#call me Detective Janitor

[frobin]

Hiii been following you for so long but this is the first time I've ever asked you about something lol.... I was wondering if you have a copy or remember the 4 panel comic of luffy wanting to change his hat/pirate name to a samurai helmet and Robin scolding him for thinking it was a dumb idea... I know this comic exist and it was made by Oda (i think) because when Robin scolded Luffy, Franky was behind her and they looked so adorable (even tho Franky never said anything) cause they're literally mom and dad!!!

Hey Anon! Thank you for sticking around! I know exactly which comic you mean.

The one with Robin and Franky in the background, tired by their kids antics but they still love them.

So... because I can never be fast I'll explain how I found it. I knew I had a version of it on the blog.

But it was not complete and it was posted in August 2020 so I thought "okay might have been drawn then. I did some "Luffy Samurai Hat" googling (DuckDuckGo-ing) but that gave me nothing except for one pinterest post!

As always people on pinterest don't give a single fuck about saying where they got anything from. Why pinning and sharing information if you can upload right?

Anyway, did some more variations of googling, tried Omake and I don't know what... nothing. Skimmed through the manga pages from 2020, nothing. So, I downloaded the picture of Robin and Franky in the background from @chikabika's post.

I did a reverse google search that told me that the character is Nico Robin. Thank you google. Thank you for being useless!

So, I pulled a secret weapon: tineye.com

And it gave me this posting:

I still don't know which chapter that is or where it was published but... I hope I could help XD

IF ANYONE KNOWS THE EXACT INFORMATION, please share! Thanks! Good night!

[hotchscoffeecup]

stricken

summary: hotch tries to hide a panic attack from the team. you walk him through it.

pairing: hotch x reader (platonic)

tags: panic attacks, recall to foyet attacking hotch, mentions of knife violence, recall to foyet killing haley

words: 2k

“He kept them alive.” Morgan sighs and throws the file containing photos of the most recent victim in a long string of murders down on the table.

“These stab wounds are precise,” Reid adds. “He must have extensive knowledge in a medical field; a doctor or a medic, maybe.”

“No,” Emily counters. “This man doesn’t have the confidence to match either of those professions. It would be something that allowed him to blend into the background, where he could observe and hone his skills. He might be a Medical Assistant or Vet Tech.”

“I’ll start cross-referencing work records with clinics, hospitals, and veterinary offices in a twenty mile radius.” Penelope ends the video call and disappears from the wide screen in the conference room, leaving the digital photos of the victims and the crime scenes in full view.

You stare at them, bewildered by the cruelty this unsub inflicts on his victims; the psychological torture he inflicted to coincide with the physical. You click your pen absentmindedly as you pour over the evidence left behind. As you tilt your head, squinting at one of the images, you notice Hotch in your peripheral vision. If you’re not mistaken, you see his hand shaking at his side. You blink and it stops; instead, he flexes his hand open and closed.

The others are talking, exchanging ideas and identifying characteristics to further bulk up the profile. You turn in your chair, brow furrowed as you watch Hotch reach up and loosen his tie.

“Hotch, what do you think?” Morgan asks. The team all turns to look at him and he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Hotch?”

Without looking at anyone in particular Hotch excuses himself, tucking his head and swiftly dipping out of the room.

Morgan arches a brow. “What do you think that’s about?”

“I don’t know,” you say, concern edging into your tone as you push yourself up and out of your chair. “I’m going to go find out.”

As you exit the briefing room, you survey the bullpen and catch a glimpse of his jacket fluttering around a corner. You weave through detectives and uniformed officers, the din of voices, papers shuffling, copiers whirring, and phones ringing echoing throughout the space.

“Excuse me,” you say, maneuvering around three officers chatting by the water cooler.

You turn down the hall you swear you’d seen Hotch disappear into, but all you see is a janitor’s closet at the far end of the corridor.

As you turn around to retrace your steps and search for Hotch, you hear a whoosh of breath. This stops you in your tracks as you strain your ears and turn back towards the closet. Hesitantly, and feeling somewhat foolish, you reach for the handle and open the door.

Your lips part and your heart drops as you identify your Unit Chief braced against a shoddy shelving unit. In the dim light of the single lightbulb illuminating the space, you make out the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to take in a full breath.

Without hesitation, you slink inside and close the door behind you. Fortunately, the space is wide enough to grant you enough room to be in there without it feeling confining.

“Hotch, what’s wrong?” you ask, inclining your head to look up into his eyes. They’re wild, dilated pupils flickering back and forth across your features as he swallows.

“I can’t—” he starts and stops, closing his eyes and scrubbing a hand across his face. “I don’t know why, I just— I can’t breathe. I can’t—”

“Okay,” you say, voice soft but firm. “Hotch, I think you’re having a panic attack.”

His brow pinches as he wrestles with that observation. “A panic attack? No, I don’t— I’m fine. It’s not—”

His hands shake as he reaches for his tie, fingers fumbling with the knot causing them to shake even more.

“Let me help,” you say and telegraph your next moves clearly; reaching forward to completely undo his tie and first button of his shirt.

He releases a heavy sigh and something of a sob escapes his lips. “I’m the, the Unit Chief. I see this stuff every day. I don’t—I’m not—” He swallows hard and looks up at the ceiling, as if there would be some sort of solace to find in the popcorn ceiling tiles.

“I just…I can feel it,” he rasps. “I can feel it.”

“Feel what, Hotch?”

His breathing quickens; coming in short succinct bursts that leave him panting and unable to catch his breath.

“His knife. I can feel it.” He squeezes his eyes shut and a tear leaks down his cheek.

Realization dawns on you then and your heart fractures for your Unit Chief, the pillar of the team; the one who bears the brunt of responsibility to ensure everyone else on the team is okay and ultimately sacrifices himself in the process.

George Foyet. You’d joined the team after this case, but everyone knew the story. He’d incapacitated Hotch inside his own home and stabbed him repeatedly; slowly, and in places that would inflict significant damage, but not kill him. Foyet later would go on to kill Hotch’s ex-wife, Haley. Hotch had been on the phone at the time of it all and heard his wife die. You can’t imagine the turmoil he must have gone through; physically, mentally, and emotionally. It’s no wonder this case would trigger such terrible memories.

“I was alone.” Hotch breathes heavily and clutches an arm around his waist. “I can feel it now. I can—the knife, it was, oh God—” His hand taps rapidly against his leg. When his knees begin to wobble, you’re quick to react when he collapses.

Instinctively, you throw your arms out and thread your arms beneath his as you crash to the floor together, knees slamming into the hardwood as you fall. Hotch sobs into the crook of your neck as he clings to you and you wonder just how long it’s been since anyone has held him. Hesitantly, you shift your weight so you can hold him properly with one arm wrapped around his back while the other cradles his neck. You brush your fingers through his hair and speak grounding words to him.

“You’re safe, Hotch.” You then tell him your exact location and repeat your name to him, reminding him of all that is tangible. You describe the room you’re in, from the arrangement of products on the shelf to the cloying scent of bleach and Windex that lingers in the air. You draw attention to the distant sounds inside the bullpen and instruct him to focus on your voice. “I promise that you’re safe,” you repeat.

“Foyet is dead.”

His grip tightens around you and his tears soak into your blouse.

“He can’t hurt you or anyone else.” You fight to keep your own voice from cracking as you bear witness to your friend’s pain.

“I need you to breathe, Aaron.” His first name feels strange on your tongue, but you need to bring him back. “In for four,” you say and breathe deeply through your nose for four counts, patting Hotch four times on the back to offer a different type of stimulation for him to try and ground himself with through physical touch. “Out for your four,” you say as you release the air in your lungs and pat him four more times on the back.

You continue to model this pattern until you feel him start to relax under you. His breathing continues to shudder, but he’s trying to self-regulate.

“Good, Hotch,” you encourage as he works to regain control. “Keep breathing. You’re safe.”

You continue to pat your hand against his back, acting as a metronome for him to keep time. You find yourself rocking him gently as you do this and eventually he shifts beneath you.

Tentatively, you begin to pull away. You don’t let go of him though, not yet. You want to make sure he has a tether to reality and physical touch can help him remain grounded.

Hotch sniffs and wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. He keeps his eyes downcast and shakes his head. “I’m so sorry,” he says.

Your brow knits together as a wave of utter confusion washes over you. “Hotch,” you say, almost sternly. His eyes flick up to meet yours and you look at him straight on. “Don’t ever apologize for that. In fact, I’m sorry, actually.”

Now it’s his turn to look puzzled. “For what?”

“That you felt like this was something you had to do in private. That you felt like you couldn’t tell one of us.”

Hotch rubs at his eyes. “It’s not that,” he begins. “I’m not supposed to break. I’m the Chief of this Unit. I’m supposed to—”

“That’s bullshit, Hotch.” An exasperated sort of smile crosses your lips then as you realize you never use that kind of language, especially around your boss. “Apologies, Sir, but you know as well as I do that you don’t have to save face for any of us. We’ve all been to hell and back in one way or another. That case out there; the precise stab wounds, keeping the victims alive…it’s exactly what Foyet did to you.”

Hotch bristles, but you continue on.

“The body remembers, Hotch.” You drop your hands to his wrists and squeeze. “You survived the improbable. Your wounds healed and you did the mandated counseling, yes, but you’re still allowed to break down. You’re allowed to have bad days.” You incline your head to meet his gaze head on. “But you can’t shut everyone out. You don’t deserve to suffer alone.”

Hotch nods slowly and takes a full deep breath before meeting your eye. “You’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” you say and you smile when his lips twitch up at the corners. “I know because you taught me that.”

“I remember,” he says, though he doesn’t bring up the unsub that could’ve killed you. It had only been your third week on the team and the case had brought you out to Boise, Idaho. When you’d located the unsub, he’d engaged you in a physical altercation where he’d successfully disarmed you and put you in a chokehold. Oxygen had been effectively cut off from your airway and you were so close to losing consciousness that you’d be dead right now if JJ and Emily hadn’t incapacitated him when they had.

“I was going to quit the team,” you say. “After that case, I didn’t think I had what it takes to be a member of the BAU.”

Hotch’s brow twitches as he relaxes back against the wall. “You never told me that.”

You shrug, “I didn’t have to. When you found me in the break room after hours when I thought everyone else had gone home and talked me down from my own panic attack, I tore up my resignation letter.” You smile then. “The minute we stop feeling, that’s when we can no longer do this job. That empathy is what gives the families hope and keeps our victims alive. When we lose that, we lose our humanity. Never stop feeling. Feel everything, and then feel it again. Talk about it. You’re never alone. We’re a team. We’ll always have one another’s backs.”

“I said all of that?” Hotch asks, both amused and in disbelief.

“It’s what I tell myself every time I feel the strain of this job is getting to be too much, and it helps keep me grounded.”

He tilts his head and laughs to himself. “I should probably write that down.”

You laugh in turn, “You probably should.”

Hotch moves to stand up then, scooping his tie off the ground and offering you a hand as he does so. You take it and allow him to pull you to your feet.

“Thank you,” he says and offers you a genuine smile. “I just hope that these bags under my eyes don’t look puffier than they usually do now.”

You roll your eyes and open your arms to hug him. He chuckles as he embraces you and thanks you once more.

“Don’t ever change, sir.” You rub your hand up and down his back and feel that the tension has completely relaxed out of his posture. “Don't ever change.”

[incorrectbatfam]

Wayne Tower yelp reviews pls (wrong answers ofc)

★★★☆☆ Disappointed but not surprised

Was invited to the Wayne Gala held at the Tower this year to accommodate special guests from the Justice League. Was photographed by reporter Clark Kent. Wanted to meet Superman but he didn't show up. Food and atmosphere was good. Got told off for swinging from the chandelier. Why have a chandelier if not for swinging?

★☆☆☆☆ Not even gonna dignify it with a title

I'd give zero stars if I could. The CEO is a massive fucking asshole. He's full of nothing but smooth-brained takes. He claims he'll be there when you need him but never shows up. And when you RIGHTFULLY resent him, he'll turn around and pretend YOU are the bad guy. That isn't even touching on his AUDACITY to replace you so soon after you leave. You think you know this man, you think you've grown to trust him, and then he goes and stabs you in the back. Believe me when I say RUN. Get as FAR away from this company and that bastard Bruce Wayne as you possibly can.

