd assumed him an anger-excitation rapist, unafraid to hurt you as he already has, but now you're thinking something else. 

"You think I'm sleeping with my boss? Why?" 

"Besides your constant need to be touching him? It's disgusting, you throw yourself at someone who doesn't want you. You're pathetic. I can make you better." 

You see movement in the corner of your vision. Dark hair, a stony expression. Hotch stands at the precipice of the kitchen in a bulletproof vest, a finger to his lips. Sh. 

Your relief knocks a breath out of you. The invader takes it for pain at being read. 

"Look," he says, softer. Not genuine softness, but practised. As soon as you give in, he'll drop it. You're both acting for one another, but only one of you is a profiler. "You'll forget all about Agent Hotchner once we're done. So just get up." 

You hold out your hand. His eyes light up with malice as he leans down to take it, his gun finally aimed away from your face. 

Hotch moves in. 

"Drop the weapon." 

Your attacker whirls. Hotch doesn't hesitate. Front sight, controlled trigger press, follow through. A bang like a clap of thunder fills the room. 

You flinch down into yourself. Everything goes a little white for a while, people running into the room, a gun skittling across your kitchen tile. Your ears ring from the bang of two bullets and you're sure you've been hit, you're hurting so much, but hands squeeze under your arms to tell you otherwise. 

"You're okay," Hotch says, knee against your thigh, face ducked down to meet your eyes. "Hey, can you hear me?" 

You shake your head. You can hear him, but you're far from okay. Hotch bites commands over his shoulder, holding your waist in his hands like he's worried you'll slip out of them. Tight. Too tight. You suck in as big a breath as you can manage and choke on it, coughing, the wild sting of your wounds a ringer. 

"You did so well," he says as he catalogues your injuries, his frown deepening. He tilts your head up to the light. 

"I knew you were on your way," you deflect.

"You were talking him down." 

"No, I was surrendering." 

"You didn't give in until you saw me. You weren't surrendering." 

"But I would have," you whisper, closing your eyes.

"Doing what you need to to survive isn't easy. But you do it." 

You hang your head. 

— 

Hotch winces at the sound of your skin being sewn closed. Morgan sits beside you in the back of the ambulance holding your hand, your fingers twitching between his with every tug. They dosed you and applied a general anaesthesia, but the pain is pervasive. His eyes keep moving back to your hand in Morgan's. He isn't jealous —he's annoyed with himself. Hotch should be the one holding your hand.

He should've hugged you. The absence of it feels awkward between you, though he's positive that that's the last thing you're thinking of right now.

"Will you have to set her nose?" Morgan asks. 

The paramedic shakes his head. "Not broken. Just very badly bruised. Even the bone." 

"That doesn't need a cast?" 

Hotch should hold your hand, should hug you, should be organising the scene. Should, should, should. The only thing he's managed to do since he incapacitated your stranger is watch you for signs of life. 

You're despondent. In shock, no doubt. You let your friends pass you from place to place with little more than pained sighs for input.

JJ does an excellent job of surveying the goings on, while Rossi and Reid take care of some of the bigger questions: who is this guy, what did he want, and how did it come to happen? 

What did he want? Hotch can guess. Rage collects like the heart of a furnace, a molten cup of steel in his throat as what he heard you say plays over and over in his head. 

You'll be gentle? 

No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?

He'll never forget the way you sounded asking that question. Terrified, begging for a scrap of mercy. 

Emily approaches from behind. "We have a name." Hotch tips his head to show he's listening. "Paulo Danvers. He was part of a crew that installed her security parameters a few months ago. He was vetted. This shouldn't have happened." 

"No, it shouldn't have." Hotch lowers his tone, "She said she wasn't sure she set the lock." 

"It wouldn't have mattered. He disengaged it from the outside." Emily takes a few steps closer to the ambulance. "Hey. Morgan taking care of you?" 

"Don't I always?" Morgan asks, clapping your arm gently. 

You don't answer. 

"What, you're not talking to me?" Emily asks. She's not mad, the opposite. Concern lines her eyes, thin brows pinching together at the starts, though she does her best to smile through it. 

"I don't feel well," you say quietly. 

"Yeah? You're not squeamish, are you?" 

"Don't think so." 

"It's shock," says the paramedic. 

