#from teacher to police officer

[reallycoolsoup]

why did your sibling throw a chair at the elementary principal 🍿

So me (gender fluid)and my siblings (older brother and older nonbinary sibling(chair thrower) )all got in trouble a lot for not going to after school tutoring because it's boring as shit

Well the principal (who was a huge bitch who genuinely hated my family) literally stood in the doorway to prevent my sibling from getting to the bus to go home

So they picked up a stool and threw it at her, then dashed through the door

3 male staff ended up restraining my sibling and the principal threatened to call the cops until my mom showed up and diffused the situation

My sibling was in 4th grade, the entire situation was ridiculous

I can point to this asshole principal as the reason I don't trust authority to ever do the right thing, my sibling was suspended for 2 weeks and the principal got on my ass and my older brothers ass for every little thing going forward, I got lunch detention 3 times in a week for doodling on my homework

Anyways my sibling throwing a metal stool at her was one of the coolest things ever

[thinkingnot]

went to the place the high school’s finals gonna be taken at and the examiner told us if our path were obstructed tmr morning ask for help from anyone on the streets (just thought its kind of wholesome yk) :]

[fingertipsmp3]

The overall concept of kids bringing their phones to school BAFFLES me tbh. Like what do you mean 10 year olds have phones? What do you mean they’re allowed to bring them to school???

[frogaroundandfindout]

Words can’t describe how fucking weird I think dick grayson should be.

How overwhelmingly intense I want him to be in normal meetings with authority figures because he’s been talking with police officers and FBI agents since he was 10 and is now somewhat incapable of turning off that switch when he walks into conference rooms and shit.

Like he needs to be the most intense mf in the dmv line.

He is physically incapable of not making unblinking eye contact with people in suits

When he walks into a conference room he has to restrain himself from sitting at the head of the table (titans team leader) or the chair to the right of the head (Batman’s partner).

His teachers were weirdly charmed when an eleven year old dick immediately went from laughing hellion to tiny “business man” when they asked to speak to him after class (more like tiny crime fighter used to giving Batman debriefs but they don’t need to know that)

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

so like. fnaf movie. after night five, all outside observers know is "this 30yo guy with severe anger issues + his 10yo mentally ill sister just walked out of his collapsing workplace with an unconscious, stabbed police officer, saying that someone inside the building tried to kill them but we can't get into the building to check. we went to their house and the aunt who was fighting for custody of the child is dead on the floor. the guy's career counselor is missing, as is his babysitter and her family and apparently they're all dead in the building we can't get into." and like. that all looks suspicious as FUCK however we know that in the few-weeks timeskip both mike and abby seem happy and fine so it's not like mike was arrested or anything. he seems to be more adjusted and is happily talking with her teacher so i doubt he's under stress of interrogation or anything

there's a lot of implications there that mike mighta pulled something but it's all circumstantial evidence at best. i'm sure in jane's autopsy and crime scene evidence they couldn't find any evidence of mike being the one to attack her, esp since it was probably just golden freddy bopping her in the head so they dont even have the weapon, and if she was strangled they'd be able to tell it wasn't by bare hands and they couldnt get prints or anyth. especially if golden freddy is a FULL ghost and thus left no trail.

mike would be smart enough to only tell the cops what they need to know without mentioning ghosts to sound crazy. abby might be more honest with the cops just bc of #autism but they'd be more likely to consider her talking about ghosts and imaginary friends as a child's way of coping, and they cant get anything out of her that would incriminate mike. ADD TO THAT that mike has wounds that are clearly defensive and is SUPER banged up and his wounds would likely match his story way better than evidence of him attacking anyone, AND that there's likely footage and witnesses of him being in the pharmacy and then driving to work (and thus not in the area to attack jane), AND if/when nessie wakes up she'll probably vouch for mike as well, and the cops dont have anything on him

though i DO wonder if they would have records of vanessa patching him up in the police outpost. if they do, that would also back up mike's story as it's 1) far away from the aunt jane crime scene, 2) confirms that he and vanessa were working together, so either she's complicit in Crime™ or his story is accurate and she was helping him save his sister. him going to defend her instead of calling backup is also consistent with his personality of getting triggered and jumping into action around child abduction, esp w/ his sibling in danger

considering what abby would probably say, AND the history of freddy's, it's likely that they would come to the conclusion of is "someone [likely the og kidnapper from the 80s] found out that the guy working at freddy's had a sister, kidnapped abby from her house while her aunt was babysitting and tried to recreate the crimes, his story of him and vanessa defending her and escaping vaguely checks out." whether or not mike would incriminate vanessa by mentioning her dad was the killer is up in the air, and there's obviously some huge holes that are left from nobody believing that there are ghosts in the building but that would probably be the eventual conclusion

but throwing that all away, it would be really, REALLY funny if the rest of the town, being really fuckin nosy and getting into the juiciest gossip they've had in decades, took one look at michael "big teddy bear falling asleep on himself" schmidt and said "there's no way. there's no way this guy murdered his aunt, stabbed an officer and then destroyed his own workplace, especially when he really needed that job and was on sleeping medication," and then turned around to look at abby "neurodivergent in the early 2000s (ableist af time period)" "vocally hates her aunt" "doesn't talk to anyone and claims that she can see ghosts" "vaguely possessive of her brother" "claims that she found the guy who hurt her friends and got him jumped by a cupcake(?)" schmidt and said "oh my god. it was her."

and nobody's gonna directly say anything but they've got cautious eyes on the situation and someone quietly slips mike a copy of the bad seed to see if he has a realization but instead he's just like "hey this book kinda reminds of that golden freddy kid lmao. wonder how he's doin" and then we smashcut to golden freddy kid poking springtrap with a stick

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Real Talk: Ace Didn't Need to Ask For Help, It's On Garp

i always hate when i see comments about how ace was an idiot or ace should have just asked garp for help because, no? like dawg wtf do you mean?

the one thing we have been told repeatedly across the manga and anime is that ace could have lived his entire life being perfect and he still would have ended up on that podium

he could have become a marine, a police officer, a teacher, a chef and all of that would have been reduced to nothing the moment his parentage was discovered

yes, ace became a pirate of his own volition, but sengoku never mentioned his piracy

he never mentioned all the criminal activity ace did as the captain of the spade pirates or even later as the second division leader of the whitebeard pirates

you know what sengoku did bring up though the moment he got on that damn podium? ace's parentage

he mentions nothing that gained ace his bounty to begin with when he gets that den den mushi in his hand. why?

because it doesn't matter that ace is a pirate. what matters is that they are eradicating the last gol d roger's bloodline

bear in mind that they were killing pregnant women and young children who could have even had the slightest possibility of being roger's lover or kin

akainu deadass says that he doesn't care if every other pirate at marineford escapes as long as ace and luffy died and he would ensure their deaths personally. and for what? not their piracy. none of their crimes. not even for ensuring that the truth that certain countries and lands that were actually saved by pirates instead of the marines never got out

but because their fathers were gol d roger and monkey d dragon respectively

solely because of that, he deemed neither of them deserved to live

and as far as garp goes - i love garp as much as the next person but garp has never done anything for ace to trust him enough to ask for help even if he felt he deserved to ask

garp's negligent parenting coupled with the abusive words ace grew up hearing led ace to believe he didn't even deserve to be born. when he even asks garp if his being born was a good thing, garp can't even tell him 'yes'. he just says 'time will tell'. my brother in the blue seas, that is an elementary schooler questioning his right to exist

ace is defeated by blackbeard in episode 325 (chapters 434-441), luffy hears about his execution being set in episode 416 (chapter 522) and then finally ace is killed in episode 483 (chapter 574). that is 158 episodes and 140 chapters total and in that time what ace receives from garp are conversations that boil down to

"you did this to yourself"

"i just wanted you to become a fine marine"

"i don't have sympathy for criminals but i do have sympathy for family"

and garp actively preventing those who wish to save ace from reaching him. yes after akainu strikes ace, garp does react viscerally with instinct to protect his grandson, but that's too little too damn late at that point

garp having his moral dilemmas mean nothing when, however long ace spent in impel down, he isn't trying to help him

garp having his 'wishing things had been different' thoughts mean nothing when garp is preventing people from saving his grandson

there's a reason garp lets dadan beat and berate him when they reunite in windmill village and it's because he knows she's right

over the course of 20 years, garp has consistently chosen work over ace and luffy. as much as i love dadan and co, bandits are not a good choice to have raise your grandkids and then be the surprised pikachu meme when neither of them wish to become marines

garp's inability to see past the system he disdains yet clings onto actively shoots him in the foot

prevents him from seeing that ace is right when he says he never could have become a marine

luffy could have never become a marine. i do hear arguments saying that luffy might have had a fair chance considering garp is biologically his grandfather but i say that's truly up in the air considering how, even with that knowledge, akainu still wants to put luffy on a poster

but that's all to say, asking why ace never asked garp for help is ridiculous

the fuck would ace look like asking the man who has done nothing but

unintentionally fostered ace's resentment towards luffy in their early childhood

told ace it was his own fault he landed where he did

falcon punched marco halfway across marineford

for help?

and that's not even mentioning the fact that up until that point, ace didn't believe he deserved to live. he didn't think he had the right to exist. the only thing that kept him going up until that point was hoping he'd find an answer that justified his being born and his love for luffy and sabo. ace tells luffy in his dying breaths if it weren't for the two of them, he would have gave up on living a long time ago

yes, garp loves ace and luffy

he loves them both dearly but he is also incapable of putting them before work, before his ideals of justice. these two truths can coexist at the same time. garp's stubborn to a fault and his moral dilemma resulted in both inaction and the prevention of ace's escape

so to say that marineford would have gone differently if ace had asked is seriously undermining the character work. because in reality, it's up in the air on whether or not that would have done anything. ace asking garp for help could have gone either way and that's the beauty of the gray area regarding garp's actions during the summit war

and yes, i can get why it's frustrating that ace turned around to fight akainu when he could have just left and got it back in a blood a different time

but aside from ace having a temper about specific topics, we do get an answer as to why he couldn't bring himself to runaway when we finally are able to dive into his past with luffy and sabo:

he doesn't want to run away from any situation because ace is deathly afraid of losing something if running away ends up being the bad call

and in that moment, luffy was behind him

even if akainu hadn't talked down whitebeard, ace would have inevitably turned back around because he wouldn't have been able to shake his fear of losing something or someone he cared about

as long as there is something precious for him to potentially lose, ace will never run

he was doomed from the start

his being the son of gol d roger doomed him from the start

and that's what makes ace so tragic

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 1: The Change

“Happy birthday, to you,” your teacher, Mrs. Palmer, and classmates finish singing to you.

“Thank you, everyone,” you giggle, happy that everyone did something special for your birthday in the middle of class.

You’re now six-years-old and your Momma’s promised to take you to Little Luigi’s Pizza Place after school, where you’ll get to open your presents from her, as well as eat all the pizza you want and have a cookie pizza for free! You begged her to let you stay home, but she laughed and said that she had to meet her publisher for her upcoming book, but she promised that after she was done, she’d come check you out and the two of you would go celebrate your birthday.

You look up at the clock (good thing it’s digital, because you haven’t learned to read the old clocks yet!) and see that it’s almost time for lunch.

“Come on, Momma,” you mutter to yourself. “Get here, already.”

Seriously, you didn’t plan to eat lunch, so you didn’t bother packing lunch today!

Just then, the intercom above the door chimes.

“Mrs. Palmer,” the school secretary asks.

“Yes?”

“Can you please send Y/N Gould to the office, please? There’s someone here to see him.”

“Yes,” you cheer, making a few in the class laugh.

“Of course,” she responds before the device clicks off.

You grab your backpack and toss it over your back before rushing towards the door.

“Bye, Y/N,” one classmate says as you pass her.

“Happy birthday,” another says as you near the door.

“Enjoy your birthday, Y/N,” Mrs. Palmer says, her usual bright smile on her face. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Remember to have your worksheet done.”

And with that, you leave the room and skip down the hall to the main office, happy that your school is small so you don’t have to walk far. As you do, all you can think about is all the pizza you’re about to eat! And the chocolate chip cookie pizza that you get after that! And don’t forget about the presents! Maybe you’ll get the new Pokémon Platinum game for your DS, or a new stuffed animal, or maybe a new movie!