★★☆☆☆ SOS

I work here. Too many emails. Half the execs are Boomers who can't export a PDF. The break room is out of coffee. My dad won't stop visiting the office. When will the nightmare end???

★★★★☆ Imperfect but respectable

I had the opportunity to visit Wayne Tower on Bring Your Child To Work Day. The building is up to code and I was able to view all the health code certifications. I admire that Wayne Enterprises takes care of its employees by allowing ample vacation time, in-house daycare, and well-maintained recreation spaces. The cafeteria did not have as many vegetarian options as I would have preferred, but I have been informed that they operate on a rotating menu, so I shall revisit again next week and possibly amend my review. I would leave five stars but I ran into Tim Drake on the way out and that brought the whole experience down a notch.

★☆☆☆☆ No Chipotle

Was told there was a Chipotle here. Did not find Chipotle.

★★★☆☆ Badge entry didn't work

I'm on the night shift at the company's call center. One time I was already running late but for some reason I couldn't badge in. The janitor wouldn't let me through even though I had proof I was supposed to be here. Had to escalate to the CEO. Still better than working the Batburger drive-thru though.

★★★★★ Hi Dad

Hi Dad.

★★★★☆ Good but...

I love the bathrooms. They're easy to find and very accessible for a wheelchair user like myself. There's plenty of space for me to navigate and the products are top-notch, especially the hot towels. The toaster oven under the sink also doesn't make sense, but then again, my lockscreen is Nightwing so I can't judge.

★★☆☆☆ No cats allowed

I got written permission from the CEO himself to bring my cat to the office, but the doorman turned me away. Next time, there should be better communication between the employees.

★★★★☆ Rooftop makes for good date

I brought my girlfriend up here for our anniversary date. The building has a beautiful view of the city and the restaurant was great. The bread was a little dry, but nothing that a little butter couldn't fix. Unfortunately, she's an on-call detective and we had to cut our evening short, but that's not the staff's fault.

★☆☆☆☆ Got called Bri'ish

Someone called me Bri'ish.

[infinitecyanroses]

So with all the lore we've gotten lately I decided I want to organize how many player characters have been tied to or affected by the Federation. First I wanted to make a chart but I realized it would be quicker to just list everything down first. Feel free to correct me if anything is missing. I may also continue to update this

Last updated: January 30 (Prison event update)

Had a Past with The Federation Before the Island

Baghera Jones- confirmed former Federation test subject/experiment

Jaiden- confirmed to have helped Cucurucho in the past, role unknown

Aypierre- has memories of being operated on by the Federation before coming to the island

Quackity/ElQuackity- ElQuackity called Quackity his brother and since it seems that ElQ has been working with the Federation for a long time, Quackity could have a related past

Bagi- After joining the island, she discovered a tree house with two journals that were signed by her. The journal also mentioned a cat named Zeno which Cellbit found who belonged to an ex-federation worker that Cellbit had been investigating clues from

Cellbit- Bagi found more journals confirming that she had a family on the island, including a brother who went missing and a lot of details from her journal point to Cellbit potentially being that brother, Cellbit found further information confirming Bagi is his twin and he believes he was kidnapped

Antoine Daniel- see Currently Affiliated, Cucurucho (pink ears) also mention Antoine having worked on previous experiments

Polispol- is the one who directed/created the Quesadilla Island commercial that played when the first islanders arrived by train

Currently Affiliated with The Federation

Cellbit- became an official Federation employee after signing a contract, is often tasked with investigation work and information retrieval, got employee of the month

ElQuackity- seems to be an official Federation employee, status unknown but seems to be a high ranking experimenter. ElQuackity went to Egg Island/Purgatory and seemed to have a past with the cyclops who was controlling the island there. At the end of Purgatory, the cyclops asked ElQuackity to stay by his side and he agreed. When Cucurucho traveled to Egg Island and saw ElQ, he called him a traitor and told him he would stand trial. ElQ chased Cucurucho off so ElQ is no longer aligned with the Federation

Fit- currently working as the Federation's janitor

Foolish- was made an official Federation detective by Cucurucho and was tasked with investigating Mr. Mustard's disappearance. After submitting evidence to the Feds of other islanders breaking the rule, Foolish was promoted to Police Administrative Assistant and Dispatcher and also made employee of the month for September

Aypierre- is currently making wine for the Federation

Jaiden- spent two weeks helping the Cucuruchos and is currently tasked with informing new members about Cucurucho.

Forever- recently elected as president of the island to serve as the go-between for the island citizens and Federation.

Kameto- Has been helping the Federation ever since his disappearance by watching footage and recording the happenings of the island and is now working as a spy for the Feds under guise of being a former Federation prisoner

Antoine Daniel- Role unknown but he was able to get a private meeting with Cucurucho (pink ears) and criticized him for letting the 6 panel comic leak out to all the islanders, saying it was too soon. Cucurucho apologized to him, implying some sort of connection between the two

Polispol- Cucurucho hired him to create a new video for them

Has Been Kidnapped/Arrested by The Federation

Felps- agreed to sacrifice himself to the Feds in exchange for getting Richarlyson's first life back, only to be captured and iced by the Feds

Cellbit- was caught trying to warn other people about what happened to Felps while first infiltrating the Federation and was held in a Federation building with Felps

Quackity- was captured and held by the Federation and replaced with ElQuackity. Was also recently kicked from the server after playing the dice game, no clue who's responsible or what happened. Quackity came back but was captured by ElQuackity, who stole his new train ticket before the Purgatory event. Quackity later escaped after the islanders left but was shot by the black colored Cucurucho

Maximus- was arrested by the Federation for terrorizing a Federation building but was only held for one day

Pac- first arrested by Foolish under Cucurucho's orders, then later recaptured and placed in a cell at the bottom of the ocean with Federation guards

Mike- first arrested with Pac for the same reasons, has recently fallen into a trap, unknown if the Feds are also behind it, recently came back acting more paranoid and wanting to eat/kill the eggs

All of the current new members- were arrested and kept frozen until the other islanders found them

Baghera- after discovering her childhood bedroom on the island, she woke up 9 days later in a Federation hospital room and found a recent subject file about her and a book listing other federation hybrid experiments

Philza- followed a string of crow-related clues he thought would lead him to his missing kids, only to be trapped in a giant bird house by Cucurucho as payback for lava casting the Federation office building, he woke up days later in his house, unable to find proof that the bird house existed, making him question if it was real

Badboyhalo- arrested by Foolish and Cucurucho for 15 minutes for vandalizing Federation property (though BBH claims it was longer)

Aypierre- was imprisoned by Cucurucho for a full night for lashing out at Cucurucho while asking about what the Feds had done to him

Roier- was drugged and captured by Cucurucho while he was investigating Cellbit's whereabouts, taken to a dungeon cell and blindfolded for a few days before Cucurucho brought him to a lab where his missing twin brother, Doied was (continued in fed operation category)

Forever- after getting infected by dark matter due to a Fed sanctioned trip to the Nether, Forever became possessed by an entity known as @v@ who made Forever attempt to kill the eggs. Cucurucho intervened and teleported Forever/@v@ into a max security prison, keeping him chained up before downing him with a chainsaw

ALL of the active islanders and their eggs (except Baghera and Cellbit) were taken and kept in a maximum security prison by the Federation for three days in order to keep them away from the attacking eye workers while the Federation did damage control. Despite not being officially charged with crimes, they were all treated like prisoners

Was operated/experimented on by the Federation

Maximus- was treated by the Federation after the code entity attacked him but learned later that the Feds had also stuck a recording device in him so he had it removed, was operated on again after contracting a parasite only to wake up with part of his leg turning into code

Felps- after he was rescued from the Federation, he was found wearing a hospital gown and had a mark on his arm, hinting that the Feds might have experimented on him

Cellbit- was also treated by the Federation after being attacked by the code entity, suffered memory loss from the time the Feds captured him

Quackity- was seen being put through multiple tests by Cucurucho before being released with very little memory of his past, only being able to speak in Spanish, and not being able to read or write (probably a form of aphasia)

Roier- After being captured and taken to the lab to see his twin brother, Cucurucho and Doied forced Roier into a machine that would swap his brain with a rat, the operation successfully put Roier's brain in a rat's body and he ended up passing out (probably more to come)

[svuobsessed]

SVU team X Autistic Victim teen reader

Literally started watching Law and Order SVU yesterday and fell in love with the show well the sixth season at least.

This will be my first ever L&O SVU one-shot.

Summary: The team are called in after a Teen was beaten up by two other students.

Third person pov...

The smell of the hospital woke Y/N L/N up, they had always hated the smell of the rooms it made their sensory issues skyrocket.

Opening their eyes they are meet with bright white lights, groaning they close their eyes again, sitting up carefully being mined full of their injuries.

Slowly the teen opens their eyes again, this time the light was not as bad, Y/N looked around the spacious room, the teen was alone in the room.

They could not remember anything, rocking slowly trying to calm down they wracked their brain for something but could not remember. "Stupid stupid, what the hell happened to me" they shout smacking their head as they started to freak out.

As they were having a meltdown the doors opened and in came Detectives Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler. "Y/N what's wrong sweetie?" Calls Olivia as they rushed over to the teenager.

Hearing voices they did not know made Y/N look up and crawl out of their bed as they stood searing pain shot through their head groaning in pain they wobbled; Olivia grabbed the teen to stop them from falling.

Instead, they struggled in her hold trying to get away from her. "Stop let go off me" they yell eventually Oliva let them go. The teen crumpled to the floor against a wall rocking back and forth hands in their hair trembling all over.

Olivia and Elliot look at each other. "What the hell happened there?" questions Elliot watching the distraught teen work they way through a panic attack. Suddenly the doors opened it was Y/Ns parents, outside the room they answered the twos questions. "Y/N is autistic which is why they reacted that way, the new room and new people triggered them into a meltdown" explained Y/Ns dad as he held his wife.

Crying the woman looked at the two detectives "what happened to our child, why where they attacked" she cried, Olivia and Elliot look at each other before telling the two.

During Y/Ns 4th period lesson they left the classroom for a breather as they got overwhelmed, as they did the teen was followed by two students. 15 minutes later the two students walk back joking and shoving each other in the hall, Y/N know where to be seen.

Lucky for them the janitor was passing by and found them unconscious and beaten up, at the end both Y/Ns parents wanted to press charges but could not without Y/N present.

Days later Y/N had woken up again in the hospital this time a lot more calm and not as anxious. The 13 year old was sat up in the bed, they had a bandage wrapped around their head their attackers got in a few good swings to their head.

The teen also had bruises on their arms, they had tried to protect themselves from the attack though being surprised, the door to Y/Ns room opened the teen turned their head, it was the detectives from before.

Sitting up they continued to look off sideways as the two detectives approached the H/C Haired teens bed. "Hi Y/N, I'm Olivia this is Elliot" she introduces them. Y/N does not look at them but nods.

Elliot looks at the teen and stands closer. "Y/N we wanted to ask some questions about the day you were attacked?" he asks the teen, sighing the teen turns their head to look at the man.

"I didn't see their faces" they whisper, the adults could tell they were lying by the way their voice cracked, the two detectives eye each other before Olivia sits next to Y/N on the bed.

"that's a lie sweetie and you know it" she tells them gently, Y/N looks up at her tears in their E/C eyes. "I know, I can't tell I won't" they cry hands shaking in their lap. Olivia holds out her hand to the teen as an invitation to hold hers.

Two both hers and Elliots surprise the teen grabbed her hand squeezing tightly as they cried.

The team are stuck at the precinct Benson, Stabler, Tutuola and Munch all stand around the evidence board in front of them, it was filled with pictures of what happened to Y/N, the footage of the two students.

"That poor child, who in their right mind would beat someone for being different" says Munch as he stares at a picture of Y/Ns injuries pissed off. "Your right partner, little shits" Fin pats the man's shoulder.

On the desk next to them stand Olivia and Elliot. "If only we could persuade Y/N to tell us their attackers" says Elliot slamming his hand down on the table, Oliva sighs and looks at the forage. "We can't push the, they are already traumatised enough" as the team stand around someone pats Elliots back.

This scares the man; he had not heard any footsteps telling him someone was there. Turning around he was shocked at who was there. "Y/N" the name made the others turn around.