"What's your pain like?" Hotch asks. He's the only person you'll give a straight answer to. "Bad?" 

"Yeah." Your hand is lax in Morgan's. 

"I can give you slow release tramadol to last the night or codeine pretty much immediately. It's up to you. And I'm really not comfortable with releasing you without next of kin. Do you have family in the area?"��

You shake your head. "It's just Hotch. Agent Hotchner," you correct yourself, nodding at him.

"You're her partner?" the paramedic asks. He can sense the disapproval. 

"Her boss." 

"Not her partner?" 

"He's my closest friend," you say. 

He's never heard you say that before, but it's true. 

"I wish you were my boss," the paramedic jokes, turning back to her supplies as she peels off her gloves. "Maybe I'd get better sick pay." 

You're given slow release tramadol and officially pronounced to be on the mend. If he didn't have an FBI badge, you'd be spending the night on a ward. He'd prefer if you did, but you clearly don't want to be somewhere alone right now, and he just wants to give you what you want after having your choices held over your head.  

He's not offended when Emily asks if you'd prefer to stay with her. It's harrowing what might have happened to you had you not heard the initial break in, and the perpetrator would've been a man like Hotch. Tall, white, dark-haired. He wouldn't blame you for needing space from him to feel safe tonight, but he's relieved when you turn her down. 

"You don't have to act like something happened to me," you say.

Hotch clicks down the locks of his car and turns on the overhead light. You squirm in the passenger seat, looking wrecked. Your chin is split, your nose a dark purple mess cut by white splint. You have a cut on your cheek and another just above your eye. 

"You don't think something happened?" he asks, hands on his legs. He can tell you wish he would start the car and take you home without pressing. 

"No, I know, I look awful, but he didn't do anything to me." Why is it so hard to say what it could have been? "You don't have to act like I'm gonna wig if you touch me." 

"You won't mind if I hug you?" he asks. 

"No. No, I want you to." 

It's thankfully a short gap to cover as Hotch leans over the console. He's careful of your face and still you mumble a tired, "Ouch," in his ear.

He rubs your back, slow and soft. "You okay?" he asks. 

You don't answer for a while. It doesn't matter, Hotch'll sit here in his parked car for hours if you want him to, hands on your hunched back. Your face hides away. He can feel and hear your distress building, and he wants you to cry if you need to, but it'll hurt.

"Sh," he hushes you gently, "it's okay." 

"I'm fine." You sound welled up. 

"Someone broke into your home and held you at gunpoint. You don't have to be fine." 

"Yeah, I do. It's my job." 

"No, that's not your job," he says, closing his eyes. "This has nothing to do with your job. This is about something bad happening to you. Don't put walls up now. It won't work, it never does." 

He tries to back away in case you're overwhelmed.

"Wait," you say, your panic like a cough. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he says. 

You sniffle, nodding into his chest. Hotch has comforted a hundred victims of violent assault. He's held the faces of women he didn't know hoping to give them something solid to lean on. But it's different with you, because you and Hotch aren't simply friends. There's a deeper vein of affection, and tonight's event is a jagged slash against it, bringing every unbidden feeling he has for you to the surface. He can't get how scared you sounded out of his head. He knows that feeling is still there. 

"How did you get here so fast?" you asked. 

"I took the side road. And went unavoidably fast." 

You make a small, small sound. He's known you for long enough to understand what it demarcates, unsurprised when the trembling of your shoulders turns to pained shaking. Hotch holds you delicately. He's done so much in his life, made a thousand and one mistakes, used a heavy hand when he could've been sweeter. He's determined to get this part right. 

"I'm with you now," he says. "I'm sorry I couldn't–" This is harder than he imagined. He presses on. "Couldn't protect you from the start." 

"You know why I called you?" you ask, your tone similarly soft. 

Hotch doesn't bother answering. The answer is unsaid, loudly heard. 

"I knew you'd come," you finish.

He puts a hand on your neck to encourage you into place, kissing the side of your head. Hotch will always come when you call. 

That night, you ask to sleep in his room. I'll sleep on the floor, just don't want to be alone. You're in ragtag clothes he'd scraped together for you, and after helping you wash the blood from your hair and face, you're even more impossible to say no to than usual, looking small in a way you haven't before. Hotch sets you up in bed next to him and wonders if he'll ever sleep next to someone he hasn't let down. 