The suspense is practically tearing you apart and you enter the office, ready to greet your Momma when you see… Sheriff Foley. And he looks… sad. You look to the secretary, who’s standing behind him, and she has the same sad look.

“Y/N,” he says.

“Sheriff Foley,” you say, looking around to find Momma, but not finding her. “What’s wrong? Where’s Momma?”

“Son,” he says as the secretary begins to cry a bit. “I have some bad news.”

You feel a weird feeling in your stomach, like when you eat a bunch of ice cream and get sick, but this feeling is worse than that.

“What?”

“It’s about your momma. I got a call from the police in Vegas and they said there had been a car accident. Some drunk fool leaving a casino hit your mother’s car.”

You feel your heart stop at the words “hit” and “mother.”

“Is she ok,” you manage to say. “She’s at the hospital, right?”

The secretary’s crying becomes louder.

“I’m sorry, son,” he says, a tear falling from his eye. “He was going too fast when he hit her. She’s gone.”

“Gone? Like missing?” Now, you’re crying. “Why can’t they find her?”

“No, gone as in she’s no longer with us.”

“Like… she’s gone to heaven,” you whisper.

He nods and it’s then you feel your entire world collapse. You remember what Momma said about going to heaven when you saw a squirrel asleep on the side of the road. She’d said that he had gone to heaven after falling asleep and that he wouldn’t be waking up again. That he’d always be there.

“No,” you cry, tears and snot falling from your face. “No, she can’t be in heaven! She said she’d be here!”

Sheriff Foley takes you into his arms as you cry.

The next few days go by in a blur. You stay with Sheriff Foley and his wife until the funeral. Unfortunately, the accident was so bad that the casket had to stay closed, so you weren’t able to see her one last time before she’s put in her grave. The whole town of Goodsprings is there; she was an author writing best-selling romance novels set during the Age of Sail and a pillar of the community, so everyone wanted to be there to say their final goodbyes to her and their condolences to you.

You said nothing during the whole thing. You hadn’t said anything since Sheriff Foley told you that Momma had gone to heaven and that she wouldn’t be back. The only noise to leave you is the sound of crying.

“Y/N,” he says as you watch the grave be filled with dirt. “When we leave, we’ll have to go by your house. You need to pack anything you need.”

“Why,” you ask, your voice sore from crying for days.

“Because a man is waiting there for you and when you have everything you need, he’ll take you to McCarran Airport. From there, you’ll go to Gotham City in New Jersey.”

You couldn’t believe your ears, first you lose Momma and now you’re losing your home?

“Why do I have to leave,” you say, tears streaming down your face.

“Because the county did some checking and found your father through a DNA test.”

You freeze at that. Your Daddy?

“Momma, do I have a Daddy,” you asked her once.

“You do, baby, but he doesn’t know about you,” she answered. “We met years ago, back when Momma was young and dumb. When I found out I was having you, I couldn’t find him. That’s when I realized I had to act right.” She rubbed her hand through your hair. “It’s thanks to you that I’m not like that anymore.”

That conversation goes through your head as you ride back to your house. You’re actually going to meet your Daddy? When you pull up to your house you see a fancy car sitting in the driveway and an elderly man in a suit standing next to it, watching you as you get out.

“I’m sorry, who’re you,” Sheriff Foley asks.

“Alfred Pennyworth,” the man says, bowing a little. “Butler to the Wayne Family. I apologize, Sheriff, but I’m afraid Master Bruce was unable to get away. Urgent business at Wayne Enterprises demanded his attention.”

“More urgent than his son?”

You can see the butler slightly flinch at that, despite how good he tries to hide it.

“I understand your frustration. I expressed the same sentiments, but Master Bruce couldn’t be persuaded to leave the matter to Mr. Fox.” He looks down at you. “I trust this is young Master Y/N?”

You can’t help but duck behind the sheriff’s legs to hide from him.

“Yeah, this is him.”

“I’m glad to meet you, though I wish it was under more joyous circumstances. You have my most sincere condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you,” you say, looking down at the ground.

“Come on, son, let’s get all your stuff packed.”

The three of you spend the next hour packing all your toys and clothes into cardboard boxes. When asked about your bed, dresser, and other larger things, Alfred said a room had already been prepared for you with a king sized bed and a dresser with room for all your clothes and more.

“Should you require anything else, I will ensure Master Bruce provides it.”

“What will happen to the house,” you finally ask Sheriff Foley, afraid for what he would say.

“Your momma already paid off her house and her will said that everything that’s hers goes to you. For now, the county will care for it until you turn eighteen, which is when you can inherit it.”

Hearing that should’ve made you feel better, but it didn’t because you’d have to wait so long to come back and even then, Momma still wouldn’t be here. As the two adults packed up the last of the boxes in the fancy rental car, you slipped away into your Momma’s office at the back of the first story. You slide open the doors, expecting to see her at her desk, working on her latest story like you’d done so many times before, but this time, an empty room and silence greets you.

You enter her office and hop into the big revolving chair, her favorite perfume still lingering from the morning of your birthday. You look at the desk and find something that takes your breath away: her favorite gold ink pen. One day, you’d asked her why your last name was Gould and she’d told you that your family came from a long line of goldsmiths who once made jewelry and other small things for rich people. Momma’s Daddy still worked with metal, even after the family practice was shut down, and when she said she was going to become a writer, he made her a gold ink pen to bring her good luck. You pick it up, looking at the beautiful design, and begin to tear up.

She carried it everywhere she went, so seeing it here cements the fact that she’s not coming back. Maybe if she wasn’t in a big hurry that morning, she would’ve remembered to take it with her and the accident never would’ve happened. And she’d still be here with you.

“Y/N,” the Sheriff says as he enters the office. “We finished packing everything. Are you ready to go?”

You want to say no and refuse to leave, but you know that you can’t stay here. You quietly pocket the pen and follow him to the car, where Alfred waits for you.

“Alright, son, be good for Mr. Pennyworth here. Do what he says and be a good boy like your momma taught you.” He gives you a hug and you wish it would never end, because then you’d never have to leave your home. “You’ll be back before you know it, and your home will be here waiting for you.”

A with that, you get into the car with Mr. Pennyworth and begin the drive to the airport. You use the mirror to see your house one last time, seeing it get smaller and smaller until it’s out of sight.

“I know this is sudden after the loss of your mother, but I promise Master Bruce and I will do everything we can to make Wayne Manor a home for you.”

“What’s it like?”

“The manor? It’s a large estate with a long and storied history that dates back to the early days of Gotham. There’s plenty of rooms for you to explore.”

“And what about my Daddy? What’s he like?”

“Master Bruce is a skilled businessman and one of Gotham’s biggest socialites. He’s also the adoptive father of Masters Dick and Jason.”

“He already has kids? Would they be my brothers?”

You’d heard of several of your classmates having older and younger siblings and had thought about having a brother or a sister. What would it be like to carry around someone younger than you or be care for by someone older than you.

“Master Dick would be your older brother, but he’s now living at the manor right now. He’s off finding himself right now, but I have no doubt that he’ll be back one day.”

“What about Jason?”

Mr. Pennyworth frowns at your words and you feel afraid that you’ve said something wrong.

“Master Jason would be your older brother, as well, but he was taken from us. With any luck, he and your mother have met one another.”

Oh…

“When did he go to heaven?”

“He left us a few months ago, but it feels just like yesterday.”

And with that, the talk is over. You two arrive at the airport and after the butler returns the rental car, he guides you to the gate where a private jet awaits the two of you. You can’t help but be amazed that you’re riding in a private jet that looks so much better than the ones you’ve seen on tv. You sit in one of the seats and it’s way softer than your bed.

“Master Y/N, we’re getting ready for takeoff,” the butler says as he puts his seatbelt on. “Put your seatbelt on.”

You do as you’re told and before you know it, you feel the jet begin to move. You hurry to look out the window to see everything moving past before the jet begins to fly. You stare out the window, watching Nevada, the state you’ve called home, get smaller and smaller until you’re above the clouds, unable to see anything, even the massive buildings of the Strip, which could be seen for miles.

It’s then you realize that this is real, that you’re leaving everything you’ve ever known and won’t be back for years and tears begin to fall from your face. You’ve spent the last few days crying so much that you’d think that you’d think that you would run out of tears, but apparently not. Not wanting to disturb Mr. Pennyworth, you face the window and bite your lower lip to stop making noises.

Somehow the flight seemed to be both long lasting and not long enough, because eventually, you saw a city show up below you. You squint your eyes to get a better look through the smog and see many tall buildings, all of the having those scary stone creatures you saw on a movie once.

“Welcome to Gotham City, Master Y/N.”

A/N: I’m hoping to make this a series that sees somewhat regular updates, but don’t quote me on that. I’ve been getting back into Resident Evil and I look up Yandere Batfamily stuff on this site so much it’s not even funny. Sorry if the first chapter was so long, but I thought if the first chapter was long enough, people would forgive me if future chapters are a bit lacking. Also, this series is heavily influenced by several of my favorite users, like @acid-ixx , @gotham-daydreams , @luludeluluramblings , and @darkstaria . You should totally check them all out.

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Workplace

Pairing: Dick Grayson/Nightwing x (f)reader

Tags: NSFW, secret identity, vigilante reader, office romance, fingering, kissing, biting, wounds, penetration, slightly toxic Dick Grayson,

"Holy shit, y/n?" A gruff voice called your name from across the police station. You turned away from your papers and in the direction the address was coming from, meeting a bloodshot wild gaze of a man who looked around your age. You didn't recognize him, who was currently in the middle of being escorted into a cell.

You didn't respond, assuming he confused you with someone else. He called you again, though. "Y/n! It's Spencer Van! We were in the fifth grade together-"

You met his crazy gaze again, raising your brow in question.

"Ms. Strums class!" He added.

You blinked, recalling the name of your fifth grade teacher. You began to recognize him. And your mouth twisted in disgust. You didn't remember much other than him being a piece of shit; bullying the smarter kids, and constantly interrupting your teacher during class. Not a person worth remembering.

Your grimace didn't deter him, though, as his gaze slowly studied you up and down. You began to regret your earlier decision to discard your blazer when his gaze landed on the undone top buttons of your blouse.

You hated going to the police station for this exact reason. The staff were nice, but the people they brought in... different story.

"Damn," Spencer groaned, his tongue sliding across his teeth. "You grew up gorgeous."

The blood drained from your face, and you felt nauseous. Now definitely swallowing bile. Detectives and staff were looking between you two as you took in a steadying breath and tried to avoid glaring at him.

"You like me like this?" Spencer continued, grinning a dirty, crooked smile and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "You like seeing me in handcuffs?-"

Before he finished his sentence, he was brutally shoved into the cell. The sound of the slam echoed throughout the station.

The detective who shut him up, Dick Grayson, stood towering, muscular, and gorgeous in his uniform, and your secret crush on him only grew. Dick barely broke a sweat while Spencer bounced off the wall and was now wheezing, struggling to get back up.

"You son of a bitch-" Spencer choked. "You fucking broke my rib!"

"Yeah?" Dick challenged. "Press charges when you're done serving ten years for drug trafficking. Prick." Then he slammed the cell door shut.

The rest of the room fell back into routine, the sounds of phone calls, walkies, filing papers, and conversations filling the air once more. Grateful for the change in pase, you returned to your documents.

"Ms. L/n, are you alright?" A low masculine voice you instantly recognized spoke behind you. You turned to see the detective. Sharp features and ocean-colored eyes pierced through your thoughts, catching you off guard. Your breath hitch at his size towering over you, while the smell of beachy cologne invaded your senses. His uniform hugged his body so well that you could almost see the defined muscle under the material.

"Yeah, thanks for hitting him." You stammered, your shoulders rising slightly.

"Sorry I didn't do it sooner." He frowned, his gaze flicking to Spencer, who still groaned in his cell.

You gathered your files. "Should we sit down to look over the Falcone case?"

"Yes, right." Dick gestured for you to take a seat at his desk. It was the only one in the room that wasn't covered in a million papers. Just his computer, a notepad, pen, and calculator lined up against each other in a tidy order, with a half finished cup of coffee sat on the corner. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

You shook your head. "Is there somewhere private we can talk?" Then, at his raised brow, you rushed to add. "I'll need to share some sensifitive information."

He nodded in understanding and got up, leading you down the hall. Your heels clicked behind him as he opened the door to a filing room lined with shelves. A single table and two chairs sat in the middle of it, illuminated by warm toned lights. The noise died down as he shut the door before pulling out your chair.