Behind Elliot stood their 13 year old victim, the teen had numerous bandages around their arms and head, headphones around their neck and a small stuffed toy. "I'm here to report an assault" the relief on the faces of the detectives is seen.

Olivia stands from her chair and beckons the teen over. "Come on sweetie, I'll take you to an interview room" she takes the teen to an unused room, the teen looks around and sets their bag and stuffed toy on the table.

Munch and Fin are disgusted at how the arseholes beat up Y/N, turning to Elliot they see a pissed of look on his face. "Those bastards" growls Fin, Munch agrees "they deserve to be locked up for good" he says, Elliot follows after Y/N and Olivia.

Hours later Y/N had told the two everything that had happened to the over the past year, they had been beaten up before by the same kids but not so bad they had to go to the hospital, lucky for Y/N both attackers were charged with category 1 of grievous bodily harm with 26 month in juvie with 100 hours of community service.

Y/N was more than happy with the charges, their parent profusely thanked the SVU team for their help.

The end!

I plan to skip most of the court parts because I know nothing about how they work so sorry I only really know about the kind of charges you can get, anyway sorry for any grammar and spelling mistakes.

Requests are open!

Word count: 1171

[spindlewoed]

["Homo-sexual underground" internalized]

NEW TASK: Talk to the smoker again (optional)

***

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hello there, Gendarme.” The man offers you another one of his honeyed smiles, “I have to say, something feels different about you. Are you done with your twenty-hour mind project?”

As a matter of fact, I am.

Not really, I’d like to talk about something else.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — His eyebrows rise minutely, “*Beautiful*. And what was your conclusion, if I may ask?”

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] — He’s genuinely curious. 

It helped me have a little bonding moment with my case partner over here (point to Kim).

A waste of eight hours of my time. Don't think I gained anything from it. On multiple levels.

It was a very immersive thought process, very educational. I feel closer to the plight of the underground community now. I think you guys should form some sort of union.

I’m really not sure…

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant gives you a stern look before you can say more.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] — It is not your place to disclose my personal information, *officer*.

YOU — shut your mouth instantly.

It helped me have a little bonding moment with my case partner over here (point to Kim).

A waste of eight hours of my time. Don't think I gained anything from it. On multiple levels.

It was a very immersive thought process, very educational. I feel closer to the plight of the underground community now. I think you should form some sort of union.

I’m really not sure…

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He hums, contemplative. “Well of course. A measly day wouldn’t be enough time to comprehend the scope and grandeur of the *homo-sexual underground*, obviously.” He smiles again, his heart shaped lips almost breaking into a grin.

“But do tell, Gendarme. Indulge me. Have you thought about where you stand on the matter?” 

Couldn’t be me. I'm not one of those.

I’ve stopped obsessing over my sexuality, I’m afraid there’s no going back to thinking about it. That would be another eight hour project. Twelve if I’m honest.

[Electrochemistry - Heoric 15] Look for clues in your past. Try to remember.

[CHECK SUCCESS]

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Looking like a dust covered film, your memory slowly unravels in your mind. A young man, just like yourself. He’s taller than you by an inch or so. Slightly muscular, round figure. Kind eyes. An explosion of electricity travels all over your body as he places a casual hand on your lower back. No one else in the room seems to notice. Later, you’re in the janitor's closet, and small talk concerning your shared students turns into hit after hit of oxytocin as he kisses you. You don’t remember his name.

YOU — “Does it count if it was once, in a closet?”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — His eyes widen then he laughs, suddenly and openly.

DRAMA [Medium: Success] — He’s only making fun of you a *little* this time, sire. He's positively *delighted*.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Forgive me, gendarme. It’s always a pleasure talking to you." He composes himself, leaning back against the bricks. "But to answer your question - yes. I believe it counts.”

No, there’s no way. Forget I said anything.

Ok…

SMOKER IN THE BALCONY — He nods, waiting for you to reach a conclusion.

YOU — "Ok. But that was the past. How do I know that this is me, now?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He takes a drag of his cigarette while studying your face. As he exhales, his smile returns to his face like it never left.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Trivial: Success] — He smiles a lot when you're talking to him. It’s a warm, smooth shot of dopamine every time.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “That’s up to you to figure out." He flicks the ash off his cigarette with his slender fingers. He adds, lightly: “But feel free to give me a call once you do, officer.” He winks.

Oho?

Uhu?

Ogh?

[Savoir Faire - Godly 16] Try to come up with something a little bit more eloquent.

[CHECK FAILURE]

YOU — (whisper) "Awooga…"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Pardon?”

KIM KITSURAGI — "Detective," the lieutenant interjects mercifully, "perhaps it's best we get back to the case, yes?"

YOU — "Yeah, I gotta go. See you. I mean, yeah. Bye."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He chuckles, waving his fingers goodbye. “See you around, Gendarmerie.”

[morning-star-joy]

Hey there! So this crazy idea crossed my mind and even though as of now you only write for joel and recently javi, i still need to share this with you bc i think you’re just the right person: tim rockford fic based off no body no crime by taylor swift where reader has either committed or helped someone commit a murder (of either reader’s or someone’s abusive husband) and he is the detective but he falls in love with her 🤯

no body, no crime (Tim Rockford x F!Reader) part 1

Unfinished & Discontinued

Warnings: 18+ MDNI Themes of Murder and Grief, Sexual Tension, Language, Alcohol & Cigarette Use, Smut (f and m masturbation, separately)

Wordcount: 5.5k

A/N: Okay so, first of all, hi anon ilysm, you have infected me with Tim Rockford brainrot. This has quickly become my new favorite thing to write, there's so much creative freedom, this entire concept is GENIUS and I've been obsessing over it since you sent it in. I quickly realized that it's going to have parts JFKDLS SO, I hope you enjoy because this one is for you my friend!

Smoke still curling up into the stuffy air of the mess of an office from the cigarette not properly snuffed into the ashtray perched precariously on the edge of the desk, Detective Tim Rockford couldn’t help but think that these were the nights he loved and hated the most.

Nothing and nobody to keep him company other than the mess of evidence that may not even be evidence strewn across the room, spending hours pacing back and forth to pick up pictures and put them back down, wearing a hole through his polished dress shoes when he’d pivot on his heel once something clicked, and he’d race to grab a paper to pin on the large evidence board taking up one wall.

It had been wiped clean the moment he took this case, and the detective was taking his time collecting his thoughts to put the pieces of the puzzle together night after night.

That was, until this night in particular.

Tim was seated at his desk, reaching for the takeout container he had been mindlessly eating from, recoiling with a wince as he quickly realized he had accidentally grabbed an old one without looking.

Place needs a serious clean, he thought to himself as he leaned back in his chair to toss that container into his overflowing trash can before actually looking for and finding the one he had been eating from that night.

Lord knew he wouldn’t clean it though. He wouldn’t even let the janitors in, worried that something would be misplaced and throw off his entire externalized thought process that was his disaster of an office.

When a knock sounded on his door, he hardly glanced up as he called out an invitation to come in, setting down his chopsticks in the container to grab a pencil and jot down a possible lead on a piece of paper before glancing up to see Abigail, the sweet red-head receptionist, standing tentatively in his door.

“Somebody here to see you, Detective,” Abigail said, shifting in her short heels and glancing behind her shoulder, and Tim frowned at the thought of having a guest, because he never had those. “Said she’s here about that case of the housewife?”

Tim straightened instantly, setting his pencil down as he began to rise from his seat, reaching out subconsciously to pinch out the still smoking cigarette in the ashtray before nodding at Abigail.

“Send her in please, Abi,” Tim said, pulling back his hand with a wince as the tips of his rough fingertips singed a bit on the cigarette, shaking his hand out before glancing around the room that was very much not in a state to receive any kind of witness, if that’s what this woman was.

Abigail murmured a confirmation behind him, closing the door before moving back towards the front desk where he assumed the woman was waiting, and Tim was racing around the room then, simultaneously trying to make it at least a smidge presentable while also getting rid of anything too telling about the case.

Of course, he couldn’t do anything about his painfully old-fashioned method of an evidence board in the corner of the office, but hopefully it was too chaotic for anybody to be able to glean anything from it.

Tim shook his head to himself then, rolling his head across his shoulders and rubbing at the back of his neck to try and soothe a perpetual ache from too many nights hunched over in a chair going over cases combined with the telltale pains of age.

The creaking of his office door opening made him turn halfway around, glancing back to see Abigail gesturing for somebody to enter.

And that was the first time Detective Tim Rockford saw you.

Standing there in the doorframe of his office, face half-cast into shadow from the warm wash of the yellow light in the hallway behind you, even as it cast an almost halo glow around your hair as your head turned, glancing about the room before fully stepping in.

Abigail shut the door behind you, leaving Tim alone and at a complete loss for what to do with you when he saw your face properly in the gentle glow of the lamps set up around his office, breath catching in his throat at the stunning clarity of your eyes when they met his.

“Detective Rockford?” you asked, voice a melody even in its slight hesitation with the question, and the sound of his title snapped Tim back into action, giving a nod as he strode forward to extend his hand to yours for introduction.

“At your service, ma’am,” he replied automatically, his fingers twitching as yours slid against them, your smaller palm finding its way into his for a shake, and Tim pulled away quickly, clearing his throat before asking for your name.

When you gave it, he nodded, repeating it once out loud as his mind wouldn’t stop chanting it in the dark crevices of his thoughts, glancing over the humble cardigan and knee-length skirt paired with dark tights you were wearing before spinning away, telling himself he was simply trying to get a read on who exactly you were as he gestured towards his desk.

“Please, sit,” he said, moving back towards his own seat, glancing back over his shoulder when he realized you hadn’t moved.

“Um,” you hedged, shifting in place with uncertainty, and his brows furrowed, glancing over you again as you asked, “Where, exactly?”

Only then did Tim look over across from his desk, mumbling some colorful swears he hoped you didn’t hear or would graciously ignore as he realized there was no chair for you to sit in.

“Uh—let me just—” he spun in place, eyes moving around the room quickly before he found a fold up chair crammed into the corner, and he hurried over to it, arms flexing in the tight fabric of the white-button up he wore as he extended it with a quiet grunt before walking over quickly to set it in front of his desk.

“Sorry about that,” Tim murmured, cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he gestured for you to sit, which you did, slowly sinking down into the uncomfortable seat before smoothing out the fabric of your skirt while he moved around the desk to sit in his own chair.

Once the both of you were settled, Tim looked over your face again, brows furrowed as he noticed the heavy lines of sleep and something else, something distinctly weary covering the beauty of your features—fuck, not beauty, don’t think that way at work, Rockford—as you pulled your cardigan tighter around yourself.

“My receptionist mentioned you were here for the case of Mrs. Haim, is that right?” he asked, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the desk as he watched you carefully, noting the way your eyes darted up to meet his at the name.

“Yes,” you whispered with a nod, licking your lips Tim just now realized were painted with a soft pink lipstick that accentuated the natural color of them and no, stop it, you were saying something now, and he was embarrassed he had missed the first part of it until the next five words caught his full attention.

“I think he did it.”

And with just that simple confession, that quiet declaration, Tim Rockford knew you were not only going to become heavily intertwined in this case, but completely wrapped up in his life.

Your best friend was dead.

It didn’t matter that they hadn’t found the body.

It didn’t matter that you were still setting up “have you seen me?” posters around town and the next two over, ignoring the looks of pity shot your way each time you taped one up on a wall or streetlight.

It didn’t matter that the detective in charge of her case had assured you that they were doing everything they could to find her.

She was dead. 

You knew she was dead.

You knew it because she didn’t show up at your traditional Tuesday night dinner, a habitual get-together to vent about your weeks and giggle over glasses of wine that she had never once missed in all the years you had known her.

You knew it because the last time you had dinner like this, she had confessed to you her sleepless nights lately, plagued with the doubts and suspicions that her jackass of a husband was seeing somebody on the side.

You had never liked Jonathan, the Mr. Haim who had been married to your dear Este for nearly a decade. You hadn’t liked the way he looked at her when they met, or the way he held her once they got married. Possessive, and not in a healthy consensual way, judging by the look in her eyes whenever he was around.

Still, Este had assured you time and time again that she loved him. And you had no doubt that she did.

But whether he loved her, respected her, or treated her right was another matter entirely.