You put that notion straight in your sleep. Hotch lays awake sick with the idea that he's failed you, and you, frowning, snoring, covered in cuts, curl into his side. You cling to his arm so hard he's certain you're awake at first, a bouquet of bruises painted across your cheek. 

Hotch pulls the blanket up over your shoulder, planting a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

He whispers your name, not sure what he'd say if you answered. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed♡ I haven't written long form (ish) for Hotch in a while so I'm nervous but I hope it's good!! let me know also if you'd like a second part cos usually I don't feel like there's much left to tell but for this one the could actually confess :o

[rojgarkitalash]

Bihar Prohibition Constable Recruitment 2022 For 689 Posts

Bihar Prohibition Constable Recruitment 2022 For 689 Posts

Bihar Prohibition Constable Recruitment 2022 For 689 Posts: The Bihar State Government Job Recruitment, The Central Selection Board of Constables (CSBC), Bihar has released the official notification for the Advertisement Number 02/2022, which is starting from 14 Nov 2022, for the recruitment of Prohibition Constables (Madhnishedh Sipahi) in the Prohibition Excise and Registration Department…

[jobscirculars]

Titas Gas Transmission Job Circular

Titas Gas Transmission Job Circular

Titas Gas Transmission Job Circular 2022 has been published in the daily newspaper and to get Recent Job Circular Titas Gas. the Titas Gas Transmission and Distribution Company Limited Job Circular 2022 all of the information from jobs circulars. All interested candidates check the Titas Gas Transmission job notice and want more information visit the official website https://www.titasgas.org.bd…

[seat-safety-switch]

Have you been to a teppanyaki restaurant lately? It's a fancy Japanese word that means, essentially, "fried on a metal plate." You go in there, you pay your money, and some dude does a bunch of corny jokes while frying your food right in front of you. Whole thing is a lot of fun, and you leave smelling like a barbecue just happened in your lap.

This sort of interaction between worker and customer is missing from many of our Western businesses. Things are just not fun. Nobody at McDonalds will flip a shrimp into her hat while cracking a joke about the stock market. When you get your car fixed, the team of mechanics doesn't build a flaming PB Blaster volcano to loosen the busted lower ball joint for your entertainment. And when you get someone to do your taxes, the lady they have working there takes one look at your box full of greasy parts-store receipts and just cries a whole lot, over and over, until the manager comes out and asks you to leave.

I figured it was time to change things up. Rather than ask already-overworked and heavily-underpaid workers to add an additional piece of unnecessary and annoying customer interaction to their plate, I wisely decided it would be best to ease everyone into it. Luckily for me, my general geographic area contains a very popular clown college. Thanks to recent maybe-errors in immigration policy, this school has over three thousand students at the moment, all learning the ins and outs of clownery and begging for a job, any job. And – unlike actual comedians – they don't get all froggy if you throw two dozen of them into a car and go driving around town, dropping them off at every business who won't pay our very reasonable "dismissal fee."

Friends, I'll be the first to admit that I fucked this one up, big time. I had absolutely no idea that clown makeup was flammable, or that their extensive bozo education did not include knowledge on safe food prep. That's just what happened at the A&W, which would have been bad enough if not for all the other stuff that happened. You've heard the rest of the defence from my team of attorneys, but I wanted you to hear it from me personally. If anyone has learned his lesson about employing clowns to blow up and then pop a balloon animal for laughs while standing next to the police bomb squad, it's me.

[amarugujarat]

ITBP Recruitment for Head Constable Posts 2022

ITBP Recruitment for Head Constable Posts 2022

ITBP Sub Inspector(SI) Bharti 2022: Indo Tibetan Border Police Force (ITBP) invites online application from eligible Indian for the recruitment of 23 Head Constable (Education & Stress Counsellor) (Male / Female) Posts 2022. Both Male and female Candidates can apply from 13th October 2022. Last date submit the application is 11 November 2022. You can visit the official website,…

[pinkiemachine]

How would you do Batman, I'm just wondering because Batman's my favorite character

OH HO HO!! I HAVE WRITTEN SO MUCH ABOUT BATMAN!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

*ahem*

His show is called BATMAN: GOTHAM FILES, and I have the basic outline for each and every one of the seasons! There’s 9 total, plus a movie finale. Here we go!