He spoke up as you sat down. "Late nights at the office, huh?"

You blinked, trying your best to look confused, also trying to cover the blush on your cheeks. "N-no. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, offering you his signature joking smile. "From our email exchanges, you were originally supposed to come here yesterday. I was just curious why the last-minute change."

You shook your head, rushing. "Nope, I just... I wasn't feeling well."

"Oh no." Dick said, his brow creasing. His tone of worry hid a chuckle that was desperately trying to escape. You were such a bad liar. "I'm glad you're feeling better then."

"Yes, well," you took your seat, pulling out a series of photographs from your folder and placing them on the table for him to see. "Falcone met with the owner of MacKenzie Buildings in his club two nights ago."

Dick made a big show of studying the photographs, which he took himself two nights ago. "Hmmm."

You continued. "Yesterday, as you know, MacKenzie was found dead in his apartment."

Dick nodded along to your words, picking up a photograph to study it closer before frowning. His brows furrowed as he looked at the picture. "How'd you get these? Did you hire a P.I.?"

"Not exactly." You lowered your voice, eyeing the locked door behind you.

When you turned around, his blue gaze was narrowed at you. Questioning.

"I'd like to keep the source confidential."

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Two nights ago.

"I need to go use the ladies' room." You spoke over the music before getting off your date's lap. He grinned and nodded, barely acknowledging you as he was distracted with a pair of girls dancing on a tabletop.

You matched with the man on a hookup app an hour ago, suggesting this club to meet uo, and he was more than happy to go - probably thinking he was going to get lucky. In reality, it was just a cover.

As soon as you walked off the main floor, you headed for the back of the club and out to an alleyway behind the building. Unwrapping a bandana from your wrist, you tied it around your face, hiding all of it, save your eyes.

Taking quiet steps in your combat boots on the gravel, you grasped at the bag slung across your shoulder as you spotted your opening. With a running start, you jumped up, grabbed onto the latter, and began to climb.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Nightwing followed you for the fourth week in a row. This time, your escapades brought you to Falcone's nightclub, with some creep who wouldn't stop running his hands over the open back of your corset top. Dick had half a mind to knock him out there, and then each time you stiffened from his hand, brushing against your skin.

Wearing an all-black outfit which helped you blend in, you hiked your makeshift mask covering your face. You used the railings to scale your way up the roof with practiced ease.

Either gymnastics or calisthenics - if Dick had to guess. Or the mandatory self-defense classes at Gotham Law had incorporated parkour. Brushing his chin with his fingers, he perched casually on a nearby rooftop.

Silently lifting yourself up and positioning yourself on a rooftop that overlooked a large window, behind which Falcone and his men were gathered around a table. Dick watched you pull out a camera from your bag and begin to snap pictures. Like you were some kind of private investigator.

Dick watched patiently. He's seen you do this several times now. He was curious where this was heading this night.

Silence and the howl of wind replaced the club’s thumping bass, and for a moment, you felt utterly alone - until you heard the faintest shuffle above.

Instantly, you rolled out of the way just as the guy's fist came down to the spot where you just were. You got up, hid your camera in your bag, and assessed the assailant. Only one. Good. That you can handle.

You dodge the following blow as well, dropping to your hands and swiping your leg under both of his, knocking him off balance. He went down fast, and you took out the taser you always had in your pocket, bringing it to his neck and activating it until his body began to shake. You held it long enough for him to pass out. Then, you held your hand to his neck, making sure you found his pulse, ensuring he was still alive and walked on, taking your camera back out. As you were snapping the pictures, what you didn't see were the two other bodyguards approaching you on the roof.

Good thing he did.

Out of nowhere, you were grabbed around your waist and flung onto a higher up rooftop, and away from the meeting. "Hey!-"

"Quiet." A deep voice growled against your ear.

When you two landed on another rooftop, you stumbled and caught yourself on the rubble. You turned around, facing your new assailant.

Momentary shock took over as you were met with THE Nightwing. The protector of bludhaven, glowering down at you with a disappointed look under his mask.

"Nightwing!" You choke out.

"The one and only." He confirmed.

You've never seen him in person, never mind standing inches away from him. Your initial shock wore off to make room for anger of your own. "Look... thank you for saving me, but I don't need your help."

He smirked like you just made a joke, then gestured behind you, tilted his chin. "Turn around."

Tentatively, you turned and faced the street, away from him.

"Look down, down at the alleyway." He said. "See those guys patrolling outside the club with their M16's?"

You strained your eyes, trying to see what he was referring to. "No..."

"Exactly." He came to stand side to side with you, taking something out or his utility belt and holding it up to you. Upon initial inspection, you concluded it was a lens of some sort, and you brought it up to your eye. The lens did show a pair of bodies walking back and forth behind a brick wall. Heat sensors.

Embarrased, you handed him the lens. You took a breath, steadying yourself under his intense gaze. Heart pounding, you wondered why his presence felt just as dangerous as comforting.

"It sucks. Doing what I do. Not everyone can." He said.

"I'm not trying to do what you do." You defended yourself. "I'm no vigilante."

"Why do you need these pictures?"

You follow his gaze down to the camera clutched in your hands. "That's confidential,"

He then stood face to face with you. Or rather, face to chest with his frame dwarfing you. "Are you a P.I.?"

"No." You huffed, hoping your raised brow will stop any more questions. "Thank you for saving me. See you around." Then you hopped down the rails and to the ground.

You pushed open the door to your apartment, stepping in still in your club clothing. The corset top was dirty and pulled out of your leather tights, which tore at some point during your escapades, and your feet were in immeasurable pain from walking in those boots all night. You were tired as you tossed your keys into a bowl and locked the door.

A man cleared his throat behind you. "So this is where you live," Nightwing stepped into your living room.

Your voice hitched, and you jumped, rushing to switch on your lights. You stumble over your heals and nearly fall. He caught you around your waist and stabilized you.

"What were you doing at Falcone's club?" He asked, eyes searching your apartment.

"Did you follow me?" You asked, tone incredulous.

"Didn't have to," he pulled up a piece of paper and held it to you.

Your eyes widened. "Is that my car insurance?"

"Mhmm," he nodded, walking to your kitchen and flipping through the papers on your counter. "Pro tip: when you go on patrol, don't bring ID. Otherwise, the mask becomes obsolete." He grinned and picked up an envelope. "Ah cute, your children's hospital donation went through."

You snatched the envelope from his hand. "Give me that! And get out of my house!"

He tisked and shook his head. "Not before you tell me when you were doing following Falcone."

"I- I already told you-"

"You told me fuck all." He interrupted. "Now, I know exactly who you are, miss. L/N I know everyone you've ever met and how to find them. Easily."

He stalked closer, the shadows of your dimly lit room casting sharp angles on his face. “Now ill ask you one more tim. What were you doing at Falcone’s club?” His voice was low, the threat behind it unmistakable, and for a moment, you wondered if Nightwing was as dangerous as the people he fought.

You gulped, straightening your neck. "Look, nightasshole-"

"Weak." He snorted.

"You're breaking and entering." You continued. "I could call the cops on you."

He grinned, wondering if he should let you, only for his phone ring when you dialed. Then, he set the idea aside. "That building you were on when you were snapping your pictures belongs to Falcone. You were on private property without permission. I'm sure a lawyer would know what the name for that is,"

Your shoulders sagged as you lowered your gaze. "Trespassing."

"Very good." He said. "So go ahead and place that call, y/n." He shrugged. "Tell them that Nightwing, identity unknown, address unknown, broke and entered into your house." You approached you, his tone sharpening. "Meanwhile, I'll place my own call. About Y/n L/n, from apartment 2a on 21 Nelson rd. For trespassing on Carmine Falcone’s private property. We'll see how long you get to keep your license."

Your eyes widened in shock. Would he really ruin your career over this? And all of a sudden, the mantle of "protector" became subjective in your mind. You swallowed nervously, regarding him with unease.

In a sudden move, you raised your knee, aiming straight for his groin, hoping to take him by surprise.

He was way ahead of you, and he dodged your knee along with the follow up attacking from your punches and kicks.

You were backed up against the wall, one of his hands easily held both your wrists above your head.

"Cute," he murmured, his voice mockingly soft, as though you're struggling amused him. "Should I be insulted that you think you can fight off Blüdhaven’s ‘protector’? Those defense classes they make you lawyers take get worse and worse each year -"

You collided your forehead with his nose.

"Shit!" He swore, then huffed a laugh, raising his free hand to wipe at the trickle of blood trickling from his nose, and looked down at his hand. The distraction you hoped for wasn't effective as you struggled against his hold, which was rock solid.

"I think you broke my nose." He said as a matter of factly. "How's your head?"

"Fine!" You snapped at him, fighting to keep your vision from blurring at the edges. That was the wrong angle to use, you thought, cursing yourself for forgetting the lessons you got from your self-defense training.

"Yeah?" He sounded doubtful. "Not throbbing anywhere? Like over here," he gave a gentle tap to your temple.

"Ow!" The point he pressed shot excruciating pain throughout your head, and your vision blurred even more.

"Yeah, valiant effort on your part." He commented, his voice growing more and more muffled as you struggled to... to...

He snapped his fingers in front of your eyes. "Hey, hey, no. No falling asleep. You gave yourself a concussion."

"Get... out of my home," you slurred.

"Can't do that either." He sighed. "I'd be leaving you for dead." He grinned. "That wouldn't be very heroic of me."

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Well, this is certainly the most creative way he had to keep a woman up all night, Dick thought to himself, bringing the smelling salts up to your nose.

"Ah, christ!" You exclaimed, jerking away from the violent stench. "Why do you even have these with you?"

"You'd be surprised how often head injuries can occur in my line of work." He explained, putting them away. "I've had to keep myself awake after a lot of brawls."

You nodded, eyeing him wearily. It was so odd how casual he was acting about this entire situation. You felt like you were a prisoner in your own home, with him as a friendly warden.

"How's your nose?" You asked, your hands rubbing your temples to try and ease the pain.

"Eh," he shrugged, looking at his reflection on your phone. "I've had worse."

He demanded on staying until he confirmed you were better. When the throbbing stopped, he did a quick assessment of your vitals using some kind of gadget you've never seen before.

The following afternoon, you came back to a package resting on the pile of mail on your kitchen counter.

There was a note on top, scrawled in sharp, hurried letters: "Thank me later."

Suspecting who it might be from, you carefully turned the folder over, spilling its contents—a stack of photos showing Carmine Falcone in a close conversation with Owen MacKenzie, the owner of MacKenzie Buildings.

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Present Day

"Let me guess," Dick said, arms crossed as he leaned against his desk. "You’re suggesting there’s a connection between MacKenzie’s death and his meeting with Falcone."

You nodded. "Just speculation for now, but it’s no secret Falcone’s been after those developments. I think he made MacKenzie an offer he didn’t like, and the next day…"

Dick’s gaze narrowed, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of his desk. "So, what do you need from me?”

"You have access to the autopsy report," you replied, leaning forward. "If we can prove it was murder we can keep those properties out of Falcone’s hands.”

He studied you, scratching his head. "That’s making a lot of assumptions."

“Which is why I came to you,” you pressed, holding his gaze.

He raised a brow, lips quirking in mild amusement.

"If we’re right, we could keep dozens of families from getting pushed out onto the streets," you said, more earnestly.

After a long beat, Dick sighed and nodded. "I’ll see what I can do."

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Later That Night

Either that concussion affected your memory, or it dulled your self-preservation instincts, Dick mused as he watched you. He couldn't fathom why you kept diving headfirst into life-threatening situations.

You climbed the scaffolding at an abandoned construction site, slipping past rusted barriers until you reached the eighth floor. Perched on a narrow ledge, you crept toward a makeshift office in the corner—little more than a desk and chair surrounded by half-finished walls. Kneeling, you pulled out a lock-picking set and made quick work of the drawer, glancing over your shoulder once before opening it.

A low chuckle sounded behind you. "Not a shred of self-preservation in that little body of yours."

You jumped, heart pounding, and spun around to find Nightwing leaning casually against a support column, arms crossed over his chest.

"God," you muttered, trying to steady your breathing, "I thought you were a -"

"Bad guy?" He chuckled, tilting his head. "What exactly would you have done?"