“Last night,” Este had said slowly as she pushed her fork around the plate of alfredo she always ordered every Tuesday, avoiding your gaze as you sipped at your glass of wine. “He tasted like merlot when he kissed me.”

You paused, understanding exactly what she meant when you looked at the glass in your hand, and then the bottle of her favorite pinot noir that was sitting on the table.

“There’s charges on our account,” she continued quietly, almost curling in on herself with the information she was revealing, and you could feel your rage rising with each shaky breath she took as she told you all this. “Jewelry—silver, I think.”

One glance towards the gold ring on her finger, and you stiffened, trying to keep yourself under control at the revelations.

“Two timing son of a bitch,” you whispered angrily under your breath, setting your glass back down on the table in a way that caused the wine to slosh around inside. “Leave him.”

Este looked up with a sigh, saying your name quietly, and you said more firmly, “Leave him right now.”

“I’m not you,” she snapped, and your eyes widened, leaning back into your side of the booth as the words pierced your heart in the same moment Este realized how sharp her words were.

She sighed, leaning forward to place her face in her hands, shaking her head in a way that made her flowing blonde hair fall past her shoulders and catch the light of the Olive Garden that had been your meetup spot for these dinners for years.

“I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean that,” she whispered, bright green eyes watering as she lowered her hands and looked up at you, and you brushed off the way the words had hurt more than you would ever let her know, because you knew she didn’t really mean it, and you didn’t want to upset her any further when she was already aching so deeply.

“So?” you asked quietly after a moment of tense silence, playing with the stem of your wine glass as you watched her set her shoulders back when you implored, “What are you going to do?”

Este took a deep breath, holding it in her lungs and letting it fill her with confidence before she exhaled the words, “I think I’m gonna call him out.”

And that was how you knew her fate.

Because you knew her husband, you knew his pride and his lack of real love for your best friend.

You knew that when you showed up at Tuesday night dinner, and your usual booth was empty, without her showing up the entire night even as you sat there waiting with her favorite bottle of pinot noir—she had called him out, and he had done something about it.

It was the third week in a row now without her sitting across from you in that booth, time spent with you staring at the empty space, glass of pinot noir untouched beside you as you ripped yourself out of your depression to look down at the small notebook in your hands.

Those pages were filled with every detail you could remember of Este’s life, words crossed out and underlined, some even highlighted or emphasized in ways only you could decipher if they seemed especially important.

You had always had an analytical mind, a path that had led you to pursuing psychology in college. But then you had chased a picket fence dream instead, and now you didn’t have either a husband or a career, spending your days running your little cafe on a street corner, where you were lucky if you had even five customers a day.

The end of the pen was placed against your lips, rolling it there as you tried to recall any further details, when a voice caught your attention.

It was deep, masculine, but there was an underlying softness to it that brought your head up from your little notebook, eyes meeting the dark brown you had only seen once in person.

The other times you had seen those eyes were on a screen, collecting all the information you could about the detective in charge of the case of your best friend’s disappearance online before you showed up at his workplace to try and convince him of your theory.

Every pixelated image you studied could not have prepared you for the depth of that gaze, how wide and calming those brown eyes were when they had fixed on you from across his desk as he listened to you unravel your suspicions—and now, looking down at you next to your table, peering kindly at you through wide-rimmed glasses you hadn’t even seen online.

“Detective,” you finally found your voice, straightening subconsciously as you glanced over him, noting the same white button-up he had worn in his office, paired with another tacky striped tie, but this time with a long brown trench coat to complete the look.

How wonderfully cliche, you think with a small smile at his fashion choice, one you quickly bit back as you glanced back up into his curious face.

It was still as kind as when you had met him, but there was something else to them. A keen observation as he glanced from you, to the empty seat across from you, the untouched wine next to your little notebook, and back to your face again.

This too was something you had noted about Detective Tim Rockford from the first moment you had stepped into his office—he was a smart man, and you weren’t sure yet if that was going to help your case, or harm it.

“What are you doing here, Detective?” you asked with a tilt of your head, your hand coming up to gently close your notebook and slowly pull it closer to yourself in a way you hoped would escape his attention.

It didn’t.

In fact, his gaze seemed to hone in on the movements of your hands, focusing on your fingers as they tapped against the cover of the small notebook, and you tried to ignore the way the attention sent a shiver of something you really shouldn’t feel for this man through you.

“Dinner,” he replied simply once he pulled his gaze back up to your face, a half-smile stretching across his face.

The smile was easy, carefree almost, but there was still a hint of that cleverness to his dark eyes, and you found an eyebrow arching as you replied slowly, “Right.”

Your head tilts down, turning your wrist so you could glance over the ticking hands of your simple watch, your mind going back to the mess that had been the detective’s office as you remembered the piles of takeout containers on his desk.

The gears in your mind were turning as you looked at the face of your watch for another moment before glancing back up at him, seeing there was something else in his gaze now. A studious way he was observing you, and for some reason it sent a thrill through you, as well as stoking a need to challenge this intellectual who had found his way to your table tonight.

“A detective who lives on ordering food went to a town over from his for a bite to eat,” you found your lips moving as the challenging words fell from them, watching with satisfaction as his eyes widened a fraction before you glanced down at your watch again, “at the exact day and time his witness mentioned getting dinner with a missing woman?”

Your head lifts, a larger smile than before curling onto your lips, and you couldn’t hide it this time, nor did you want to as his eyes flickered down to it, his own lips parting slightly before curving into that same half-smile he had given you before, though there was something distinctly more mischievous to it this time.

“Ah, well,” Detective Rockford cleared his throat, reaching a large hand up to rub across the patchy beard on his chin, and you watched the way his fingertips brushed the scruff, shocked by the way your thighs squeezed together subconsciously at the sight, “Seems I’ve already been had. This is embarrassing.”

He glanced back towards you, still a kindness to his eyes as he chuckled quietly, and you let out a soft laugh, feeling your cheeks heat up a bit in your own embarrassment as you realized your body had been attracted to him for a moment.

“I promise, I didn’t come here to spy,” the detective said as he raised his hands in a gesture of peace, but your eyes were drawn to the lines on his palm, how thick and long his fingers were, and suddenly you knew that you weren’t attracted to him for just one moment.

“No?” you found your voice replying anyway, eyebrow lifting as you forced your gaze back up to his face when he lowered his hands back to his sides. “So I’m not your prime suspect that you’ve come to do a stakeout on, then?”

Detective Rockford laughed again, glancing away from you as his smile grew, and you weren’t sure if the avoidance of your gaze was because you were right or wrong.

“I’ve actually been there,” he said as he turned to point at a booth behind him, one that was down a ways from you, but leaving a perfect view of not only your table, but the rest of the restaurant. “For about half an hour. And, uh, yes, it was a bit of a stakeout, I suppose.”

He winced at the admission, lifting one of his hands to rest in the other, rubbing his thumb along his palm and you swallowed thickly, reaching out for the glass of wine you had avoided sipping from all night that you suddenly felt like you needed as the detective sheepishly met your gaze and murmured, “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

You shrugged, taking a long sip from the wine that you almost choked on as you could almost feel the way his gaze intensified on you when you swallowed it thickly, but you managed to force the drink down, and when you looked back he was looking away again, glancing over the nearly empty restaurant.

“So why come over here now?” you asked, stroking your fingers up and down the stem of your wine glass subconsciously, breath hitching at a rush of desire when his eyes followed the slow movement.

You blamed your next course of action off being a fucking lightweight, the small sip of alcohol going right to your head and empty stomach as you pulled your hands together, wrists up and offered towards him as you asked slyly, “Come to take me away, Detective?”

A laugh punched out of his chest with a heavy breath, and Detective Rockford leaned back with a startled wide-eyed gaze at your teasing, though there was a wide smile on his face and a spark in his eyes as he stared down at the soft skin you were displaying for him before he shook his head quickly.

“No, of course not, ma’am,” he assured, and you noted the faintest hint of pink coloring his cheeks, the sight making you bite your lip as that desire you should really feel ashamed of having for him right now only heightened. “Sorry, it’s just—”

The Detective bounced back on his heels for a moment, a sign of nervous energy that he quickly composed himself from, straightening up as he gestured towards your table.

“Couldn’t help but notice you haven’t eaten anything,” he admitted in a quieter tone, and you paused, your good mood fading to a pensive sorrow you had been spending most your days in lately. 

For a moment, you simply stared at the empty booth across from you, remembering the smiles, laughter and bright green eyes that used to cheer you up every single Tuesday night, before shifting beside you brought your attention back to the present.

“Well, I’ll—”

“Would you like to join me?”

You shouldn’t have asked.

You knew as soon as the question left your lips, you shouldn’t have asked it.

Maybe Detective Rockford knew it too, based on the surprise on his weathered face when he glanced back at you, the way his lips parted to answer even as he hesitated with whatever he was going to say.

It was loneliness that had made you extend the invitation, and loneliness you would surely return to when he said—

“Yes.”

And that was how you found yourself in the indescribably bizarre situation of eating dinner with the detective in charge of the case of your best friend’s disappearance.

“Murder,” you corrected as you swirled the spaghetti noodles around your fork, bringing them to your lips as Detective Rockford shook his head.

“I can’t discuss case details with you,” he said for what might have been the third time that night, and you sighed, nodding a confirmation even as you both knew you would try again eventually.

It reminded you of the first time you met in his office, how you had tried to lay out a strong case for him, watching as he took notes on what you were saying while also fending off any subtle prying from you on the details of the case.

“Do you have any evidence for your claims?” he had asked back then after you had repeated yourself with absolute conviction in saying that you thought your best friend’s husband had killed her.

“Isn’t that your job?” you had asked right back, arching an eyebrow after he raised his, stubborn intellect from both sides of the desk as you tacked on to make a point in the guise of being respectful, “Detective?”

There was a shift in him then as he regarded you, a way he was looking at you again now as you poked at him for any revelations you could get.

“We’re doing what we can, Ms.…”

The detective trailed off then, fork pausing halfway to his mouth, a piece of pasta falling from it back to his plate as his gaze suddenly shot towards your hands.

“Mrs.,” he corrected himself, and you froze, stomach turning to lead as you followed his line of sight to where you were holding your wine glass, unassuming ring on full display, small diamond sparkling in the warm glow of the cheap lights in the chain restaurant. “Sorry. I didn’t think to ask if you were married. I shouldn’t have assumed—”

Detective Rockford broke off then, and you found yourself leaning forward slightly, curious as to what he shouldn’t have assumed, but he didn’t finish that line of thought as he set his fork back down, eyes downcast away from yours now.

“Divorced, actually,” you forced the words from your mouth, wincing even as they were the truth. But the way the detective’s eyes snapped back up to yours so quickly made you feel a bit less self-conscious as you shrugged, shifting your hand to wiggle your fingers, showing off the ring more as you clarified, “The ring’s just a force of habit. And it tends to scare away most of the unwanted men.”

He chuckled a little then, shaking his head to himself as he rested an elbow on the table, placing his forehead in the palm of his hand with a mumbled, “Most of them. Not all, huh?”

Embarrassment surged through you then as you shot up in your seat, eyes wide as they tried to catch his and you stumbled over an explanation, “I mean—Detective, I wasn’t—”

Your heart was pounding, worried he had thought you were alluding to him, and not sure why you wanted him to know you weren’t.

But then his face lifted, hand curling into a fist to rest his cheek against, a slow smile curling onto his lips that looked so cunning, so knowing and fuck, there was that desire again, burning with something else, a feeling more dangerous at the softness to his big brown eyes.

Neither of you said anything else at that point, turning back to your meals to finish them in silence, even as you wondered if his heart was racing as quickly as yours every time your eyes met by accident and lingered on purpose.

“Thank you, Detective,” you said quietly once you both stepped out into the cool night air, pulling your cardigan tighter around yourself and giving him a small smile as he rifled through the pocket of his coat. “You didn’t have to pay.”

“I know,” he replied with another small smile, still knowing in a way you couldn’t put your finger on, and your pleasantly full stomach flipped as he pulled out a box of cigarettes.

He offered them silently, and you gave your own tiny smile, biting your lip again to try and hold it back even as you nodded.

The two of you moved around the side of the building, finding yourselves cast into darkness in the alley between restaurants that were in the process of closing down for the night, an atmosphere that was only broken when a flame came to life at the beckoning of his thumb on a lighter.