SEASON ONE:

Most of us should know basically what Bruce’s backstory is, so I’ll keep this part brief. Bruce Wayne was eight years old when his millionaire mother and father were gunned down in front of him in an alleyway in Gotham City. They never found the killer. The family’s loyal butler, Alfred Pennyworth, took care of Bruce from that point onward. Bruce started taking self-defence classes in-between going to the schwanky Gotham Academy and learning how to run his father’s business, Wayne Enterprises (a massive conglomerate that was famous throughout all of America, but especially the East Coast.) The young man had hardly healed from his traumatic experience, though, and after graduating college (something he was practically forced to do by Alfred), he decided not to stay in Gotham. He hated the city. Instead, he took off in a plane… and secretly never intended to come back…

EIGHT YEARS LATER…

It was a welcome surprise when Bruce Wayne turned up in Gotham, seemingly in a much happier headspace and eager to finally, finally take his father’s business seriously. The Prince of Gotham had returned. Months after that, there was a new legend lurking in the streets of the city. Something called “the batman” or “the bat.” Criminals were getting caught and arrested left and right, and half of them were scared out of their minds about this spectre. The police force didn’t know what to make of it… except for one Captain Jim Gordon. He knew that the legend was true… and occasionally, he would sneak into his office and scare the living daylights out of him. He and Batman had been working together for a little while now, (we get an episode later that explores how they first met), but Gordon doesn’t know who he really is under the mask, and no one else in the force thinks that Batman is even real. But Gordon is eager to help him because the police force is falling apart. They’re completely unable to do their job and keep the streets safe, so Gordon agrees to help Batman stop crime in its tracks. He wants to make Gotham safer for his wife and daughter.

Shocking literally no one, the audience discovers that Bruce Wayne is Batman, working out of a massive secret base underneath Wayne Manor—his ancestral home. But, he must balance the life of a vigilante with the life of billionaire Bruce Wayne, which can be difficult at times. We get several episodes just laying the ground work. Who runs the company when Bruce isn’t around? Lucious Fox. Who manages Bruce’s affairs and schedule? Alfred. Who makes all the gadgets and gear that Batman uses? He does. Using plenty of materials and goods he can buy since he’s a billionaire. When did he learn how to make all this stuff? Hmmmmmm….

We meet our first few villains—Penguin, Two-Face, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Mr. Freeze, Riddler, etc—Batman is still trying to track down who murdered his parents, and we’re having a generally good time until THE MID SEASON FINALE. You see, there’s a circus coming to town.

Haley’s Traveling Circus was famous on the East Coast, being one of the oldest circuses in the country, as well as boasting the Fabulous Flying Graysons! A family trapeze act! However, this smiling troop of clowns was actually hiding some pretty dark secrets. When they arrived in Gotham City, they were asked to help out known mob-boss Tony Zucco with some… not-so-nice things. John Grayson, head of the Flying Graysons, had been feeling conflicted about how much behind-the-scenes shady dealings the circus had been involved with over the years. So, he thought that maybe if he just let the tiniest bit of evidence leak to the police, maybe they could handle everything and the Graysons wouldn’t be caught in the cross fire. This is what brings Batman to the scene. He investigates the circus, meets the Graysons, including their son, Richard, aka Dick, and eventually goes on to solve the mysterious crime, pinning it on Tony Zucco and getting certain members of Haley’s Circus arrested. (The ones actually involved in the crime.) However, Zucco manages to avoid jail time. Not only that, but he discovers who snitched on him. That night, after the case has been solved and Bruce shows up to catch the Flying Graysons perform, everything is going great until the unthinkable happens: the lines on the trapeze snap and Mr. and Mrs. Grayson go falling to their deaths.