"Maybe tase you," you shot back, turning back to sift through the documents in the drawer.

In two strides, he was beside you, looking over your shoulder at the papers. "What are we looking at?"

You glanced up at him, momentarily struck by his proximity. It took a beat too long for you to refocus, the sheer size and quiet intensity of him throwing you off balance.

"I’m looking for a ledger or a blueprint - anything tying this site to MacKenzie."

Nightwing raised a brow. "The project’s been transferred to Falcone. Announced just this morning."

"Do you believe that?"

He sighed, arms crossed. "Alright, trouble. Enlighten me - what’s your theory?"

"You really need me to spell it out?" you asked, arching a brow.

He smirked. "You think Falcone’s behind MacKenzie’s death."

You nodded. "A friend in Blüdhaven is working on getting me his autopsy report, and - "

"Oh, a friend?" he interrupted with a teasing tone. "Must’ve gone through all the right channels to get that, yeah?"

You frowned. "Of course."

He leaned in, the playful spark still in his eyes. "You know, a real friend would’ve gotten it for you just cus. No questions asked."

You stifled a blush, hoping your mask hid the heat rising in your cheeks. His gaze softened as it lingered on you, just a shade too long, his lips curling in a way that made your pulse quicken.

You were overcome with a need to defend Dick after Nightwing’s comment. "He's more noble than you," you said.

And oh god, if the irony alone didn't make Dick want to burst out laughing. Pull yourself together, he said to himself.

"Did anyone tell you." His voice was lower now, softer. "You have pretty eyes."

Thrown off, you glanced away, muttering, "Just… let me know if you see anything with MacKenzie’s name on it."

A low ding from the far end of the floor interrupted your sentence. You both froze, watching as the elevator doors slid open, and heavy footsteps echoed into the hollow silence. You quickly locked the drawer and put everything back in place.

Before you could even react, Nightwing’s arm was around your waist, pulling you back toward the edge of the building. He fired his grappling hook to the floor above, tugging you both up to safety. His hold on you was firm yet controlled.

Landing, you were acutely aware of every inch of him pressed against you, his gaze unreadable as he raised a gloved finger to his lips, signaling for silence. You swallowed, pulse racing, unable to tear your attention away from the solid, unyielding warmth of him beside you.

"Destroy every file on that table," a voice ordered. "Burn it all if you have to. I don’t want any trace left of his fingerprints here."

Your eyes widened. Proof that MacKenzie had been involved after all. You looked up at Nightwing, who nodded, clearly understanding the gravity of the moment.

The voice spoke again, sending a thrill of hope through you. "And make sure they do the same over at the south location. We don’t need loose ends."

Your eyes met Nightwing’s, urgency clear in your expression. There was still a chance to get evidence.

The smell of smoke drifted up from the floor below, mingling with the crisp night air as flames started licking up from the table and chair. You looked at Nightwing, panic flashing in your eyes. He didn’t move until the elevator dinged again, signaling the men’s departure.

"We need to get to that second site," you whispered, barely able to contain your urgency.

Nightwing’s gaze hardened, his earlier playfulness replaced by a steely resolve. "I need to get there. You’re going home."

"But-"

"No buts," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You want to help these people? Stay out of sight and leave the dangerous work to me. Trust me—this is my city."

For a moment, you considered arguing back, but something in his gaze warned you not to push him further. Instead, you gave a reluctant nod, allowing him to guide you away.

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There was a knock at your window.

You look up from your phone, already ready for bed in your pijama shorts and tube top. You see his outline through the glass as you aproach the window, already half-expecting bad news as you open it cautiously. You are met with Blüdhaven’s protector, leaning on the rail of your balcony, clutching his side, blood seeping through the cracks of his suit.

"Hey," he rasped, short breathes coming out of cut lips with a pained smirk as he raised a USB. "Got your evidence."

"You’re bleeding," you said, your voice a mix of shock and concern.

"Only a little," he grunted, but when he stumbled, you caught his arm, guiding him inside before he collapsed entirely. "You should see the other guy."

He helped you remove the top of his suit, leaving him bare to his hips. You tried not to linger too much on the ridges of hard-defined muscles lining up his chest, arms and stomach - it was a challenging endeavor.

Your hands moved carefully as you cleaned the gash on his side, trying not to let your worry show. "You should’ve gone to a hospital."

"They ask too many questions," he said with a wince but tried to smile. "And I’d rather have you play nurse."

Huffing, you rolled your eyes, but his words sent your pulse racing. You could feel his breath close to your cheek as you look down, the faint brush of his gloved fingers against your arm as you worked.

"Ive got a first aid kit. One moment." You said, getting up and bringing the white box that was kept on the top of your bookshelf. You've had some practice stiching up wounds back when your little siblings would get scrapes on the playground. You even wanted to be a doctor when you were a kid. Before you decided studying law was more interesting. Especially in a city like Bludhaven.

He drew in a gasp as you carefully threaded the needle, stitching up his wound. Finishing up, you placed a gauze bandage around the affected area, tisking. "You should still go get it checked out."

His fingers gently wrapped around your wrist, making you look up at him. Your eyes flickered to his, and for a second, wondering what color they were behind his mask.

“You dont need to worry about me,” he said softly, his fingers coming to play with the hem of your crop top. Your skin tingled where his touch brushed you. "But... I like that you do."

His words hung in the air, and your pulse raced as his gaze dropped to you lips, then back to your eyes.

“We shouldn’t-” you started, but before you could finish, his hand slid up under the back of your shirt, his warm fingers sending tingles along their path.

“I know,” he whispered, but then he pushed you towards him, lips pressing softly against yours.

Your hand moved to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. You took a moment to orocess the fact that you were kissing a stranger. It coukd be anyone under that mask. The need to know clawed at you.

"Nightwing?" You asked.

"Yes trouble?" He wispered, lowering his lips to lay kissed down your neck.

You felt your cheeks warm as your shoulders rose. "D-do you do this often? Sleep with people you save?"

He grinned then, nipping your earlobe as his hand, covered in calluses and scars reached around you, pulling you onto his lap. Gasping, you could feel his hardness on your silk shorts.

"Only when they take such good care of me." He asnwered, grinding up against you, brushing your sensitive clit in the process. "You know, to return the favor."

You gasped and he repeated the movement a few more times, until you were riding him still separated by your layer of clothing.

"You're gonna open-" You wimpered when a particularly long brush of his Dick sent a powerful sensation down your core. "-Your stitches. This... this isn't a good idea."

"It's a good thin% that you're here to fix me up then, isn't it?" He challenged, an evil grin playing at his lips.

You moaned and shook your head, still trying to think logical. "It will hurt."

"It hurts more not being inside you now, trouble." He wispered- no, whined- as his lips brushed your ear. "Please, put me out of my misery."

His finger slipped under your shorts and between your folds. "Fuck!" He caught his lower lip between his teeth, the bit leaving a beautiful read mark on his gorgeous lips. "You're so wet, trouble."

Unable to look away from him, you whimpered as his fingers brushed your insides.

"I dont even know who you are," you wispered in disbelief, more so to yourself than to him. "I don't even know your name,"

A small, curious part of him wondered how you'd react if he pulled off his mask and presented you with the very same face that's been working with you this past week at the station. Your "good friend" detective Grayson.

"I'm no one," he said instead. "Come here, baby."

A minute later, his suit was discarded on your carpet, along with your pijamas, as the two of you gasped and writhe against each other on your couch. You were riding him, the feeling of him filling you up was extacy. And his view provided him with an image of you panting on top of him, red lips parted as your hair fell in messy stands around your face and shoulder. "Trouble," he moaned. "You're so fucking sexy. Oh my god."

"Thanks, you like... a seven." You joked, then squealed, arching your back as he rose and bit your collarbone, driving into you hard.

"For that," he growled, a wolfish grin playing on his lips as he eyed the new bite mark forming on your skin. "I'll keep you up all night."

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"Y/n?"

You looked up from your computer to see your co-worker standing nearby, balancing a cup of coffee and a stack of files. She offered you a shy smile.

"Detective Grayson from the station is here for you."

"Oh, thank you!" you replied, quickly standing and smoothing your skirt and blazer. Nearly tripping in your heels, you mentally scolded yourself for coming to work instead of calling in sick; you could’ve used more sleep.

At the front entrance, Dick waited in uniform, coffee in hand, his usual bright smile already in place.

"Good morning," you greeted him with as much energy as you could manage.

"Morning," he replied, grinning. You couldn’t help but wonder what he put in his coffee to always look so chipper.

He held up a folder. "Here are the autopsy reports you asked for."

Your eyes lit up. "You got them? Amazing!" Taking the folder, you looked up at him gratefully. "Thanks, Dick."

"Happy to help," he said, dimples appearing as he smiled down at you. "I’ve got to get back, but let me know how the case goes, yeah?" He turned toward the elevator, giving you a casual wave.

"I will! Have a great day!"

As you watched him leave, someone cleared their throat behind you. Turning around, you found Lily standing there, a slightly nervous expression on her face.

"Hey," you said slowly. "Is everything okay?"

Saying nothing, she took your arm gently and lifted her phone, angling the camera so you could see yourself in selfie mode.

Your hand shot to your mouth in shock.

Clear as day, a bite mark peeked out from your collarbone. "Oh god."

You felt your face heat up as realization hit. How many people had already seen that? And oh god! Dick definitely saw it too!

Meanwhile, in the elevator, Dick allowed himself a small, satisfied grin.

[incorrectbatfam]

Which TV shows or sitcoms do the Batfam guest star in?

(I'm a 2010s girlie if you can't tell)

Selina has a one-episode subplot as a prisoner in Orange Is The New Black where she acts like she's going to try and make a daring escape just to mess with everyone else

Luke appears in the background of a large gathering or party in Black-ish but the characters are too busy with the storyline to notice until the end when they realize it's legendary MMA fighter Luke Fox, except he's just there for the food

Bette would be one of the extras in The Good Place whose entire role is to give people the wrong frozen yogurt toppings while acting like the absolute nicest person who got into the "Good Place" for saving an endangered goat species

Alfred is a customer just doing his shopping amidst the Superstore chaos. He just occasionally appears throughout the episode and when they're like "You're still here?" he unfurls a comically long shopping list

Barbara appears in New Girl as an HR worker at Schmidt's place of work, where she slows him down with pointless bureaucratic procedures when he's trying to get something done quickly

Bruce would appear as a prospective business client in The Office and offers to buy Dunder Mifflin until he gets a tour of the place as it's literally going up in flames

Harper would be sitting in the back of the classroom in Community interjecting with her side commentary until the characters realize she doesn't even go there

Damian would be a student in Abbott Elementary who starts doing the teacher's jobs, and when the school tries to call home, he poses as his own guardian with a costume and voice training

Cass is a part-time cashier who gets hired on the spot at Kim's Convenience but quits after one day not because of the characters or storyline, but because she was just bored

Dick appears in Brooklyn Nine-Nine as a New Jersey police officer working an interstate case, and him and Jake competing for the spotlight and recognition can be summed up by "oh my God, there's two of them"

Jason also appears in the same Brooklyn Nine-Nine episode as the main suspect, and the whole joke is that he keeps insisting he and Dick know each other (being irl brothers) while Dick is like "I've never seen this man in my life"

Carrie guest stars in Parks and Rec as a very passionate (and very annoying) lone teenage activist with a picket sign who won't leave the characters alone until they hear out her (very valid) concerns

Cullen appears in Psych as another "psychic" racing against Shawn to solve a case, but really he just knows how to get the evidence he needs from social media faster than surveying the actual crime scene

Helena plays a substitute teacher in Derry Girls who keeps insisting that the characters do a dumb assignment that actually makes sense in the end

Tim briefly makes a cameo in Cobra Kai at one of the karate tournaments, where he plays a competitor from a dojo that's not part of the main cast

Kate appears in Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt for a minute as the characters trying to get someplace urgently, and she has a car or something they want to borrow but she's just like "uh, no, I don't know you"

Duke plays a tutor in Modern Family where the episode centers on school, and the session consists of him just trying to do his job while everyone else keeps interrupting

Steph cameos in Scrubs as a know-it-all med student who keeps trying to point out that a character is making a (harmless) mistake, only to get shut down until it happens and she's just like "that's what I was trying to tell you"

[frudoo]

The 141!slasher au has me cackling. Reader lowkey being like "well, if the dick is good"

Imagining reader being taken in to be questioned by the cops for something unrelated to the boys killing. Maybe she witnessed a crime, or maybe someone else got assaulted by the guy who grabbed her. Would the guys be suspicious? Do they have a "get picked up by the cops" protocol, or do they believe there's no chance of ever getting caught? (Does reader already have a "don't talk to the fucking cops without a lawyer [ACAB!]" mindset that helped Johnny be confident in telling her the truth?)