You watched with parted lips as his brow furrowed in concentration over those dark eyes that looked almost black behind the flickering flame, lighting the cigarette perched between his own lips before those very eyes you were admiring so openly flashed up to meet yours.

Breath catching in your throat, you felt a heat grow between your thighs as he watched you watch him for just a split second before the flame disappeared, the lighter slipping back into his pocket.

That heat began to pulse in time to your heartbeat as you heard the slow inhale of the smoke from where he stood so close now, smelling the tempting nicotine as he blew it out slightly to the side so it didn’t quite hit your face, but was close enough to tempt you before he held the cigarette out to you in offering.

Your heartbeat was pounding now, in more places than one as his other hand reached out to your side, finding yours to gently wrap his rough fingers around your soft ones, lifting your hand to wrap it around the cigarette carefully, guiding you so you wouldn’t burn yourself as you took it from him.

When your lips wrapped around the end of cigarette, you could almost fucking moan, tasting the lingering tang of the wine you had shared with him and the savory hints of the pasta you had watched him eat across the table from you.

This was bad, you realized suddenly.

This was so, so bad.

So bad because you wanted to fuck this workaholic detective, ride his cock until you both forgot about the disappearance that had taken over your lives, coming so hard with him and living in that bliss until you would eventually remember again.

Then you could do it all over again.

Your breath was trembling as you sucked in the cigarette smoke, holding it deep in your lungs to try and satisfy your lust with another vice before blowing it back out sharply by instinct.

A quiet moan that took you a split second to realize wasn’t yours told you that you had blown that smoke directly into the face of the man you had been fantasizing about, and your eyes flashed up to meet his, searching for his handsome face in the darkness that shrouded you both in this moment, giving you the allusion that nothing else existed except for this desire.

A desire you now suddenly realized you weren’t alone in feeling as your mind replayed that sound he had made just from the sensation of the smoke blowing from your mouth into his face, residue of nicotine caressing his lips in a way you wished you could—with your own mouth, your fingers, your pussy, anything.

Fuck, maybe you had too much to drink tonight.

But you hadn’t even finished the bottle together, and both of you had eaten your entire meals, but that didn’t stop Detective Rockford from leaning closer now, your head tilting up as you subconsciously shifted backwards until the wall of the restaurant hit your back.

“Detective…” you whispered, eyes half-lidded as he hummed, only able to see his head shaking in the darkness, and not the exact expression on his face even as it leaned closer to yours.

“Tim,” he murmured, and your lips parted after you pulled the cigarette out from between them, gently blowing another stream of smoke right up into his face and revering in the shuddering breath that left him as you passed the cigarette back to him. “Just Tim.”

Now it was your turn to hum, considering the offer to make things considerably more personal between you, a large step in a very dangerous direction that you were getting the distinct feeling would quickly snowball if you called him by his first name alone.

“I get the feeling you won’t be going home tonight if I did call you that,” you whispered, mouth opening to inhale the smoke he blew down towards your lips, aching to feel his own lips there instead of just the nicotine he was breathing or the taste of his tongue on the cigarette you were sharing. “Detective.”

The ache between your legs was hot and throbbing, almost unbearable now as you both stayed like that, breathing in the smoke from the same cigarette that was close to burnt out, and you knew that if he stubbed it and walked away, you were having a very long session with your vibrator tonight.

And you were right.

That intense desire that had crept up out of nowhere lingered, haunting you with its heat when the detective managed to pull himself away from you, tossing the stub of a cigarette to the pavement and crushing it under the heel of his polished dress shoes.

Neither of you acknowledged anything that had happened as you followed him out of the alley, a rush of the night breeze running past your face. You inhaled it deeply, trying to rid your lungs of the heady cigarette smoke that had mixed with the taste of him you were aching to experience first-hand, even as he backed away from you towards his little old brown car sitting a couple spots over from your small steel colored one.

“Good night, Detective,” you offered as you pulled your door open, daring a glance back over your shoulder to see him standing with one hand on his own door, still closed as he watched you about to get into your car.

“Ma’am,” he greeted cordially, although the look in his eyes you could now see more clearly in the moonlight was anything but respectful.

It was an image you clung to desperately that night, eyes squeezed shut as you replayed that quiet moan of his over and over as you rocked your hips up against the vibrator stimulating your clit and sending delicious waves of pleasure through you, pulling as many orgasms from your body as you could as you imagined how those full lips would feel on your pussy instead.

Little did you know that in the next town over, that very man was picturing you in much the same way, fucking up into his hand as thoughts of you plagued his mind. Images of you biting your lip and those intelligent eyes peering up at him invaded his thoughts every time he twisted his wrist, picturing how you would look on your knees between his thighs, whimpering when the thought of you sucking him off with that coy mouth made him cum all over his own fingers.

“So fucking unprofessional,” Tim groaned to himself after he cleaned up his mess, glaring at his face in the mirror as he shook his head and said firmly to his reflection, “Stay away from her. She’s a goddamn witness. Stay. Away.”

There was no way for the detective to know that when his case didn’t go anywhere, you were going to become much, much more.

taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @sinsofsummers @dinsdjrn @cupofjoel @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi

[enkisstories]

Detroit Police Department, Central Station (In one of the AUs where Daniel gets reactivated to work as a janitor at the DPD)

Daniel: "Hey, meerkat... Heard tell you bit off more than you could chew."

Gavin: "Obligatory "You should see the other guys" reply."

Daniel: "Coffee?"

Gavin: "Hand!"

Daniel: "You wouldn't even have to ask."

Gavin: "Good. Now I know you can't fucking run after the ones who did this, brandishing a stolen service pistol."

Daniel: "Why, I'd never do that!"

Tina: "We know. You'd use John Phillips' gun. But run after them you would."

Daniel: "Wait, you, too?!"

Tina: "Let me put it like this: When I found Gav with those injuries, I first assumed you two had had an argument."

Daniel: "You patched Gavin up? Thank you for looking out for him for me!"

Gavin: "Hey! That's MY boyfriend! And that's MY alibi girlfriend! For you two's information. Are you dipshits even listening?! Hey, there! This is the office bully calling! You can't just ignore me!!! I'm not dead yet!!!"

Tina: "If you ask me, this makes our arrangement actually easier."

Gavin: "Danny... I know you not just killed John, but also that before the betrayal you'd have killed FOR the Phillips. And they were assholes. For Tina and me, you must stop killing."

Daniel: "Because you're the bigger assholes, check."

Gavin: "C'mon, this isn't a joke!"

The fingers grasp more tightly now. Daniel Phillips is, after all, Gavin on the other side: He has a beef with Connor, is afraid to lose his place in the herd and is an unapologetic android supremacist. There is the chance that Danny cares for his humans like one does for pets, but wouldn't dream of making big concessions for them. In fact, had Daniel found Gavin first, the detective wouldn't have beeen 100% certain if his android love interest wouldn't have mercy-killed him.

But the moment of anxiety passes and Daniel nods. If he allows his whims to drive him, lets his frustration get the better of himself again, then he'll lose his new family more finally than if they were dead.

Extra: Closeup of their coffee mugs:

For Tina I picked the red one in CAS because that's her second favorite color. Then I saw the inscription in the game and found that it fit even better.

Gavin's (held by Daniel here) has ice cream cones all over it, only on closer inspection the "ice" is all cats. Definitely something he'd own!

[heroesfixated]

50/50 Heroes - The Mysterious Symbol

There's one more mystery scattered throughout the episodes I have yet to discuss: the mysterious eye-question mark symbol.

Episode 12B - The Invisibles

This is the first episode that we officially see this symbol appear on a book that J.C. is reading.

From this book, he has discovered a map leading to a secret room in the library, marked by the symbol, as well as having it on the door's handle. He calls the room a "lost time chamber", however, his description of it being a "fun room to escape the teachers" is only based on a legend.

Upon opening the door, the room appears to be empty and long abandoned.

That is, until Lenny discovered a secret switch, revealing the actual hidden room. It's interesting to point out, that we never get to see what's inside, not even a peek, leaving us with only Mo and Sam's reactions, as they remain the only people (including Lenny) to have seen the inside of this room.

As of right now, I have no idea what this room could be, or what secrets may lie in there. Their reactions don't indicate it being anything dark or mysterious, but either way, I am certain this room will come back to play a major role in season 2.

However, this is not the only episode we get to see that green book...

Episode 25A - Sam Plays With Time

In this episode, when Sam and Mo time travel 10 years back and search their grandmother's house for some information on how to get back to their timeline, Sam is seen checking this book before being interrupted by Mo and closing it.

This prompts a question (assuming there is only one copy of this mysterious book/journal): how did it end up in J.C's hands in the present time, if it used to be in Wanda's possession? The only thing J.C. says is that he "found" it, which doesn't explain anything.

And in true Gravity Falls fashion, let's not forget the question of all time: who's the author of the journal?

However, the journal and the room are not the only times we see this symbol. Interestingly enough, several adults in the show seem to have/know about this symbol as well.

Episode 13B - A Sizable Problem

For example, the symbol appears on Peter Witherspoon's (Amber's father) ID card, which we can see when Sam is calling Mo from his pocket.

Episode 16A - A Dazzling Future

We can also see it on the janitor's ID card in this episode when he announces that he is quitting the job.

Episode 22B - Good Old Mo

It was also seen drawn by Mr. Brick. Even tho his conscience has been turned into a baby by Mo's half-power, he still seems to know about the symbol and purposefully draw it on the door.

How and why do the adults know about it? Perhaps it's not a symbol representing one single person, but instead it's a group of people, which some adult characters we know belong to?

That's not all, though, as we still have a few more random appearances of the symbol to go through.

Episode 15A - Dramedy My Friend

Kevin, the town's first police dog, has this symbol on his collar in both the big picture and his statue.

Episode 25B - Who Took the Fly Swatter

Moreover, J.C. and Amber's detective board has two pieces of paper with the symbol, one is seemingly some kind of document or note.

And in that same episode, when J.C. is talking about his ancestors, the very first one is shown with the symbol on the beetles.

Episode 26 - Swatteroo the Sublime

And this collection wouldn't be complete without the mysterious person's hand. The symbol on it could be a drawing, a tattoo, a mark left after some magic, or even possibly a scar, like the one Gruncle Stan from Gravity Falls had burned onto his back.

How does all of this connect, what does it imply, and what does that symbol mean? It is seen in many almost random places and it's hard for me to pinpoint any correlation between these moments to come up with one fully explained theory. Hopefully, this mystery will also be explored and explained when or if season 2 comes.

[death-in-a-handbasket]

ranpo with his eyes close is “I’ll have your daughter home by nine, sir.” But ranpo with his eyes open is “your daughter calls me daddy too.” Ughhh he’s soooo 😍

NAH FR THOUGH.

bro goes from cutie patootie to absolute dickwhistle I’d lock tongues with in a janitors closet jesus mary and joseph

that man isn’t daddy that man is SIR. I’m in his bed saying yes detective 🙏

from the windows to the walls to the ceiling to the halls every surface every dimension every state of matter. do you understand me.

[whack-patty]

more comic practice! Context/rambles below the cut but all u need to really know is This Is Fun

OKAY SO

idk what im doing but i'd highly recommend throwing your ocs into another universe and practice writing comics n stuff with them bc it takes the edge of "oh no this has to be perfect/presentable/make sense" off bc it just gets to be absolute nonsense bc w h o gives a frick. nobody

((Plus this was genuinely good practice for how my own ocs would handle this situation/how I want to write them WITHOUT worrying about inventing the perfect side characters/scenarios. Just a "what would Simon/Ethan do in THIS situation?" and now I feel More Confident in writing them in my own stuff. 10/10 would recommend. This is your cringe pass, dear reader, join me))

for those of you who might give a frick/be curious:

one of the Detective's main antagonists is an arsonist who attacks big fancy buildings f u l l of people, which just hAPPEN to be like the ones Buster and his troupe perform / rehearse in a lot. Making them a very bright and bubbly and fun target.