Dick Grayson is an orphan… and he’s angry. He’s about 11 years old, but he’s smart enough to know what’s going on. He knows why Batman was coming around asking questions, he knows who Tony Zucco is, and he knows that his father made him very unhappy. After the police have arrived, but before social services do, Dick sneaks out and climbs to the top of the building with the Bat-Signal on it (yes, by this point in the story, that’s a thing). He flashes it on and off, rain pelting down, until the caped crusader arrives. He demands to know if this was Zucco’s fault. Batman refuses to say anything, but Dick doesn’t care. He says he’s going to make Zucco pay, whether Batman helps or not, and he tries his hardest to remain true to his word. After that night, Dick runs off through Gotham several times, trying to get in touch with Zucco and attempting to enact revenge, meanwhile Batman has to keep swooping in to keep the kid from getting himself killed. He recognises the pain he’s in—he completely understands his anger—and realises that he needs a teacher—a mentor—a father figure who can lead him through all of this and keep him out of trouble. So, as Bruce Wayne, he decides to adopt Dick. At first, Dick doesn’t want anything to do with this stranger—he’d rather stay with his circus family if he’s going to stay with anyone—but then, in court one day, Bruce says something—something only Batman said to him once—and all of a sudden, it clicks in Dick’s mind. He instantly asks to be placed in Bruce’s care and not a few hours after arriving at Wayne Manor, Dick manages to discover where the Batcave entrance is. Sneaking down there, he plans to become his own kind of vigilante, just like Batman, and get revenge… until Bruce catches him and tries to knock some sense into him.

It’s here that Bruce has to confront his own past. His sense and reason are saying, “Don’t let the kid try to enact revenge!” But then, he has to ask himself, “why am I still hunting down the man who killed my parents?” He has to tell himself, “it can’t be about revenge. Only what is just and fair.” When/if he finds the killer, he will turn him over to the authorities and let him face proper punishment. Zucco… he’s too powerful. There needs to be a lot of incriminating evidence against him before the police can take action, and even then, that’s not what Dick wants. Dick wants Zucco gone. Permanently. THAT is what needs to be dealt with inside of Dick. Bruce refuses to let this boy make himself a killer. Instead, he decides to channel that anger and drive into training him. You see, when Bruce vanished for eight years, it was during that time that he met many teachers and learned many new skills. Through bettering himself and learning these skills, he felt he had grown as a person and had worked through some of his emotions. It was therapeutic. He hopes it will be the same for Dick. He also teaches him about the justice system and detective work so that they can bring down Tony Zucco WITHOUT killing him. Little by little, over the course of the next year, Dick starts to turn into the infamous side-kick Robin, following Batman on small cases and learning about fighting crime… from a distance. (Mostly.) Dick does have a knack for getting into trouble.

On the personal side of things, Dick still needs to adjust to living in Wayne Manor, going to a new school (Gotham Academy) navigating being a wealthy, famous person’s adopted son, etc etc. And then… Ra’s Al Ghul shows up. Now it’s time for Bruce’s past to be revealed. He had traveled the world, and he did have many teachers, but none quite as legendary as the Demon’s Head, leader of the League of Shadows. A secret organisation (cult, really, Bruce later realised) that had mastered martial arts, ninjutsu, and so much more. Each member was a peak specimen of the human race, with no genetic weaknesses or flaws, especially their leader, Ra’s. Bruce had been one of his top students, but then he had revealed his grande scheme for the world. Ra’s wanted to wipe out the rest of humanity (which he deemed as impure and flawed) and then the only people who would be left to inherit the Earth would be his perfect family and his perfect followers! All he was missing was a male heir to his throne. His daughter, Talia, most perfect of his children, had fallen in love with Bruce during his time in the Shadows, but before anything serious could come of it, Bruce had snuck out and left the League, meaning never to come back. Now, though, Ra’s had found him and wanted him to marry his daughter. Bruce refuses. Ra’s tries to take him by force, Robin helps save the day, it’s a big exciting grand finale to the season, and it ends with Ra’s and Talia retreating… because while Bruce was captured, they managed to steal some… “DNA”… and test tube baby Damian would be thus conceived, unbeknownst to Batman and Robin.

(Like, he’s a test tube baby from conception. Talia was never physically pregnant with him.)

Anyway, things are looking up for our main characters. They saved the city, they saved each other, they’re working on their personal growth, and everyone is excited to see Season 2 because—

JOKER TEASE!!!! DUN DUN DUN!!!!

I’mma make more posts, this is a long one, strap in…

I also have a sketch of Talia…

Part 2 👇

[fluentmoviequoter]

Defend Myself - Part II

Part 2 of Defend Myself

Summary: You agree to teach a self-defence class at the police station. There, you meet Tim Bradford again, as well as some unexpected guests.