Does reader ever help with kills? Ngl kind of seeing reader work at a children's hospital or as a social worker and taking note of ppl she knows are abusive and being like hey...Simon...<3...did u need ideas of who to kill next...

Anyway thank you for letting me share my thoughts:)

We love a reader who has her priorities straight ;)

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse/trauma.

Deep breaths. It has nothing to do with you or your boys.

     The blinds are shut and there’s a weird buzzing noise coming from somewhere inside the room. Across from you sits a social worker and a detective, and your leg bounces anxiously. 

     It’s mandatory. You’re helping a child and his mom out of a bad situation.

     You’d suspected something was wrong the first time Oliver was brought to your class with a couple of bruises on his leg. You had immediately written your observations down on his sheet and reported it to your bosses, but they brushed it off. Little boys are clumsy, after all, especially when they’ve just recently learned to start walking. The next couple of weeks, the toddler showed up unscathed and happy. 

     This morning, however, his mother dropped him off with a black eye and scratches all over his torso. You could see cuts of her own beneath the makeup she’d been crying off. You’d paged your bosses to come to your classroom immediately, and this time, they took it seriously. You weren’t thrilled that the police had to be involved, but you understood that it was necessary in saving this sweet family. You answered all of their questions honestly—neither saying too little nor too much.

     “Thank you for your time, ma’am. You’re dismissed,” the detective gives you a solemn smile and rises from her seat, opening the door to allow you out. 

     You clutch your purse tightly as you walk through the precinct, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth. You’re no stranger to facilities like these. Much of your childhood was spent sitting beside your father at his desk, acting like a good little girl, coloring on blank sheets of paper and pretending that daddy wasn’t such a monster. At work, he was a hero who citizens and coworkers alike depended on to keep them safe and happy. At home, he was a tyrant, taking every opportunity he could to use you and your mother as a punching bag.

     As a child, you’re taught to depend on all the people who are meant to care for you—family members, the police—those whose first priority should be to protect. You should have been able to trust your father. You should have been able to run to him whenever you scraped your knee or got bullied at school, but instead, he was often the one causing you harm. Your mother got sick of the abuse and left when you were five but didn’t bother taking you with her, so he was all you had. He intimidated you into silence, but even if you had reported him, who would have believed the troubled young daughter of such a dependable officer? You learned too quickly, too young, that it would always be their word over yours.

     When you first became a daycare teacher, you didn’t expect to see yourself in so many of the children you either cared for or saw in passing. It broke your heart every time you saw a toddler with a limp or an older child who still wet themselves at naptime, because you knew what they were feeling. You knew the despair they felt in every step they took, the fear they felt every time someone came to pick them up and take them right back to their broken home. The very day you started is the same day you decided you had to stay there, to be some kind of light in the darkness too many of these children should have been too young to ever know.

     You have an unspecified amount of time off—your bosses decided that there was too much of a risk that Oliver’s dad might show up and try to start shit with you for reporting him. There’s still a lot of investigating that the police and child services have to do, and as of right now, the scumbag’s whereabouts are unknown. It’s nerve-wracking to leave your babies even despite knowing they’re in good hands. You’ll have to make sure and call in every day to check on them. 

     It’s about an hour drive back to the farm, and you spend every minute dreading the reunion with your lovers. None of them know about the situation, and you’re not exactly thrilled to catch them up to speed. Still, you owe it to them to be honest. God forbid they find out about it somewhere else and start believing some warped version of the truth. Just the mere idea of them distrusting you makes a sour feeling rise in your gut. 

     Kyle is working in the garden when you arrive, a wide smile on his face as he waves to greet you. The grin you send his way isn’t quite so excited, and immediately he knows something is up. If he was a bloodhound, you’d be sure he could smell the unrest in the air. The slam of your car door alerts the other three men of your presence, and they all line up by the front door curiously. Your heart is racing as you walk inside, motioning for them all to join you in the living room.

     You sit in the recliner with your hands folded in your lap, nervously eyeing each of your husbands. The fear that they might hate you because of what happened gnaws at the front of your brain, chewing until it aches. You’re not even sure if you could blame them—after all, they had a good thing going before they met you. One wrong move and the cog in the machine gets tossed aside like trash. 

     “Speak, lovie,” Simon grunts impatiently, syrupy brown eyes scanning over your face, watching, analyzing.

     “There was an incident at the daycare today,” you begin. “Child services had to get involved, and I was called to the police station to explain my side of things.”

     You’re shaking like a leaf, unable to look at any of them. The tension in the room is so thick that John could probably cut through it with his machete. Not one of them has so much as blinked, each waiting on another to say or do something first. You do.

     “It had nothing to do with any of you, I swear. I’m off work for a few days while the whole thing gets settled. I can’t say much about the case, just that… there was an abusive father involved. They haven’t found him yet, and they’re exercising the idea that I might be a target for reporting him.”

     “Fuck,” Kyle mutters exasperatedly, rubbing his hands over his face as Johnny wraps an arm around his shoulder.

     You finally gather the courage to lift your head, and to your surprise, there is no fury or hatred in any of their expressions. At least, not directed at you. They look more like they’re waiting for an order, leaning forward in their seats like attack dogs ready to pounce. Suddenly it’s clear to you—they may have been an item before you entered the picture, but once you joined them, you became their commander, one that they’ll remain loyal to until the day they die. 

     “I have a proposition,” you whisper, looking directly at John.

     “Give us a name, sweetheart.”

[jwanniie]

Can u do gp assassin minji x reader where minji was tasked to take down an important person but as she was observing he

Pairings: G!p Assasin Minji x f!reader!

Warnings: dub-con, somno,slight non-con at first, Assasin minji, knife play, degrading, pet names, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap your Willy), slight breeding at the end, cervix fucking, mention of pregnancy, kinda kidnapping at the end, not proofread, just filthy smut!!

Word count: 1,6k

Jwans note: huh😮‍💨 after a month of not posting, it was difficult to actually start writing and I felt ashy and dry.🫣 but my long ass summer break started, so I will be posting more (yayy), I’m going to a trip with my friends in few days so YIPPEEEEE😍😍I’m so excited (uwu)👁️👅👁️

—————————————————————————

Minji was good at her job, or that’s what she could say, extremely good. Don’t you get fooled by the sweet plump lips, gorgeous smile that made everyone forget about their worries or the eyes that stared at you so delicately. To say that at first when you meet her you’d think she’d work on those cat cafes, kindergarten teacher or a major that inquired art would be an understatement.

The plot twist is that the most innocent and dreamy looking people turn into the most twisted and full of secrets individuals. The ones that you’d look at and think ‘no way they would do that?!’. But like the famous George Eliot said “don’t judge a book by its cover.” applied in most situations.

Minji worked as a professional assasin, she took 47 people down without an ounce of effort, the police tried to investigate those cases, but the outcome would always be a hair gripping disappointment. Nonetheless the only hope the police always had was the small ‘Mj’ that was slowly tatted into the victim’s skin with probably a dagger or an extremely sharp blade. They tried to see possible nail scratches, DNA, fingerprints, they even tried to look at the security cameras but there was no sign of anyone entering or leaving, it was like she appeared out of nowhere and disappeared into thin air.

Minji did not like the idea of being under someone's authority or taking orders from anyone. She preferred to work for herself and to be her own boss. However, on occasions, she would consider offers that came with a filthy payment. And that’s what happened with you.

There was this guy who came to Minji and told her he will give her a horrible amount of money if she can take you down. From what she heard from that guy is that you were some really famous and wealthy man’s daughter, and an only child. Your father had a company and by that company he hid his illegal business like money laundering, drug producing, tax evasion and bribery. And to what she also heard is that your dad had stolen money and refuses to give it back to the guy who came to her and that’s why he wanted to get a revenge from your father.

Minji has figured out your schedule with her ways and planned a day when you'll be very busy and tired, so you'll go straight to bed. This will make Minji's job much easier.

Minji wore baggy jeans and a long sleeved black shirt to avoid any suspicion. She let her hair loose to make her features appear more unrecognizable and she had black mask in her black tote bag to wear once she’s in your apartment and in case you’ll wake up.

She tip toed to your apartment building. The building was very minimalistic compared to what she heard who your dad was and how filthy rich you are. She expected a whole apartment building just for you to live in. But it turned out that you lived in an apartment which had families, students and office workers, like any apartment.

She pressed the elevator button and soon she stepped inside. She looked for number ‘12’ and soon she found it. The elevator was pretty fast and it wasn’t long till she was in her desired floor.-Her eyes traveled to all of the doors, in search for the apartment ‘47’. She later stood in front of the door, the lock getting destroyed by her and the door opening. A dark hall getting exposed to her eyes. She timidly and slowly walks in, taking in every little detail.

The hall was soon done and she was met with a closed door by her right, this was where your room could be since all of the other doors of the apartment were open and this was the only door closed.

She quietly opened the door being met with a laying figure, blanket draped over your thighs and lower abdomen while your upper body was exposed to cold air. The moon shining through the window making a dainty and delicate silhouette appear on the wall.

You were in a deep void, so out of this world, too deep in sleep to wake up anytime soon. Your breathing was soft and almost soundless while your chest was inhaling and exhaling slowly.

She was so fascinated by the sight she almost forgot her mission, she felt a rush of blood down her member, her pants feeling way too tight for her liking. She was ripped back to reality when you changed your position, now laying on your back.

She walked closer to your bed, admiring you now from so close. Taking in the little details, she couldn’t adore from far there. She noticed how the cold air made your nipples poke from your silky black night gown. The way the blanket was so down that your thighs were bare till the knees.

Since she already came all the way here, why can’t she have you at least once or maybe twice and then murder you? It would be fast and beside who can stop her, you are asleep and even if you did wake up. Would you fight her back? You can’t. She can just end you with a second. You were basically under her mercy.

She placed her bag on the nightstand before hovering over you. Her legs straddling your thighs. She slid down her slacks before tossing them across the bedroom. You had easy clothing, fast to remove or even rip. She took the hem of the night gown and lifted it till your breasts. She groaned at the sight, you had no panties on, just so easy and beautiful to use. Your perky mounds were soft and so plushy begging to be sucked and worshipped. While the hips to waist ratio was absolutely perfect.

Fuck, she had to kill such a precious and beautiful doll.

Her length was at this point so upwards, the tip angry red while spilling creamy white substance and her balls heavy and almost purple-ish.-Without any prepping or anything she slammed herself in, immediately groaning at the suck of your cunt. Your walls hugging her so tightly, almost too hard to move.

Her both hands went to your breasts, cupping them, while the pad of her thumb started toying with your nipples. Twisting and squeezing the hardened bud.

Your cunt got wetter with every thrust of her hips which made her pace pick up even more, her tip kissing your cervix with every single thrust.

The uncomfortable feeling in your lower region made your eyes flutter open, slightly contemplating is this a dream or the reality. But with every passing second the feeling got even more real and you were getting conscious back again.

When you were fully aware. You were going to let out a bloody scream but before you could even open your mouth, her hand found it way above your mouth. She didn’t stop her hips movements instead, getting even more faster.

Her other hand went to the nightstand, she was rummaging through her back and you were trying to see what she was trying to find. Your curiosity was soon replaced with fear when you saw what she was looking for.

She was looking for one of those kitchen knives in every typical horror movies.-There was soon a sinister evil smile across her face. Her dark eyes looked at your fear full ones.

“I’m not stopping doll, so you better also enjoy this, don’t cause me trouble and if you do..you know your faith.” She said while the tip of the knife was running across your skin. Hard enough to make a small scratch, but not hard enough to let out blood.

Her movements were in halt but soon she started again. She was ramming your insides, you hated to admit that it felt good, way too good.

She was pounding you like there was no tomorrow, well it kinda is true. Her hands let go from your mouth and you wish she didn’t. Now she has to hear the sounds you let for her. Then she thinks you are enjoying this.