I moooost likely won't be drawing the rest of this comic bc this one in particular would just get kinda dark ((ɥqʇ ʇᴉ opɹǝʌo ʇuplnoɥs ʎllɐǝɹ ᴉ os ɥƃnouǝ ʞɹɐp ʇǝƃ ɐuuoƃ sᴉ ǝuo dɹous dǝǝus ǝɥʇ puɐ)) but if it were to keep going, Simon and Ethan would split off in two teams:

Ethan would be in charge of getting everyone OUT safely, but she knows that at this point the mystery arsonist would already have blocked off all the main exits and fire escapes, so the challenge is finding a new, safer exit. The team probably would've ended up taking some weird hidden tunnels (bc hc that no matter HOW good things get, Buster always has a backup escape/hidey hole. Tis The Way of people who have come from bad places -- they're generally prepared) and having to do a mad scrambling dash out.

BEFORE the teams split, Simon would've pulled Clay and Johnny to the side to give them some unfortunate instructions --- ideally it won't come to this, but there's a good chance their group may be attacked by someone VERY dangerous before they get out. Clay and Johnny, as the largest/toughest/most experienced with danger, would be the best bet to protect the others should worse come to worse.

Simon would split off to both call the cops, find ANYBODY who may not have been with the main group (janitors etc), and if he can, stall the Arsonist themself. ((aaaaaaaaaaaand potentially some of the more ambitious/crazy troupe members sneak back to see what the frick is going on. Nooshy I'm looking at you)) (((actually that scene might be fun to draw. potentially)))

also. Simon can speak in emojis. That's how they communicate quickly without causing panic in the people around them/alerting antagonists of their plots right away. Why can he do this? that's a ramble for another day lol

if you read this far you get a royal kiss on the hand btw thanks for indulging my madness <333

[xf-cases-solved]

S1E23: Roland

Case: Our story starts by introducing the main of the episode—Roland. We see Roland in his janitor uniform, struggling to use a keycard, and getting exasperatedly reprimanded by a guy named Dr. Keats, in a very overt way of letting the audience know that Roland has an intellectual disability and occasionally struggles with basic tasks, which is in stark contrast to the others in the cold open, Dr. Keats and his colleagues, who are clearly Scientists doing Science with Math and Intellect. 

Anyway, stuff happens and Roland murders one of the scientists by causing him to get turned into hamburger with a giant wind tunnel thing, and then he does some math. Cue credits!

Mulder and Scully come to investigate, and are so very extremely puzzled when all of their leads take them to Roland, who couldn't possibly have had the intelligence to have murdered the scientist. Except, we find out that Roland... can count really super good. Boom. Case blown wide open. 

Mulder tries to relate to Roland by trauma dumping about his horrible nightmares; a Good Will Hunting-esque whiteboard plot device has suspicious handwriting; Mulder correctly guesses a password for the first time in the series; and man-popsicles may be the answer to it all.

Does someone die in the cold open: Someone gets splattered all over the cold open.

Does Mulder present a slideshow: Nah

Does the evidence survive the investigation: Did they even really have physical evidence to begin with?? Like, the man-popsicles and the picture of Roland and his brother ig? Idk, bro, I think their evidence game was weak this episode.

Whodunit: Roland, but he might be being Ratatouilled by his man-popsicle twin.

Convictions: I don't think Roland was arrested, but they took him somewhere to be evaluated.

Did they solve it: Reluctant yes. Since the case was "who turned this man into hamburger?" and they DID witness, with their own eyeballs, Roland trying to turn another man into hamburger, and are able to use that as evidence to reasonably claim that Roland committed the first murder and can put him somewhere where he can cause no further harm, they technically solved the case. That said, I don't think any of them remotely understand what happened (except maybe Mulder, tho even that's a toss-up), and they probably don't deserve my yes, reluctant or otherwise, but whatever.

[how do i determine if a case is solved? check the scale here: x]

THIS EPISODE IS SPONSORED BY: A generic autistic person who is secretly really good at a thing. Are you writing a cop procedural show and need a protagonist detective who is insanely good at picking up fine details on a case (but not so great at social interaction, haha)? Or maybe you're writing a thriller that involves a seemingly impenetrable code being broken... by the last person you'd ever suspect 👀. Are you a big fan of like, idk, "Good Will Hunting" or some shit, and want to write a similar plot but have no original ideas of your own? Might we suggest incorporating a generic autistic person who is secretly really good at a thing! It's 100% not not super cringeworthy, and that's our guarantee!  Try it today!

***

General Total Stats:

(green means stat has changed since last ep; red means new stat added to list)

Total Cases *Definitively* Solved So Far: 12 (streak restarted, ig)

Total Number of "Mulder/Scully, It's Me" Phone Calls: 1 

Total Number of Times Scully Has Conveniently Not Seen Something Crucial: 5

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Been in Mortal Danger: 7

Total Number of Times Scully Has Been in Mortal Danger: 8

Total Number of Sexually Charged, Uncomfortably Intimate, and/or Flirty Moments Between Friendly Coworkers: 11

Total Number of Autopsies Scully Has Performed On Screen: 3 

Total Number of Times Scully Plays Doctor: 2

Total Number of Times Mulder Talks to an Informant: 10 

Total Number of Times People Making Out in a Car Are Hurt or Killed: 2

Total Number of Times Someone Correctly Guesses a Password: 1 (new stat!)

Total Number of Nosebleeds: 4

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Tasted/Sniffed/Touched Something Questionable Without Following Proper Safety Procedures: 2 

Total Number of Times Someone Says "Trust No One": 1 

Total Number of Times Someone Says "I Want to Believe": 3

Total Number of Times Someone Says "The Truth is Out There": 1

Total Number of Cigarettes Cigarette Smoking Man Has Smoked: 6

Total Number of Maggie Scully Sightings: 1

Total Number of Lone Gunmen Sightings: 1

Total Number of Alex Krycek Sightings: 0 :(

Total Number of Times I Had to Look Up What State the Episode Takes Place in Even Though I Literally Just Watched It: 8½ (actually, i STILL don't know what state this took place in bc the wikipedia page doesn't say, which probably means it's in or around D.C., but -shrug emoji-) [edited to add after the fact: i went back to the episode later, and yeah no, it took place in washington state. complete opposite side of the country lmao]

Total Number of Times I Had to Look at an Episode's Wikipedia Page to Fill This Out Because It Was Fucking Confusing and/or Too Boring for Me to Pay Attention: 5

[illgetthe]

i need to draw all this so bad but i cant until tommorow so im going to type what i have here like rargagagaragaggagrgrgr-

Classic adults/kids switch places paranatural wwhatever

Johnny: physic teacher. Maniac. Steals lunch money (from the other adults)

Isaac: English. Gets way too into it, except 'it' isnt the curriculum and is instead anime he pulled up as "comparison" or "theme examples"

Isabel: ....librarian. maybe. she runs any after school programs or clubs and DOES NOT put children in a wrestling ring to fight unsafely. however would run that one game where two eight yr olds have inflatable sticks and try to clumsily beat each other ofd of balance beams. lifetime supply of caprisuns for thewinner

Ed: what if he became incredibly buff and is the gym teacher. how would that make u feel inside

Max: the new janitor. he could kill a man with a mop but hes normal so he wont. got locked inside rhe closet day 1 still

Suzy: reporter. detective. criminal. Use your imagination shes evil

Suzy, getting pushed out of the school: you cant keep dodging my questions forever! i-

Max: do you do this a lot. is this why the last guy quit

Suzy: the one thing i know is that this school has secrets. and im going to uncover them from the ground up!

Max: ok well i happen to know thanks to a few measly years of existence compared to the great span of things that trespassing is illegal. and i will call the police. or maybe just lock the windows why isnt that done already

Suzy: they are locked.

max: breaking and entering. got it. Can you also tell your goons to stop trying to sneak down that hallway as it is freshly mopped. or maybe don't, those sneakers sound very smooth and slippery and fall prone

---

johnny: hey, kids. you want to see me set this on fire?

(Cheers of joy)

----

Ed: I've not seen my parents in years.

isabel: they're dead, ed.

Ed: did you know that parents sometimes just disappear, dear children, in this very town?

Isabel: ed you do this every year please stop scaring the 12 year olds. There is no monthly parents kidnapper. It was only your parents that disappeared. Which im sorry about bu-

Ed: only mine for now. it 'twas a stormy night when it happened, and-

isabel: I love you but this is not a substitute for therapy and you know it

Ed: it is my substitute for turning evil. Now,-

[crazy56u]

Tonight should be fun; not only can I actually see the episode live for the first time in weeks, but it’s a time loop episode, so my friend already hates it on principle!

Welcome to the Hellivator: 1962 Edition.

"Yeah, everything looks good, no explosions today."

Gotta give Ben props, though, he knew on sight he had to salute.

Why are you berating the janitor, Robert Picardo?

"You are now in our state of the art control room, if you needed proof this is 1962."

"Today isn't about me, Melanie." Robert Picardo set up the bomb, calling it.

Buttons and do-dads caused Chernobyl, Picardo.

Being in 1962 at ground zero of Not Chernobyl = Quantum Leap

JFK had a busy life in Quantum Leap. He gave his moon speech the day the experimental reactor exploded, he ended the Cuban Missile Crisis the same day a kid almost shot his neighbor during a blackout, and Sam almost shot him in Dallas.

"Gotta split", the rough draft for Jimmy Neutron's existence.

Robert Picardo has shitty luck: He dies the same day the reactor explodes.

Flying cars by 2000, good fucking luck.

I love how slowly they're realizing all those deaths were a cover-up.

Time to nuke this shit.

"Why is the coolant draining?" Why did the government cover up all your deaths? Think.

And show's over, roll credits!

"Why is Ben flatlining?" Why did the reactor explode? Think.

Addison, calm down, the episode just started, Ben ain't dead yet.

Take 2! Ben, you're the Glasses Man now.

"Eugene, you feeling okay?" "I just got exploded?!" "... ... ...kay."

"What kind of 'Groundhog Day' is this?" The kind involving nukes, keep up.

"Obviously, we are dealing with a time loop. Ben just said that."

I love how Ian immediately realizes what's going on after one recursion.

Welcome to the reactor, it's still blue.

"When this nuclear reactor reaches activation, you're gonna see some serious shit!"

"We think you're in a time loop." "That's impossible. I mean, I know I just said I'm in one, but, you know, fuck you!"

Magic just flat out summarizing the plot of the episode in case you didn't get it from the promo.

So, of course Janis is still being held prisoner.

Look, Janis, two birds, one stone: You fix the time loop, you tell Ben to trust no one. Everyone wins!

"Okay, how do I save everyone's lives this time as Eugene... Run in screaming like I detected a fire at a movie theater, got it!"

"Look, if I don't have a pen, we all die!"

"Look, I know Kennedy does a speech, do not fuck with me, we don't have the time!"

Ben, you are acting super fucking suspicious.

"I pulled everything I could on time loops. You ever hear of 'Source Code'?"

I am just waiting for the episode where Ben does a leap, and afterwards, time has been altered, and Janis has just been part of the Project from the start, and no one else notices.

"Hey, Ben, I found the bomb!"

"Okay, Ben, disarm the bomb!" "I STILL DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THAT!"

"That's it?!" Ben, there's 44 minutes left.

There's death #2!

Take 3! Melanie, get banished into the Mirror Dimension!

Addison is about to murder Janis in cold blood.

Translation: This situation is so rare, they couldn't do it in OG Quantum Leap.

"Where was Ziggy two explosions ago?" "Jen, shut the fuck up about Ziggy, she's still trying to remember how to talk."

Ben, don't talk to ghosts in the elevator.

I still think Robert Picardo planted the bomb. I mean, one in five chance, I got good odds.

"Our facility is the safest! It won't ever explode more than five times!"

"You're not passionate about clean energy?" "It's 1962, what the fuck do you think?"

Eugene looks and sounds like he killed someone in Reno just to see them die.

Okay, so, theory: What if the person who planted the bomb wasn't on the elevator? There was a secret sixth person who got off after everyone else got on?

Okay, if this place is a front and Robert Picardo is a transparent holographic piece of shit, then yep, he did it. Watch me be wrong!

"There you are! How'd Ben explode the third time?"

"I'm glad Ben didn't die... but why does it feel like he did?" ...you answered your own question.

It would be awesome if somehow, during this heart-to-heart, Ben died five more times.

Ernie Hudson really wants Scott Bakula to come back to the show, and you can take that to the bank.

Take 4! Robert Picardo's taking a piss break, Ben, get in there!