Warnings: Tim gets nervous and awkward, fluff!! lots of mentions of winning fights

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

A/N: Not proofread yet! I have to go to work so I'll do it tonight. :)

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Alone in your studio classroom, you tap your toes against the floor as hold music plays from your phone. It’s been two days since you met Tim Bradford and learned about the opportunity to teach a free self-defence class at the station. As you wait to talk to the community liaison, you can’t help but think about Officer Bradford again.

“Hello,” someone greets. “Sorry about that wait.”

“No problem,” you reply. “I was calling to find out about teaching a self-defence class for the public. The officer I just spoke to told me you were the person to ask.”

“Of course. I can definitely help you with that. We’ve got several openings for community courses in the coming weeks. Are you a certified group instructor?”

“I am.”

“Perfect. That will help you get in here faster. This means your next step is just to choose a date and time and complete some paperwork. After that, we’ll spread the word in the community, find volunteers to assist you, and get everything in order before the course itself takes place.”

“Great, thank you so much. Is there any chance I could get started on the next step today?”

“Yes, we can do that. Most instructors come into the station to view the community area and complete the necessary forms, but we can send those papers over electronically as well.”

“I’d be happy to come by the station.”

“Excellent. I’m available all day today and tomorrow afternoon if you’d like?”

“Today works.”

You decide on a time with him before you end the call. After your last class of the day, you lock up and head for the Mid-Wilshire police station. Though Officer Bradford said he’d be willing to volunteer for your class, you doubt you’ll ever see him again. LA is a relatively big place, and the chances of seeing the same cop more than once can’t be very high.

 At the front desk, you provide your name and the details of your appointment. You’re quickly led through a door and into a large room where police officers are milling about.

“Nice to meet you,” the community liaison greets you as he welcomes you into his office. “I’ve got your paperwork here. Just a few simple liability forms and a background check.”

“Thank you for meeting with me so quickly,” you say as you take a seat.

You begin filling out the forms as you tell him what you plan to teach. He seems impressed by your willingness to host a free session and explains that fewer and fewer people are reaching out to him, despite the compensation they offer.

“That’s the last of them,” he tells you as he accepts your final paper. “I want to get started on these right away, so I’m going to pass you off to another officer to give you the tour.”

“I appreciate that.”

You follow him to the door and see several officers talking near a glass wall.

“You mentioned Officer Bradford in your call, didn’t you?” the liaison asks.

“I did.”

“Great.”

He waves someone over, and you smile when you see Officer Bradford again. He’s not alone, but he smiles at you before he begins introductions.

“This is my watch commander, Sergeant Grey,” he tells you. “Grey, this is the woman who did my job for me at the hockey game earlier this week.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Sergeant Grey says as he shakes your hand.

“Good things I hope,” you reply.

“Of course,” Tim interjects quickly.

He seems nervous, but you brush it off as him trying to do his job and carry a conversation. In reality, Tim Bradford is awestruck by you, your abilities, and how kind and compassionate you are despite how easily you could win a fight against anyone in this station.

“Any chance you’d still be willing to help me with the class?” you ask Tim. “I’d hate to mess up and never be invited back.”

“You’d have to fire your service weapon in the station for us to not invite you back,” Wade says. “Which has happened, but we’re desperate.”

“Then I’m glad I can help. And the more people who can defend themselves, the better.”

“Right,” Tim agrees. “And, yeah, I’d be happy too. I can show you where you’ll be teaching.”

“Great!”

There’s a commotion near the door, and Tim and Sergeant Grey stand straighter as they watch. A security guard steps in with an officer, and then two cops follow on either side. Tim has positioned himself directly beside you, whether to keep you back from whatever is happening or just to get a better view you aren’t sure. When another man walks in, flanked by more security guards, you gasp and hit Tim’s arm with the back of your hand.

“Ow,” he mumbles quietly as he jerks back slightly.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Do you know who that is?!”

“I take it you do.”

“Sergeant Grey,” an officer calls. “We’re early, I’m sorry about that.”

“No problem. We can meet in the roll call room,” Sergeant Grey replies.

Three large men stand feet away from you, and you link your fingers together as you try to hold your excitement inside. You smile at the man nearest you before you turn back to Tim.