With another hit of her tip on your cervix, you let out a loud moan, a pressure on your lower abdomen lingering there.

She chuckled darkly at the sound her tip taking the knife in her grasp.

“Turned out you were enjoying this, huh? Such a pretty little slut!” The sharp blade was running across your inner thighs the fear turning into pleasure. She slightly made the blade sink into your skin, a small bloody cut was now on your inner thighs.

The pain turned you even more on. The pain making your walls clasp around her uncontrollably. Nonetheless she continued her ramming, her tip was completely out before slamming with full force in. The cycle continued.

With the last womb fucking of her cock you reached your climax. Pleasure running through your body while squirming now underneath her.

Your pussy was squeezing her cock after your release and that made her reach her own high, she fucked you faster and with more passion now that she was close.

Without warning her essence painted your walls white, splashing right into your womb. She fucked harder through her high, you were whining and moving under her, the overwhelming feeling of overstimulation hitting you harder than ever. Her cum was now deeper, leaving you with a risk of pregnancy.

“Maybe I should keep you and just tell them I killed you? You would be my personal fuck doll!” She said before wrapping a tape right on top of your mouth, not even waiting to hear your answer.

[kaibutsushidousha]

Kodaka April Fools tweets 2024

Lying just because it's April Fools' is so dull. Honestly painful to watch. Lying in general doesn't do you any good. In my younger days, I told every lie I could, saying some genuinely insane stuff about being a supreme leader of evil and whatnot, and thanks to that, now that I'm in my thirties, I got famous for all the wrong reasons and can't find a stable job because people think I'm associated with the yakuza... Sigh, I wanna deck my cringe younger self's face. Quit lying for fun while you can.

My classmates aren't doing great either. Thinking you're hot shit during your school days always comes back to bite you... My advice to my past self: slow and steady effort is worth more than any talent. Also, the part of life you spent larping with that silly horse laugh is not going to be one you'll want to remember later. I wish I could make that clear to him. White lies aren't a thing. Talent is never enough. My class is proof of that. Wanna know what my classmates are like now that we're in our thirties?

Akamatsu became a piano teacher. Her player skills capped off in her teens, it seems. But she's not that good at teaching so she's considered kinda mid at her job. And now she's struggling with the father of a student incessantly hitting on her. Tough world to live in.

Toujou opened a housekeeping company but she was too strict with her employees so everyone quit. And now she's doing everything on her own. Sucks to be in your thirties without any successors or employees. She's a prime example of how being so much better than anyone else doesn't do you any good. Well, she's always working for celebrities, so she's doing well financially, but I heard about some major court fight about a missing item under suspicion of theft from one of her clients. That can't be nice.

Yumeno got to her thirties still saying magic is real, so she's past the point of no return. She agrees that's an unhinged way to live, but she's too old to suddenly change gimmicks. Work takes her all over the country, but her gimmick doesn't allow her to publicly drink, so she has to get plastered alone in her hotel room after shows. I wish she could fix her life with real magic.

Harukawa? ...Haven't heard that name in a long time. Now she was a living edgy fantasy. The past tense was because I hadn't heard of her in a long time. I don't know the details, but apparently, she went to some war zone outside of Japan because her first love didn't want to date her. Takes some real edgelord to react to a broken heart like that, but if she's still alive, I have no idea how her thirties are treating her. My personal guess is that she's a mother of many.

Chabashira opened her Aikido school but is having a hard time attracting students. So she had the idea of starting an anti-sexual-harassment campaign that could double as advertisement, but thanks to her cluelessness when it comes to romance, she got canceled for mistakenly tossing men in regular couples. She's still doing the "degenerate males" bit in her thirties. Girl really needs to get on with the times. Rumor goes that she still downs huge packs of tequila bottles with Yumeno every now and then. Really don't think there's any salvaging her reputation.

Shirogane is an office lady still continuing her cosplay hobby on the side. She could be doing well if she knew how to keep her mouth shut but frequently rambles about cosplay history and etiquette, so no one likes having her around. Stay emotionally dependent on a single hobby long enough and your passion starts to close you off to others. That's her problem.

Angie was the most successful in the class! She made big money both on the art and the religion fronts. However, there were some controversies about her devotees selling counterfeits of her paintings at exorbitant prices and one magazine made a huge news coverage of it, which resulted in her catching the police's attention. She's been recently untraceable, with the rumors saying that she'll never be back to Japan.

Oh, and Iruma... Up until some point, she had the best life of all of us. She made big money off of her inventions' patents. So far so good. Things only started going off-rails after she married an ex-stripper. The two started a YouTube channel together. And later, her husband ran in last year's elections and lost big time. They got an awful debt from his election campaign and she had to get into side jobs to pay it off. And her husband? Disappeared. No word from Iruma herself about what happened. Tough world to live in.

No further updates from Kodaka in the past 3 hours, so I assume he went to sleep and will come back to tweet about the 7 remaining boys in the morning.

[thatfrenchacademic]

"The biggest issue is students using it, me spotting it and having no recourse whatsoever to do anything about it." can you elaborate a bit further

Hello !

So to explain a bit more: we [aka your lecturers, teachers, teaching assistants, etc...] know that some students will use ChatGPT.

And there is a discussion to be had about how to work with this, how to design assessment which allow students to leverage something which may simply become a fixture of writing in a workplace environment, but that is not the discussion we are having here. Because that is not what we are worried about.

The defensible, problematic situation is: a student straight up entering the essay prompt on ChatGPT, and using the grand skills of Ctrl+C / Ctrl+V, submits it as their own paper.

And our main worry, I think, was for a long time that we would not be able to catch it. That students would, actually, be able to fool us and that we would actually think this was a student who understood the course, who put in the work, and who deserve to be rewarded for their grade. That was the main fear.

But here is the thing.

And listen up, students :

Essays written by ChatGPT :

Suck

Are spotted from a mile away from the person reading it

For real. They suck.

I cannot stress enough how easy they are to spot. You are NOT fooling anyone. I do not need the platform's AI-detecting tool to know when an essay was written by Chat GPT. It is so, very painfully obvious when that's the case.

But the problem then becomes : ok, I have spotted a student who cheated.

What am I even supposed to do with it.

It is one thing to KNOW that an essay was AI-generated, it is another to defend it to a plagiarism committee. First of all, does it actually count as plagiarism ? Second, how do prove, with certainty, that the student did not write it ? How to I convince the plagiarism committee that this is worth looking into ? I am in the role of a police officer, who needs to convince the DA that this is a winnable case, that prosecuting will not be a waste of their time. But I don't have a Similarity Percentage to rely on. I don't have an original source to say "look, this is the exact same wording!" like in a classic plagiarism case.

Best case scenario, I can make my case for thee student to actually be called to the plagiarism committee, where we probe into how, exactly, they wrote their essay, until they fold. Unlikely, morally questionable, and in all likelihood, ineffective on students already so confident in their bullshit that they have the audacity to submit a fully AI-generated work for their finals.

Now, students, gather up, especially if you have considered using Chat GPT this way. Because right now, you might think it means you can get away with it.

But let me tell you something. First, that essay is getting the shittiest grade we can give you. Because you know what is more difficult than a lecturer proving that a student used AI to generate their essay ? A student proving that they deserve a better grade. Once we give you a grade, burden of evidence is on you to prove that you have not been graded properly. And we can come up with 15 reasons why an essay is a shit essay. We put on kids' gloves, when we lecture and give feedback. We give the simplified version of most theories, we give the basics of how to structure an essay, the bar we set is spectacularly low, because students come in good faith, they are learning, they will not be held at the same standard as academics. But if you try to argue that you need a higher grade, when you had the audacity to not write a single word of your work, the kids gloves are going to come off real quick, and your lecturer will be able to very convincingly explain why, actually, giving you a passing grade was a mercy in the first place.

Second. Academics, especially angry academics, are a gossip machine.

You may get a passing grade, and there may be no official note of it in your file whatsoever. But I can guarantee you that your lecturer will chat with their colleagues. That every single one of your essay that year, and the years to come, will be looked at with so much scrutiny I hope your referencing for every single work reaches perfection. Every single paragraph will be looked at with the knowledge that you are likely to have had it AI-generated. Lecturers will tell their TA to look at for That One Student when they grade you .You will not be getting any flexibility from us, no extension without full documentation to support it, no letter of recommendation from any member of the faculty, no word in your favor if you are bordering a grade bracket. If we are feeling especially petty, we might even forget to answer your emails or answer any question you have with such warmth and kindness you really still never feel like asking a question again in our class. And I know that, because that's already happening. I have the name of three undergrads that we know, for a fact, did not write their own essay. Two are not even in my modules at all.

Now. That's pretty mean. But if you have the absolute audacity and lack of ethics required to submit an essay for which you have not written a single word, and thought it would actually work, when your lecturer spent probably more that 80 hours working in this module this term, gave you the opportunity to meet for office hours, to ask any question in person or in email, to have extensions, accommodations, additional time ? When you decided that putting exactly zero second of your time, considered that you were above that - and above other students- and yet we were not able to officially sanction you for it, we had to give you a passing grade, the same passing grade as students who actually made an effort?

Yeah, sorry, you are not getting any sympathy from your lecturers anymore.

[xomulti-creatorsxo]

Hi, may i ask you about writing an Ayato x reader who is shy and inexperienced in a romantic relationship?

Baby bunny

Pairing: Ayato aishi x gn!reader

Summary: shy and inexperienced you say? Oh boy Mickey style* he loves it.

Warnings:Ayato aishi. No but fr mentions of murder, suicide attempts, Stockholm Syndrome

"So multiple witnesses say you were good friends with osano" the police officer in front of you said. "Yes but I went home with a different friend, ask her. Her name is kokona"

I just know he used that to become closer to you

Ayato knows how shy you are

And he honestly thinks it is adorable but

After the teachers announced you were in a psychiatry for almost killing yourself cuz of osano

Ayato knew he couldn't kill anyone else when he stopped you from jumping.

Crying in his arms, hugging and no shoes but a letter next to them

After that you 2 became closer

And he would sometimes do the occasional flirting (harassment vs flirting)

And sometimes the special "beating up musume" rizz

Did I mention You were always bullied by musume and her gang?

So ayato killed them off one by one

The school went on lockdown for some days

After every1 came back

Nothing was the same anymore

Absolutely nothing

You stuck closer to him and he loved it

How you would blush and apologize for being to close, fiddling with the hem of your skirt out of embarrassment

He. Wants. It. All

Any sound any reaction he needed you

He couldn't wait any longer

So he kidnapped you

His darling

All his forever

Finally coming to terms with kidnapping was a bit Rocky but he loves that he was patient with you

Stockholm Syndrome? Never heard of it

It's true love

Once you tell him you're inexperienced

He's fr like" me too! We can learn together darling "

It's a dream finally come true

[stressfulsloth]

I've seen a couple of takes about Disco Elysium being copaganda going around recently, and beyond the fact that DE is relentlessly critical of the police force in general and makes explicit reference to the failures of the system that allow the officers in game to abuse their power, I also think it's important to note that there very literally is an in-world version of copaganda that the writers of the game use to parody that romanticised view of the brutality of policing. The RCM at their inception were structurally inspired by in-world copaganda- their culture, their "fashions, even weapon preferences, borrow heavily from classic Vespertine cop shows." Every investigation is it's own little drama, every officer imagining themselves to be the bad-ass hero of their own crime serial. Detectives name their cases like they're naming episodes of a TV series in a "robust but literary system"; a title that "draws inspiration from snoop fiction and Vespertine cop show staples". They give themselves nicknames to sound like cool, suave fictional officers- Ace, Dick Mullen, etc.- from the cool, suave world of copaganda.

The legend of the RCM's inception, the "point of contention" over its uncertain origins, is even an extention of that; the whole organisation is shrouded in this self-fictionalising mythos that allows for distance that in turn obfuscates much of its violence to the officers that participate in it. They get to convince themselves that they're not abusing their power; they're the hero of the story! The dichotomy of "good guy" taking out the "baddies," a manifestation of the libertarian fantasy of the "good guy with a gun" who does what it takes, just like in Annette's detective novels, and at the same time who rails against oversight bodies like Internal Affairs/'the rat squad' because due process slows down the immediate satisfaction of Swift Justice, despite Internal Affairs existing to protect the citizens from overreach on behalf of the police. "Wanton brutality" from police in their real world is a cold bitter reality but Dick Mullen was "made to crack skulls," "bend the rules and solve cases no one else can," and which version of that story is more comforting to the overworked, underfunded officers of the RCM?