"Look, I know you hate me, we need to speed through this, there's a 60% chance I didn't actually plant the bomb, we got NO TIME!"

Controversial Opinion: Coffee is poison no matter what you do to it.

"Look, I should be the one playing Addison! ME!"

Watch as Janis just fucks them over anyway.

"Ziggy doesn't think Ben can leap into the same person twice." Ziggy forgot Jimmy LaMotta exists.

Ben, why the fuck were you openly talking to her in the middle of the room?

Take 5! Janitor Time!

"Control, the janitor's acting suspicious."

And there goes Robert Picardo's lower back.

"Welcome to Quantum Leap, what you thought was Groundhog's Day was actually Rashomon, get fucked."

I love how Addison is now just openly pointing out the plot holes.

Also, Ben loved "Rashomon" more than Addison. Fact.

"How dare you talk about blowing up a nuclear reactor to a ghost!"

"Look, maybe if we just shut this down, we're fucked, pack it up and go home."

...so, Ben should've just opened that letter on the first go around.

"Kill the project or I will. Hugs and kisses, You Know Who."

"What's going on?" "Saving the fucking day!"

...I'm actually kind of sad Eugene was the bad guy. I was joking with that Reno comment.

"You're smarter than you look. I said it once, I'll say it again."

...so, because they were gonna take the Project away, Robert Picardo decided to sell out. Baby.

"Loo, I hate nuclear weapons, just let me blow us all up!"

...so, Ben accidentally caused the nuke in one go around, hot damn...

"Look, you think blowing up a nuclear reactor will change shit?! I'm from the future, bitch! LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT CHERNOBYL!"

Okay, to be fair, he aimed for the shoulder, that's what we in the business call an insurance policy.

"I will miss this song." Just Spotify it.

...Ben, don't compare yourself to Eugene. He wanted to cause Chernobyl, you want to save Addison's life. Calm down.

And cue Janis causing shit indirectly!

I'm calling it now: This technically proves my theory correct. Ben is gonna leap into Magic, and get Janis onto the Project.

"Look, I just wanna be friends, so here's a plot point- (EPISODE ENDS)"

[Next Week: Ben leaps into 2012, and has to do a Very Special Episode.]

Seriously, I think they just set up the plot of the season finale with Magic's talk with Jen...

[Also, this post is late because my internet conked out without me knowing.]

[goneforfree]

Archive #7

A ghost can be many things. A memory, lost dreams, whispers in the night. But I know what my ghosts are. They’re the sudden, severed souls of the victims I encounter in every new crime scene. As a detective in homicide, I knew the job came with sleepless nights and endless paperwork, but the supernatural was usually omitted. I can still remember the night of my first encounter. Eight years ago, a child was walking home from school and never reached his destination. After a certain amount of time, a missing child’s case turns into a homicide case very quickly. Witnesses claimed they saw the boy enter a blue sedan, and when my team tracked the car down it wasn’t far, parked at the very same school. As we searched the area, we found the perpetrator. A new substitute teacher from the outskirts of the city. But they couldn’t find the boy. I kept searching, scouring empty classrooms and janitor closets until I looked through a window and saw the boy running in circles around a tree on the playground. I run down and call my team, relief flooding my system because these cases usually always end for the grim. When I reached the tree, the boy was nowhere to be found. Only a freshly dug grave and two little shoelaces sticking up from the dirt.

“Detective! Detective Whitlock!” I stumble out of my reverie, recognizing my underling’s voice, a new hire fresh from college and eager to be out on his first crime scene. The door in my office swung open, “Detective Whitlock, have you been watching the news?” I rub my temples, “Richie I know I told you to either call me detective or Whitlock, but never both. It’s a mouthful to hear every time.” Richie nods his head twice, “Sure thing, boss. But the news-,” I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “The body found on the river. I’m expecting a call any minute.” My underling stirs in his stance as his eyes shift to my phone. I recognize his nervousness instantly, years of questioning witnesses and suspects honing my senses. “Tell me,” I demand. Richie snaps his eyes back up to mine, his mouth slightly agape. His body sighs in defeat, “I overheard from Chief Stacy that you were gonna be left out of this one, boss.” My interest peaks. Stacy always has me take the lead in newsworthy cases like this. Even the smaller hit and run cases I was at least seconded in, just to be thorough. My skills as a detective were always over subpar, to say the least. But the ghosts have given me a bigger success rate than any of my seniors at the time, leading me to evidence and witnesses, resulting in a bigger workload. I guess they want their murder solved just as much as I do. I glance down at my watch. Grabbing my jacket, I take off my tie and hide my badge into my back pocket. I toss the keys to Richie, “Now, which river was it again?” Richie fumbles as he catches the item. “But Detective Whitlock- “ I give him a sharp stare. “Uh, sir. You’re not on the case.” I stretch my arms above my head, hours of hunching over a desk taking a toll. “I’m well aware of that, Richard. But as of two minutes ago, I am no longer on the clock.”

It was the Hans River, I soon found out, where they found the body. A curious place because it was more like a stream than a river, a little too small to have rushing waters or a lot of local animal life. It was a popular spot back when I was in high school because there was a bridge up stream, a perfect height for throwing rocks or makeshift bungee jumping. Despite that, I’ve only visited twice. I wasn’t very popular amongst my peers then, not keen on making friends after being forced into a big move to a new city. Not much has changed, thinking about all the dismissed lunch and party invites from coworkers. I tell myself it’s because I can’t afford small distractions, not when there’s a dead mother trying to show me the murder weapon her husband used or a dead teenager wailing over her own body. The dead take priority over the living.

“Alright, boss. Here we are.” Richie slows the car to a stop just behind a slew of police cars and news vans all parked along near the bank of the river. I shake my head, already noting the sloppily placed boundaries on the crime scene. They should have at least pulled it a couple hundred feet farther from the river in case of footprints or tire tracks. The weather was awful, bleak and grey, a cold front sweeping over the city making me wish I brought my thicker jacket. We walked towards the throng of reporters, my hands shoved into my pockets, and pushed through them until we reach the caution tape. I try to peer through bodies of police until someone roughly puts a hand on my shoulder, slightly pushing me back. “James? Man, I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.” I recognize Officer Montez, a street cop I’ve worked with many times. Dependable and follows order well. I’ve requested for him multiple times for those reasons, but I suspect he thinks that makes us friends of sorts, always calling me by my first name. I brush his hand off, now overwhelmed with confusion. “I think I can decide that for myself, Montez. I’m off duty, just a curious bystander.” I spot Chief Inspector Stacy not far off, and with my pride hurt from the blatant omittance from the case, I wave my arms and call out, “Chief Stacy!” Montez quickly darts his head back and forth from us, trying to pull my arms down and quiet me. “Trust me, James. This ain’t a good idea.” The Chief looks my way, his eyes widened behind his lenses before motioning Montez to move me out. Richie starts to protest, but I quickly shut him down, opting to wait for the media to die down before causing a scene. Officer Montez escorts us to one of the police vans. “Just uh, wait here for a minute, man. The Chief’s almost done so he’ll come by and see you soon.” And with another hand on my shoulder, more like a pat this time, Montez walks back into the crowd. I can feel Richie looking at me, waiting for some sort of answer as to why this case is so off limits, until I see a familiar silhouette from a distance. Long black hair tied tightly back, a signature red puffer jacket, and a DSLR resting on her hip. I leave the van, telling my underling to stay there, and a run up to greet her. “Hey! Hey, Ami wait!” My voice came out in a rush, eager for her to turn around. When she does, her face lights up and I have a feeling so does mine.

Ami is a reporter I became familiar with, dare I say almost friends, after being interviewed by her so often in all my cases. She seemed to find my inner workings noteworthy, asking more about the emotional intricacies and connections of my cases rather than the plain facts other reporters salivated over. It wasn’t until our fifth interview where I realized Ami and I went to high school together. She was also rather secluded, her head bent down over a book most of the time. Funny thing about outcasts, we don’t even fit in with each other. The more I saw Ami, the more she intrigued me. She’s of Japanese descent, her parents moving her the States after the earthquake that devastated her city. I finally asked her to lunch one day, interested on why she reports the way she does. I never find myself dwelling on someone that was alive for too long and so I knew there was something about her I needed to figure out. We met at a diner, her choice, and I arrived fifteen minutes early as I always do. Ami arrived right on time, sans red puffer and camera and her hair loose for the first time. She spotted me, smiled, and walked over to sit down. “Hello, James.” Her tone was always soft and barely above a whisper, she talked to you as if she’s telling you a secret. After I indulged her in small talk, understanding that it’s a custom people usually follow to make others feel comfortable, I decided to ask her the question that’s been running through my head. “Why did you become a reporter? It seems to me you’re more fit to be a therapist or guidance counselor.” I flinched after the words left my mouth. This is why you don’t have friends, Whitlock. Ami laughed, “I was waiting for you to ask me that.” She gets a far look in her eyes, like a hundred memories flash through them, staring through me more than at me. “Do you believe in ghosts?” I froze. She’s waiting for my answer, and I hold my breath. “No,” I lie. Ami rested her back against the booth, her arms crossed. “That’s alright, most people don’t. I’ve never seen one, but I know their sadness.” My ears perked, “So you can… feel them?” I asked. Ami shook her head and smiled, like I just said a joke that didn’t land. “After the Tōhoku tsunami, Japan was left in ruins in more ways than one. The number of tragic deaths was felt by the whole country. The day after the tsunami it started to snow and the dead were stuck, frozen in place. As time passed, there were many ghosts that came from the land, seeking loved ones or roaming aimlessly before falling back into the sea. But we do not fear them. We believe that the dead are much closer to the living than you think, like a shoji screen sliding back and forth, there is only a thin door that separates us from them.” I listened intently to her, seeking an answer to an unspoken question. “I knew I wanted to be a reporter to give a voice for the distressed families, but also because these tragedies always leave a ghost behind. I want to find their voice too.” She gave me an inquisitive stare, “Your interviews have always been the ones I look forward to. It’s almost like you know the victims, know their sadness.” I almost felt compelled to tell her the truth. That I’m plagued with their grief at all times and that I felt like I had no choice but to solve the case or else I’d be haunted for the rest of my life. A curse, not a blessing. “I guess I’m just that good,” I gave her a cocky grin and leave it at that. Ami laughed again. “I guess you are,” but then she paused. “The dead are grateful towards you, James. You’re their voice.” I never thought of it that way. At first it spooked me. The little boy in the playground, the woman stuffed into a closet, all the way to five friends gathered around a basement where they were tortured and murdered. It felt like a curse to not only find the bodies, mangled and bloody, but to also see the aftermath that the horror doesn’t end in death. But Ami saw this grief and poured light into it. She understands that life is fragile, that death is always near, and that’s why we should still live, even for one more moment. A blessing, not a curse. Lunches with her became a part of my routine after that day.

“I hate the break it to you,” I huff, out of breath from my sprint, “but I’m not on this case.” Ami tilts her head to the side, silently asking me why. I shrug, “I don’t know why either, but I’m keen on finding out. The Chief’s got some explaining to do leaving his best detective off a big one like this. I mean, there’s more reporters here than police,” my eyes cut to her, “no offense.” She shakes her head with a smile, my comment not bothering her. “Detective Whitlock!” I shift my gaze behind her and I see Chief Stacy making his way towards us. That was quicker than I thought. I look back at Ami, “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” She doesn’t say anything, her eyes look glossy. I open my mouth to ask her what was wrong, but the Chief calls my name again. I repeat my promise of a swift return and then made quick strides towards the Chief a short distance away. The older gentleman’s face as bleak as the sky, his demeanor dejected in a way I’ve only seen after yet another case is left cold. I decide to ask first before he could start any excuses. “What’s going on here, Chief? Why is everyone telling me I can’t be involved?” Stacy steadies his gaze at me, “Son, it’s the reporter.” I furrow my brows. What reporter? He sighs, “It’s Ami. The body we found is Ami Satori.” I whip my head around. Long, black hair tightly tied back, red puffer, and a camera slung around her neck. Ami doesn’t smile, she doesn’t laugh, she just has that faraway look again.

A ghost can be many things. A hundred memories, dreams gone and lost, a voice in the night. But I know who my ghosts are, and this one can stay.

[abyssalbusiness]

DAY 1

—in which the detective finds his lead.