“Bradford, can you sit in?” Grey asks. “Or do you need to finish here first?”

“Oh, please go, I can wait,” you answer for him. “They’re way more important than me.”

“I don’t know about that,” someone says beside you.

You turn to see which man spoke and laugh before you argue, “You have a game to win, Mr. Konecny, you get priority here.”

“Are you a fan?” Travis Konecny asks.

“Yes!” you answer loudly. “Sorry, I’m excited. Yes, I’m a huge Flyers fan.”

“Do you have tickets?” Sam Ersson asks from beside him.

“I do. Nosebleeds, but tickets are tickets.”

Travis clicks his tongue and looks to one of the security guards to say, “Get her a seat on the ice. And anyone else in here who wants one. Their job is much more important than ours.”

You thank him and shake his hand before he passes. As Tim leads Travis Konecny, Sam Ersson, and Jamie Drysdale into the roll call room, you wait nearby. You just met the Philadelphia Flyers! As if seeing Tim again wasn’t exciting enough, you just had a once-in-a-lifetime encounter with some of the best hockey players in the country. Maybe the day can’t get any better.

“Hey,” Tim calls as he returns. “Are you ready?”

“Sure. Thank you again, for everything,” you reply.

He nods as you stand, and then leads you through the station.

“I…” Tim begins.

“Yeah?” you encourage.

“Would you maybe want to go to the game together? They gave me a ticket too.”

“I’d love to! Are they nice? Wait, don’t tell me if they’re not.”

“They’re very nice, and they seemed very happy about meeting a fan.”

“Sorry again for hitting you.”

“It’s fine,” Tim assures with a smile. “It hurt, but that just makes me even more impressed by you.”

“Impressed?”

Tim opens a door for you and shakes his head when your eyes meet his. “Like you can’t tell.”

On the day of your self-defence class at the police station, you wake up early to prepare everything. Most of your equipment is already packed, but you want everything to go well. Once you finish this, you’ll be even closer to your date with Tim. Self-defence, an attractive man, and hockey all in one week is like a romcom made just for you.

Tim is waiting outside the door when you arrive to set up. He smiles and opens the door before he takes a bag from you. As he helps you arrange your minimal gear and go through your sets and cues in a practice run, he makes easy conversation with you. Getting to know each other seems easy, even if this is only small talk and surface questions. He’s someone worth the time and effort of learning.

When the last person leaves your class (after telling you several times about how much she enjoyed it and would like to come to another one), you sigh and shake your arms out. You had been nervous that no one would show up or that they wouldn’t like it, but you were wrong. The room was full, and everyone participated and seemed to enjoy themselves.

“That was fun,” you tell Tim. “I want to do it again.”

“Don’t say that too loud, Grey will try to make you a permanent fixture,” Tim teases.

“I might like that. Although, I’m more excited for our date.”

“Date?” Tim asks, standing up quickly. “I mean, I wanted it to be a date, but didn’t know if you were-“

You smile as you interrupt him to say, “Yeah, it’s a date, Tim.”

“Good,” Tim says softly. His smile grows as he repeats, “Good.”

The night of the Flyers game, Tim picks you up at your studio. He’s the first gentleman you’ve been on a date with in a while. Each moment with him increases your excitement for a hockey game date.

“Wait,” you tell him when he reaches for his door handle. “You’re cheering for the Flyers, right?”

“Yeah,” Tim answers slowly. “Why?”

“Because I was going to sit with someone else if you said no. Please continue.”

Tim smiles a look that knocks the breath out of you like a well-timed punch. He takes your hand and keeps it in his as he leads you to the perfect seats you were gifted. You gasp as you look out on the ice, and Tim watches you rather than the skaters warming up. One of the guys shoulder-checks his teammate before they point at each other, and you and Tim laugh with them.

“I’m pretty sure you could beat up both of them,” Tim says in your ear.

“Do you just like me for my fighting skills?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Not just for that!”

You laugh and bump your shoulder against Tim’s. He takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around your shoulders, and you happily lean toward him.

“This is way better than the last hockey game I went to,” you murmur.

“That’s not a compliment,” Tim argues.