The level of fantasy and detachment required for the cops to still see themselves as the good guys after everything that they do in the line of duty mimics The Pigs and her breakdown too; she parallels Harry so clearly. Both "did right by the kids" in the past, hoping for a better future- Marianne (The Pigs) by looking out for Titus and the Hardy boys when they were young, Harry in his role as a gym teacher. Both abandoned and left behind by the system that the RCM uphold- a brutal capitalist landscape with no safety nets. Both turning the source of their trauma into a costume, a performance, a shield, shaped by "radio waves and cop shows." The Pigs uses RCM items scavenged from the Esperance where they'd been thrown away, while Harry uses the Dick Mullen hat that Annette gives him but both are essentially in costume.

Harry identifies himself with the fictional detective as a kind of wish fulfilment; Dick Mullen is "wicked smart." He doesn't fuck up his cases and when he's sad it's not pathetic; it's effortlessly cool brooding and everyone sympathises. Everyone loves him. His violence- "skull crack[ing]"- is justified because he's a "good guy" enacting that violence against the victims of police brutality sorry "bad guys". He doesn't ever face repercussions; "Dick Mullen won't be sent to the clink for the sake of some legal niceties!" So if Harry is Dick Mullen then his failures, his breakdown, they're all just a part of being a "bad-ass, on-the-edge disco cop." He's not wrong, he's a hero! This idealised fictionalised idea of the police force, this "new, sadly better, reality" that both Harry and The Pigs cling to is "escapist stuff," "receed[ing] into a ludicrous fantasy world," so far removed from the brutal material reality that they're in.

My point is, idk. Disco Elysium is so far from being copaganda. It is a multi-million word long dissection of it, of the purpose of policing, of state sanctioned violence and its interaction with capital and the fallout experienced within the wider community as well as the trauma cycle created for individual officers. A dissection of how copaganda interacts with RCM culture and perception, and by extension how we interact with irl perceptions of police through that lens.

[cimmanonrowl]

In the right time, maybe.

Chapter One | Chapter Navigation

Pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner x bfd!reader

Contents: age gap, older guy x young woman relationship, forbidden love, flashback, sassy!reader, even sassier!aaron.

7 years ago.

“The calls started coming in…” It was the first thing you heard your mother say since you joined her and your father for breakfast. 

You forced yourself to continue eating. But the eggs taste like nothing, the toast dry in your mouth like gravel. For the last 15 minutes you spent sitting across them, the tension pressed down heavily on your chest. Now that she spoke, you couldn’t help but glance at your father, searching his face for any hint of emotion. But his expression was unreadable as always— calm and composed as he listened to your mother’s sweet voice.

There was a faint smile on her face as she set her knife and fork down on her plate. “Cynthia called first thing this morning, and not out of concern, I’m sure. She wanted to know if the rumors she’d heard were true…” she trailed off, the sweetness dripping from her mouth contrasted with the coldness of her eyes. “That my daughter had been arrested. At a frat party.”

The clinking of silverware against china was the only sound left in the dining room. Through the tall windows, the morning sun filtered, flooding the room with a faint, golden glow. Everything was set perfectly as you always remembered— freshly brewed coffee in delicate cups, pastries neatly stacked on a silver platter, and fruit arranged in pristine order on elegant porcelain plates. 

And you sat there, eyes downcast, pushing your scrambled eggs around on your plate, unable to bring yourself to take another bite. 

“She was very polite about it, of course,” Mother dear continued, her voice as smooth as Italian silk, “But I could hear it in her tone— the faux concern, the curiosity for the gossip. My friends will be buzzing about this for weeks. Oh, did you hear what happened to her daughter? Arrested for assaulting a Teacher’s Aide, that poor woman.” She mimicked them with a faint, elegant smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

You urged yourself to stay quiet. What could you even say to make this better?

“How delightful it will be for them to have such fresh material to gossip about. By the time I arrive today, I’m sure the whole country club already knows what happened. Can you imagine the whispers?” She raised one of her delicate eyebrows, her lips pursed.

Your father sipped his coffee slowly, the lines of his face set in that stoic, unreadable expression he’s mastered over the years. Your cheeks burned with shame. You cleared your throat as the words refused to come out, your eyes fixed on the table as the embarrassment and regret clawed at you.

“I didn’t…” you finally found your voice, though it was weak, trembling. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, Mom. It was just—”

“A prank?” your mother cut you off, humming sarcastically. “That’s what you told us earlier at the police station, remember? A prank. Do you think that makes it better? Do you think the chancellor or our family friends care that it was just a prank?”

You swallowed hard, unable to meet her gaze.

“No.”

“Of course not, you stupid girl. Because it doesn’t matter why you did it. All that matters is the outcome. The damage is done.”

The events of last night loomed in the air— your arrest at the frat party, the flashing lights, the crowd of onlookers recording everything. You can still feel the cold metal of the handcuffs and how it harshly bit on your skin, the sting of the police officers’ loud voices, and worst of all, the cameras. Those fucking cameras. Although you haven’t got the courage to check your phone yet, you know those videos are out there now, circulating the internet with your name being dragged around by everyone in the Law Department who knew who you were.

“The scandal you’ve caused…” Your stomach turned, the humiliation hitting you all over again as your mother ranted relentlessly. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to wake up to ten missed calls from women at the country club, all of them pretending to be concerned, but really just salivating at the chance to gossip about how my daughter was arrested at some filthy frat party? What in the world were you doing in that dirty place, anyway? I was certain I raised you with a better taste than that.”

Your mother placed her napkin on the table with almost graceful precision, but you could tell she was holding herself back from losing her composure, holding herself back from the storm of anger that was simmering just beneath the surface.

“I just thought- I thought it was a chance to… meet people and socialize. It’s my first semester and you always tell me the importance of building connec–”

“With people of value. I didn’t mean in a rathole, did I?”

You pursed your lips. “Most of them are family acquaintances, Mom.”

“It didn’t occur to you that must be the reason why they’re only acquaintances?” Your mother’s tone remained deceptively soft, almost pleasant, as she continued. “That you don’t meet those people in charity nights or country clubs because they hang out in dirty, frat houses?”

“But Dad is part of a frat in Law School, Mom. It’s one of the ways to build connections inside the academe. Some professors are even part of those frats. It has perks—”

“And did your father also tell you to crack open someone’s skull in the middle of the party?”

“N-no…”

“That’s what I thought,” she smiled sweetly.

Your throat tightened, the shame creeping up inside you, wrapping itself around your chest until it was hard to breathe. No matter how you don’t agree with her words, even when you want so badly to defend yourself, at the end of the day, you know you’re still wrong.

“I’m sorry, Mom. It was just a lapse of judgement.”

“Is that what you call it?” she sounded amused as she echoed the words you used. “Because to me, it seems like you didn’t even use your brain. How would it be a lapse of judgment?”

You didn’t answer— you couldn’t. You’re fully aware that no amount of explanation would even justify what happened.

It was intended as a stupid joke, a harmless prank—something to rile up the frat boys and mess with the Teacher’s Aide who always gave you a hard time. He was a prick. Always acting pretentious and condescending in class, always shaming you during recitation. So you and a couple of your friends thought it’d be funny to mess with him. You had gotten the idea to stage a scene at the party— just a small “accident” involving him that would get everyone to whisper about him for weeks. 

You didn’t think it through.

No one did.

The prank backfired spectacularly. It was supposed to be harmless— just a spill of paint and a couple of embarrassing photos to post on the University board— but ended up with the man slipping and hitting his head hard on the corner of a table. The frat house had erupted into chaos after that, drunk people shouting, running around, and the guy lying there unconscious with a concerning amount of blood pooling on the floor.

That’s when someone must’ve called the cops.

Your father cleared his throat. “We’ve done our best to protect you from consequences in the past, sweetheart,” he began, his voice low but steady, the kind of tone that demanded your full attention. “But this— this isn’t something we can simply sweep under the rug.”

“You’ve embarrassed us, is what he’s saying,” your mother scoffed lightly, rolling her eyes at your father. “The truth is, you’ve embarrassed not only yourself but our family. Tell me, how are we supposed to face everyone? The people in your father’s work? My friends in the country club?”

You fell silent with her question. You’ve heard it all before— how important the family’s image is, how every action you take isn’t just your own, but a reflection of them. It was a lesson you’ve been taught since you were a child, but now, sitting here in the aftermath of your arrest, it felt heavier than ever.

“And the pictures,” your mother continued, her voice cutting through your thoughts again. “The videos. Did you think about that? How those images are going to be plastered all over social media for everyone to see? Your cheap dress? Your behavior? Do you even care how many of our friends’ children see them? I can only imagine the things they’ll say behind your back.”

Your father set his coffee down. His face was calm, but the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable, and it made you want to shrink into yourself. 

“I want you to realize how serious this is, sweetheart,” he said after a deep sigh, his voice never rising, but somehow becoming even more terrifying in its restraint. “It’s not just the scandal you’ve brought on this family, though that in itself is bad enough. It’s the fact that the university’s TA, the man you assaulted—and don’t tell me it wasn’t serious because we’ve heard the details— he’s considering filing a lawsuit against you.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. The word ‘lawsuit’ sent a chill down your spine. You knew things were bad, but you hadn’t fully processed that it could come to this. The prank had gone wrong—horribly so—but you hadn’t truly considered that it could escalate into something this big. The thought of legal action, of your parents being dragged into court over something you did…

Your mother inhaled slowly. Although she doesn’t raise her voice, each word cuts deeper than if she had screamed. “We’ll be dragged through the mud. And what then? What happens to our reputation? To your future?”

You ignored the fact that, based on her words, your reputation is much more important than your future. Or whatever you feel at the moment.

You could barely breathe as the conversation went on. You gripped the edge of your chair, trying to steady yourself, but it felt like the ground beneath you was crumbling away. 

“I didn’t mean it. I’m really- I’m so sorry…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, shaking.

“That doesn’t matter,” your father said. “Intent doesn’t minimize consequences. And now, we’re facing a very real possibility that you could be expelled, sued, and publicly humiliated all at once.”

The walls felt as if they were closing in around you.

Your mother’s eyes narrowed as she continued. “And then there’s the matter of money. Do you have any idea how much it will cost us to make this go away? To keep your record clean, to keep you in Law School after almost killing someone?” She leaned forward slightly, her voice low and cutting. “Do you even realize how selfish and stupid you’ve been?”

You swallowed hard. Expulsion. A permanent mark on your academic record. Your future— everything you’ve worked for— now hangs in the balance because of one reckless night.

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to cry in front of them. You feel small and ashamed, under the weight of everything that’s about to come crashing down on you. But then, you have no one else to blame but yourself.

Your father heaved another deep sigh. “We’ll need to contact our lawyer,” he said calmly, his mind already moving to control the damage. “We’ll have to negotiate with the university board and the TA. I already set a meeting with the chancellor. He’s an old friend, let’s just hope he will help us.”

You nodded numbly, the shame and guilt overwhelming you. The image of your mother at the country club, having to endure the whispers and judgemental looks, the thought of your father having to navigate meetings with lawyers and school administrators to clean up the mess you’ve made was so shameful to think about.

Your mother rose from her seat with a graceful composure. “Your father and I will fix this,” she said one last time, her voice clipped and emotionless. “But this will be the last time, I warn you. You’ve embarrassed us enough.”

Without another glance in your direction, she left the room, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Your father followed, quieter but no less distant, leaving you alone at the table.

“We’ll talk more about this later,” was all he said.

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel your house helpers’ gaze focused on you, watching you from the corner in which they all stand. You felt sick, not only because of the hangover but because it felt like the entire world had shifted beneath you, and you were left to deal with the wreckage.

“Miss? Are you awake?”

The knock on your door pulled you from sleep. You stirred in bed, your eyes heavy. There was a dull ache pounding in your head from all the crying you’d done. And with heavy feeling, you rolled over, blinking against the fading evening light that seeped through the curtains, trying to make sense of the knock.

It came again, a little louder this time. You pushed yourself up on your elbows just as the door creaked open, revealing the familiar figure of your family’s longtime maid. She was standing by the front door, her expression polite, her eyes reflecting a hint of sympathy she was trying to hide.