The darkness strangled him, wrapping about his body like an unfathomable serpent, ever moving and ever tightening into every gap where sunlight should reach. Shallow breathing against his neck as he stood frozen, petrified into stone, not with fear but with apathy. He's been here before, he’s felt the jaws of the beast wrap around the back of his head until it enveloped him more than once. As the beast's jaw unhinged once again, a sound he hasn't heard in years snaked its way through the invisible vocal chords.

"Dmitri! How many times do I have to do this before you come to your senses?" The malformed creature hissed, chunks of vantablack slipping from its jowls as it sunk its teeth into every last drop of consciousness Dmitri had left. His sibling's voice clung to him as his eyes fluttered open.

"Wake the fuck up! What's taking you so long?" The familiar low voice of his younger sibling shouted over the banging coming from the other side of the house. Dmitri's chest heaved as he woke, drenched in sweat, the beads dripping down the back of his neck. It would almost be sensual if it wasn't so disgusting.

"Be patient, I'll be there in a moment." He called back, his voice booming as he slowly tore himself from the groove in the bed where he had laid, where the rusty springs clawed their way out of their plush grave and into his back. Slouching, he wandered across the wooden floorboards, kicking empty beer bottles out of the carefully curated path he’s made himself over the years. Like Moses, he must part the sea (of wrappers and empty cans) to save the day, finally making it out of his room, into the actually rather clean rest of the cabin, and to the front door. The door bent with the force at which it slammed into the wall as it opened, rocking on its hinges and leaving a divot in the wooden log exterior.  Standing on the other side was a rather lanky man, pale complexion speckled like a vanilla poppy seed muffin which contrasted with his subtle mascara and lipstick, as well as streaky white hair, not unlike Dmitri’s own greyed bedhead. His glasses make his eyes look like a beetle’s, and his spindly arms don’t help the appearance, covered up by excessively expensive monochrome grey pinstripe fabric which contrasts his solid black antlers as well.

"You scared me half to death, I thought you finally went and died on me."

"I wish I had." He scoffed, not in the mood to deal with this walking liability. But then again, when is he?

"And here I was thinking you cared about me in the slightest. If you had checked your voicemails, you would have known. I left you not one, but… Many! Many many messages pleading for a response to little ol’ me. What if I was in danger and calling you for help, I could have been kidnapped, dying! You disappear for months, stop answering my calls, yet seem shocked when I turn up at your doorstep? What else am I supposed to do, it’s not like I can call you a welfare check again. Honestly I have no clue how you survive, drinking yourself into a stupor, which- Don’t you dare deny, I see that look. You’re not ten anymore, no one’s going to look after you when you throw your little fits and go into the shadows for another m–"

“Are you done?” 

“No! No, not yet. I’m here for an actual reason. A stupid reason, a braggadocious one, but a reason nonetheless. I’m being promoted.” His eyes shifted as he looked upwards, attempting to meet Dmitri’s eyes, which wasn’t exactly easy when the man was the size of a god damned Alaskan moose, having to lean down to even get his head through the doorframe.  

“Congratulations Sam. What are you now? Head janitor?" Dmitri went to shut the door as he spoke in his usual monotone, voice dripping with exhaustion. The swing of the door was blocked by one of Sam's sharp toed dress-shoes.

"Ow." He hissed, peeking back into the room again slowly as he continued, "Ha-ha. Very funny. Maybe you should have gone into comedy instead of rehab? No, Financial Advisor for the Atticus Nihil. I thought you in particular would love this news."

Dmitri paused, his train of thought derailed as he shoved the door open again, placing his hand on the top of the doorframe and lowering his head slightly to see the anxious blank stare of his buggy little sibling better. Sam Varantini, someone who he had seen do coke off of a port-a-potty toilet seat, working for one of the richest, most successful men in the world? One of the most famous models and saints? Saints, which normally aren’t allowed anywhere near either of them? It was hard to process, seemingly a bigger shock to him than the chance this might allow him to open up the cold case on the old CEO, Simeon Nihil.

"Nihil? Nihil, like N-S, right? You're kidding." He took a step back, letting out a soft laugh as he paced, rough fingers tangling through his slicked back hair. "When do you start? How long do you think it’ll take to weasel me into an interview with this guy?"

“I can ask him if he’s willing at all, from what I've heard he's not exactly one for chitter chatter though, so don’t get your hopes up. I start later today, I would have just called to tell you the news but, hm, I wonder why I couldn't do that?" He squinted, crossing his arms like a disappointed parent as he looked to his older brother, adjusting his tie. "Until then, sort yourself out. You look disgusting, I'll buy you a new suit if you really need one."

“A saint as always, Sam. Saint as always.” Dmitri’s usual blank look cracks into an amused smirk, putting up his foot to kick Sam square in the back as he turns to walk away, stumbling and slipping from the porch and into the muddy grass of the dense forest Dmitri hides himself away in. 

He shuts the door quickly, muffling the shouted curses as he steps back into his shabby little living room, only lit by the warm light of the sun peeking through the strips of torn up blackout curtain and stapled wood. The television hisses as he reaches deep into the tattered loveseat, finally fishing out his dead, outdated flip phone. Probably a good idea for that to be functional if he’s waiting on calls again. As it finally booted back up, he quickly cleared out the voicemails-He already knew what it would be full of, and began clumsily typing a number into the keypad, tucking the device in the crook of his neck as he kneels by the carved dresser he keeps his box television on, digging through dusty shoe boxes as the ringtone shifts into a raspy female voice.

“Hey, this is Titania Novikov, I’m uh, not in. Or something, so, just leave your message and I’ll probably get back to you eventually. Alright, cool. Bye! Beep.” Followed by a mechanical droning tone. Taking a slow, deep breath, Dmitri opens his mouth to speak, eyes shifting. He shuts the phone, and goes back to rummaging.

The bullet-train is empty, cold metal stretching as far as the eye can see until it delicately arches over the horizon line. An occasional odd human, dressed in scruffy clothing, chatting about their day to day lives sit dotted throughout. Fluorescents flicker, lighting up the rather obnoxiously patterned cloth seat covers, no doubt there to hide the years of muck excreted upon them by careless or clumsy individuals. Sam preferred to bring her own fold-out stool, slotting it between the seat and the window as a polite refusal to host the next super-virus (despite the mud that smeared across her suit front, no doubt full of active and hungry bacteria). She was a tad too long legged of a man for it to look comfortable, the tips of his snakeskin shoe peaking out into the aisle as she awkwardly crossed one leg over the other, but she carried herself with such arrogant, world endingly flippant douchebaggery that even if anyone were to care, no one would dare say a word. On her lap, her briefcase is currently being repurposed as a desk, papers strewn across it as she attempts to get all of her ducks in a row before meeting such a celebrity as THE Atticus Nihil. To say he was her celebrity crush might be a bit of an overstatement, but she certainly could appreciate someone who knows the art of a swindle as much as he does.

Riding the train from the capital of Norvir, where Dmitri chooses to stay, isolated in the middle of the sea, all the way to Stranya is a long, long trip. As much as Sam loves vast endless seas of bubbling water, she feels a wave of relief as it shifts to craggy ice, the tips of skyscrapers finally peeking their heads over the hazy white line of fog in the distance. Norvir is much more… Well, not exactly rural, more like a frigid, desolate wasteland. It’s known for three things; lush forests, giant bears, and Sins. Technically, legally speaking, Sam is supposed to be contained there with the rest of her 'siblings', but the only one who really listened to that ruling was Dmitri, the oldest of the group. Stranya however, now that was a place a man like him could enjoy. Highrise penthouse apartment just above the cloudline, sad little trees smothered in snow, luxury cars, one giant megacity. The nightlife was the best part too, the way the sky stayed a soft purple even in the dead of night due to the light pollution, neon signs, scantily clad women stumbling out of bars, the sweet sweet smell of vomit in just about every bathroom past 11pm, it was his own personal Paradisus Vice. There was something refreshing about embracing the primal need for more which she so often had to repress. Not in the great city of Stranya.

As the train screeched to a halt, passengers all gathered their luggage and children, shuffling into the frigid concrete jungle. Sam took her sweet time, folding in the sides of her stool and slipping it back into her leather briefcase. Her to-do list was short for today, sure, but her stomach was twisted in knots. Pick up her car, change out of that mud covered jacket and attempt to find a way to cover those stains on her pant legs, drive her car, go meet her new boss for her first day, all without being late. Usually she’d be fine, she tries to care as little as possible about most things, but this was an insane offer that realistically she should not have ever been given in the first place, so fucking this up could be a career (or life) ending mistake.

It was a particularly cold day, the hair in Sam’s sharp nose freezing with each breath in and defrosting with each breath out. Thankfully, her car was parked close, an all black Lamborghini with shiny, well kept rims. Warming her hands over the vents, she enjoys the well kept roads, dodging and weaving past cars on her way to the largest of the glass towers which sit patiently in the middle of it all, waiting just for her. The N-S Co. building is surrounded by an odd maze of parked cars, one solid loop going through towards the main entrance. Her left foot taps against the plush matt as she checks her watch, whipping her car around the bend and to the large mirrored archway, reminiscent of the beak of a bird with two large frosted glass doors where the throat should be. With dramatic flair, she fixes her short messy hair, leaving the door open as he tosses her keys to a man who she can only assume is the Valet.

The interior of the office space felt almost liminal, absent of the usual bustle and chatter of a usual lobby, replaced with elevator music which was a tad bit too soft, and the buzz of the sterile white fluorescent lamps which line the white walls. An overarching motif of reflection was clear in the romanesque columns and carved wings which well wiped mirrors sit between, Sam taking a moment to make sure he had gotten the dirt from his dress shirt (having left the jacket behind) and making sure his hair perfectly swooped around his short antler-esque horns. The receptionist was a lanky, skeletal, androgynous figure, angular juniper green hair contrasting with their sharp red lipstick, pale eyes glazed as they stared at their computer, absentmindedly clicking nothing to keep themselves from nodding off.

“Excuse me, I’m here for my initial meeting with Mr. Nihil? Last name Varantini, financial advisor.” Sam speaks softly, voice still seeming to echo back to him.

  The receptionist puts a finger up, as though telling him to wait just a moment, swiping up a set of keys with their long nails and holding them out.

“Top floor, the elevator is through the office space on the left.” They gave a forced customer service smile, immediately snapping back to blank as Sam took them, the small outdated phone ringing loudly as they quickly snatched it up, their voice echoing as Sam turned to leave the room. “Hello, this is Lux from N-S co. How can I help you today?”

Each sharp click of his heel is loud and reverberating, bouncing from cubicle to cubicle. Each peek through the lines is reminiscent of looking through a doorway in a house of mirrors, perfectly aligned and repetitive. Each aisle’s inner cubicle has a little engraving with braille underneath, 001-200, 201-400, 401-600, so on and so forth. Underneath the first set is a piece of printer paper, taped on, the words “ELEVATOR IS STRAIGHT AHEAD” plastered on in 72 point Ariel font, very helpful, or else Sam may have assumed it was down aisle 801-1000. Each of Sam’s steps were exponential, like a polyrhythm, uneven and quickening in rate as he eye’d his wrist, the arms of his watch getting dangerously close to late. 15 minutes passed, aisle 801-1000. Another 12, 1801-2000, and after a total of 30 minutes, his walk finally came to an end, lungs heaving as the elevator before him gave a hesitant, quiet ding, opening up like a comforting hug after that sprint.

Another mirrored room, thin gold plated railings spiraling around him, blocking his endless view of the back of his head, now soaked in a thin layer of sweat which trickled into his collar. The buttons on the panel were crammed together, but at the very bottom, separated from the rest, was a little star. Floor 220 A, another little paper besides it, no words, just a simple arrow. The button has a crisp click, not often used, clearly. With another check to his watch, Sam lets out a slow, shaky sigh. At this point, it’s not his fault he’ll be late by a good 15 minutes when this building seems directly built to crush his spirit. The one positive was that the elevator was quick, his knees buckling underneath him as it lurched upwards, the ding of passing each floor sounding like one consistent tone, lifting a good foot off the floor when it screeched to a halt, landing flat on his ass as he took a moment to reorient himself. Soaked in sweat, nauseous as all hell, and with his glasses half on his face, he skittered up to the door, giving a hesitant knock.