Before you can explain what you mean, the Flyers skate to the panel before you and bang on the divider. You smile and Travis, Sam, and Jamie hold up a jersey with ‘LA’s Finest’ on the back. After they skate away, a woman in a Flyers shirt approaches you and hands you a bag. Inside are two of those jerseys, and you quickly pull yours over your head.

“LA’s finest,” Tim reads. “I have to agree.”

“Back at you.”

Tim stays at your side for the entire game. You cheer together, yell together, and enjoy the night in each other’s company. You want Tim Bradford at your side for a very long time, even if he does make endless comments about who you could challenge to a fight.

“We should invite them to the wedding,” you say when the game ends.

“An entire hockey team?” Tim questions. You notice he doesn’t argue against the idea of marriage, just the number of people you’re already adding to the guest list.

“Yeah. Plus, the whole LAPD, right?”

Tim pulls you under his arm and leads you back to his truck. You can invite as many people as you want, he thinks, as long as he’s there with you.

[aurorangen]

There are some things we will remember for the rest of our lives

Transcript & Context:

[She couldn't have. I kept telling myself those words until they sounded believable. Billy also had conflicting thoughts about her innocence, judging from his face and actions in the following hours. We didn't know what was the truth. Ultimately she was innocent, but it was no easy task getting there]

[The police at Gibbs Hill provided the documents such as the forensics reports and witness testimonies, but they made no sense. The stab wound images didn't match the weapon. The witness testimonies were under fake names. Not a lot of biological evidence. Unfortunately, the only thing plausible was the fingerprints]

[When my mum was interrogated, she had a right to a lawyer, so she contacted the only person she could think of, Sunny Chaudhry, a criminal defence lawyer and old friend. He came to meet me straight after with details]

Sunny: Vincent, I will do everything possible to prove your mother is innocent. She has been framed.

[Initially, there were disputes between Sunny and Billy's police department with cooperating. He was defending the criminal after all. Further review of the documents proved something was off with Gibbs Hill Police and they decided to reinvestigate the murder. Expert help was vital to reinforce the evidence]

[Another autopsy was done to estimate the time of death, cause and identity. Immediate observation showed he wasn't my father. The body identified was a murder victim, from a case solved a week back. It was enough proof. All that was left was for Sunny to finish the legal procedures and defense strategy for the trial]

[Then the day of the trial came. I listened intently to every word he spoke and forgot my anxiety. The verdict was my mum was not guilty and she was released from all charges. Immediate investigation was to be done on Gibbs Hill Police. Sunny looked so powerful in front of everyone: I was mesmerised by his confidence]

Well, this was my idea for why he wanted to be a lawyer! Seeing Sunny fight for Payton to prove her innocence, opened Vincent's eyes. It's quite meaningful because one impacted his own life in such a significant way. And yes I brought back an old face.

Vincent: [whispers to himself] I want to be like that one day. A lawyer?

[It was a job that positively impacted society, a job that held so much authority. A responsibility to uphold justice and fairness. It provided a voice to the voiceless, a voice that would be heard by people]

[yuki2sksksk]

Kokuro, the Child Emperor's older sister.

• Her official age is unconfirmed but I set her around 20's

• She works as a private detective in the hometown of her grandparents, but sometimes the police require her assistants in a few difficult cases since she's reliable

• Because Kokuro has the sixth sense, sometimes she does side jobs of exorcism. Her ability ranges from her being able to see entities to touching them if she wants to.

• Isamu has a weak energy spirit since a baby so Kokuro is fiercely protective over him, often casting away bad ghosts that try to get their hands on him

• Her grandparents own a dojo that teaches naginajutsu

• Kokuro doesn't like overly sweet stuff, and she usually sucks cola flavoured lollipop

A bit lore of her and Zombieman:

• Kokuro's intelligence in solving small crimes since she's in high school granted her a special permission from the police to join in mystery cases

• One time she discovered an illegal underground laboratory and was about to report it to the authorities when Dr Genus came and tried to stop her

• In self defence, she took him down with a naginata, destroying the lab in the process.

• It wasn't the real Dr Genus, only one of his clone

• She caught a glimpse of someone running away but thought it was an entity and ignored it, opting to escape and get the police first

[justc2world]

Job positions added to Carlos' resume this week:

Monza pole sitter, driver of the week, minister of defence, runner/trackstar, police officer

And promotion for Rupert as bodyguard