“Miss,” she repeated softly, “your parents have requested you come down for dinner.”

You rubbed your eyes and sat up fully. “Dinner?” your voice was scratchy as you mumbled.

“Yes, miss,” she replied, stepping slightly into the room. “Your parents have a guest tonight. It’s… important that you join them.”

Something in her tone caught your attention. A guest. You wonder who could it be. Though it was most likely just your family lawyer joining you for dinner. Your father did say you would talk about the situation later.

So you gave her a polite nod and swung your legs over the side of the bed. “Alright,” you said quietly, already feeling the knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. The last thing you want to do is face them again— especially over dinner— but you know there’s no avoiding it.

The maid disappeared quietly down the hall as you stood, your legs still shaky beneath you. You glance at yourself in the full-body mirror, grimacing at your reflection. Your hair was a mess, your eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. You tried to fix yourself up as best as you could, smoothing down your hair and splashing some cold water on your face to wake yourself up. But no matter how much you try to pull yourself together, the heaviness still loomed over your shoulders.

You made your way down the staircase, the smell of dinner wafting through the house. The soft murmur of voices reached your ears as you near the dining room— your parents, speaking in hushed tones. You couldn’t make out the words, but you picked up the urgency of their conversation that made you pause just outside the doorway.

You closed your eyes for a moment, preparing yourself, before stepping into the room.

The first thing you noticed was that your parents aren’t alone. Seated at the table with them, in the same spot he always sat at during family dinners so long ago… was Aaron. His presence was like a jolt of electricity, sending your heart skipping in your chest for a split second before it settled into an uneasy rhythm.

It has been so long since you last saw him— years, really. He’d been a constant figure in your life growing up, your father’s best friend since college. He’d been older than you by quite a bit, of course, but back then, you’d always been slightly captivated by him— his quiet intelligence, his boisterous laughter, the way he seemed to understand the world in ways you couldn’t yet grasp. It was endearing. He always had this presence about him, something solid and unshakeable, like he was the person you wanted around when things fell apart.

But now, sitting there at the dining table, he looked different— older, yes, but in a way that’s more refined. His hair was shorter than you remember, clean cut, dark brown with threads of silver creeping in at his temples, and his jawline was sharper, with the beginnings of stubble framing his mouth. He was wearing a tailored suit, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders, the crisp white collar open at his throat, his tie undone as if he’d just come from a long day at work. 

Then there’s the intensity to his eyes. His expression was serious, his lips pressed into a thoughtful line as he listened to your parents talk.

As you step further into the room, Aaron’s gaze lifted, and for a moment, his eyes locked with yours. Your breath got caught right in your throat. 

“Aaron,” your father said formally, cutting into the silence as he noticed you standing there. “You remember my daughter.”

Aaron’s lips twitched into a slight smile, but it was fleeting. “Of course,” he said, his voice deep and even. “It’s been a while.”

You swallowed hard, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. You force yourself to walk further into the room, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. “Hi, Aaron,” just a short greeting, your voice shaky– that’s all you had managed.

Your mother glanced at you. “Come sit down,” she said, gesturing to the empty seat across from Aaron. “We were just discussing the situation.”

Your stomach churned in shame. The situation. You know exactly what they’re talking about. And how embarrassing it was.

You took your seat, your hands trembling slightly as you settled into the chair. You focused yourself on a maid filling your glass with water, thanking her promptly and watching her walk away.

“Your father and I,” your mother started, effectively catching your attention, “were just going over the legal implications of what happened at the university.”

You glanced at your father, unsure of what to say. You know how grave the situation was, but seeing Aaron here, sitting with your parents as they calmly discuss your future as if it were some business negotiation, makes you want to crawl out of your skin and disappear forever.

“And Aaron’s here because?” You frowned, your voice sounded sarcastic without intending to. “We already have a family lawyer. Do we really need to drag him into this?”

Your father’s gaze sharpened just a bit. “Aaron has been a trusted friend of the family for years. Given the severity of your circumstances, we thought his experience would be invaluable.”

“Experience?” You let out a small, incredulous laugh, folding your arms across your chest. “He’s an FBI agent, Dad, not my defense attorney. This isn’t a federal case. It’s just a stupid prank gone wrong. I don’t see why we need to make this a whole ‘bring in the cavalry’ thing.” You glanced back at Aaron. “And I’m sure he’s got more important things to do than babysit me.”

Aaron leaned back slightly in his chair, his voice calm but firm when he spoke. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think this was serious.” His hazel eyes locked onto yours, and there was a weight to his words that made your earlier sarcasm feel childish and misplaced. “There’s a chance the university will pursue disciplinary action against you. But there’s also the matter of the TA. His injuries are documented, and he has every right to file charges.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your tongue. The potential lawsuit. The school hearing. Your entire future balancing on the edge of a knife. Deep down, you know he’s right, but the idea of Aaron being here, so entrenched in this mess, felt too personal— too invasive. Why on Earth would you want him here?

You’re used to your parents managing everything, controlling every detail of your life, but Aaron? It was different.

Your father cleared his throat. “He’s just offering legal advice and some advice on how we can keep this from spiraling any further.”

“I appreciate the help,” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your voice laced with a slight edge of stubbornness, “but I don’t need to be micromanaged by a fed. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with this.”

Your mother raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “And what exactly do you plan to do? Handle it on your own? When all you did all day is lock yourself in your room and cry? Is that your idea of handling problems?”

You bit back the urge to say, ‘Yes, so what?’

The tension in the room thickened as your mother’s words silenced you. You felt the familiar heat of frustration creeping up your neck. It’s the same old story— no matter what, they always think you need to be rescued, that you’re not capable of handling your own life. That all you could do was cry, although that was exactly what you did.

Aaron, however, remained calm, his gaze never wavering from yours. “No one’s saying you’re not capable,” he said, his voice low and measured. “But this is a situation that’s already out of your control. There are legal repercussions, reputational damage, and the possibility of expulsion. Ignoring it or downplaying it won’t make it go away.”

His tone was steady, not condescending, but the message was clear: Whether you like it or not, this is bigger than you. So listen to me, little girl.

You bit the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to snap back at him. But instead, you exhaled slowly, trying to tamp down the frustration bubbling up inside you. “Fine,” you voice was tight as you spoke. “But I still don’t understand why Aaron needs to be involved. We can handle this with our own lawyer.”

Your mother interjected with an eye roll. “Aaron is a friend, and I don’t think you’re in much position to say who can help us and who can’t.” She paused and stared at you with that poised, assessing gaze she always has. “I suggest you listen to him.”

“And if I don’t?”

You almost flinched when you heard the sharp sound of your father’s sigh. “I’m too tired to deal with this attitude. Don’t push my button. I will send you to your Grandma if you don’t shut your damn mouth.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. You glanced at Aaron again, feeling a flicker of something you can’t quite place. He was watching you carefully. And for a brief moment, you felt like you were back to being that younger version of yourself, looking up to him, admiring him, thinking he had all the answers, thinking he could fix everything.

But now, everything feels different. When you’re the problem he’s been called in to fix.

“Alright,” you finally said, the fight going out of you as the reality of the situation set in. “Whatever.”

Aaron nodded slightly, his expression softening just a touch, and didn’t say anything else.

Later that evening, you have been called to your father’s office. The dim light casted long shadows over the dark wood paneling and the rows of bookshelves lining the walls. You’ve always thought of this room as intimidating, with all the thick books and deep leather armchairs, and the old oak desk, but tonight you feel even more antsy.

You were perched on the edge of the sofa, your legs stretched out in front of you, painting your toenails with a level of focus that belies how much your mind was actually racing. You needed something to do with your hands, something to distract yourself from the fact that you were alone in the room with Aaron. 

The smell of polish hangs faintly in the air. You felt the hem of your nightdress ride up your thighs as you leaned forward slightly to get a better angle on your toes.

And from your seat, you can hear the faint sound of the videos Aaron was busy watching.

He sat across from you in one of the large armchairs, his back straight, his attention narrowed down on the laptop balanced on his knees. He was watching video clips and scrolling through photos from the night of the frat party. You’ve caught glimpses of the screen ealier, the images of yourself in that tight, short dress flashing by, a reminder of just how badly things have spiraled out of control.

You could feel his presence like a heat in the room, a steady pressure that makes it hard to breathe. Every now and then, his gaze shifted from the screen to you, but it was subtle, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t so hyper-aware of him. You don’t have to look up to know when his eyes are on you; you can feel it in the way your skin tingled, the way your heart skipped a beat.

He cleared his throat eventually, the sound breaking the heavy silence. “These videos,” he started, his voice low and gruff, “are all over social media. It’s worse than I thought.”

You paused mid-stroke, the small brush hovering over your toe, your pulse quickening at the seriousness in his tone. You glanced up at him, trying to gauge his expression. He addressed you in a formal manner. But still, there was a flicker of something in his eyes that you couldn’t name— something that made your stomach flutter in a way you’d rather ignore.

“Yeah, well,” you mumbled, turning your attention back to your nails, “I guess that’s what happens when everyone has a phone in their hand these days.”

Aaron didn’t respond immediately. You heard the faint clicking as he scrolled through more images, the silence stretching on between you. The weight of his scrutiny, even if it was just on a screen, made you squirm slightly in your seat. 

You shifted your position, the movement causing your nightdress to ride up even more, the silky fabric sliding higher up your thighs.

You caught a brief flicker of movement from the corner of your eye— his gaze dropping to your legs, lingering for just a second longer than necessary before he quickly looked back at the screen. It was so quick, so subtle, that you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. But your heart did that traitorous little skip again, and you had to force yourself to focus on what you were doing, so you don’t dwell on it.

“This isn’t going to go away on its own,” Aaron said again after a beat of silence, as if he was choosing his words with great care. “The videos, the pictures—they’re everywhere. The university is likely to use them as evidence if they pursue disciplinary action.”

You placed the nail polish brush back in the bottle, twisting it shut with a sharp click. “So what?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. “We already knew it was bad.”

“It’s worse,” he pressed, his eyes lifting to meet yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch. “And I’m not just talking about the university. This could get very public, very fast. You need to understand what that means.”

You bristled at his words, feeling a flare of defensiveness rise up. “I get it, okay? I know I screwed up. I’m not stupid. But we don’t need to keep going over it.” You shifted again, fanning your hand over the wet nail polish, the nightdress inching up higher as you moved, exposing more of your skin.

This time, you didn’t miss the way Aaron’s eyes darted to the fabric as it rode up, his gaze lingering before he caught himself and quickly looked away, his jaw tightening slightly. There was something in his expression now, something that was not just concern or frustration.

You felt a strange mix of emotions— embarrassment, maybe, or something closer to satisfaction— at catching him off guard, at seeing that brief lapse in his composure. He’d always been so steady, so in control, and there was a part of you that was curious, maybe even a little thrilled, to see that control waver even only for a second.

“Are you going to keep staring at those videos all night? Or are we actually going to talk about something useful?”

Aaron’s eyes snapped back to yours, his expression hardening even more. “This is useful,” he replied evenly, though his voice is a bit more clipped now. “The more we understand about what’s out there, the better we can prepare for what’s coming.”

You leaned back slightly, stretching your legs out and letting the nightdress fall naturally over your thighs. “I think we both know what’s coming,” your tone edged with resignation. “I’m going to be dragged through the mud, and my parents are going to do everything they can to make it disappear. That’s how this always goes.”

Aaron’s gaze darkened, and he set the laptop aside, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. “Is that what you think this is?” he said quietly, but firmly. “You’re not a kid anymore, and this isn’t just about your parents cleaning up a mess. This is about your future. If this ends up in a court, your future will be at stake.”

There was something strange with the way he said it. You’re not a kid anymore. And you dropped your eyes, suddenly feeling very exposed— not just because of the nightdress, but because of everything you’ve been trying so hard to brush off.

“Why do you care so much, anyway? This is none of your business.”

For a moment, he was silent, and you wondered whether that was too much and you crossed a line. But then, he suddenly said, “Forget it. You’re pretty much the same kid I knew. I thought you’d be able to handle this with maturity, but obviously I’m wrong.”

Obviously.

You felt a surge of anger with that. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re still the same spoiled and whiny child from before.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief and offense. You’re not sure you followed everything he said after that. Because in the back of your mind, all you wondered about is what goes on in his brain when he looks at you with those dark, piercing eyes.

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