#look‚

[leupagus]

Would Hardy say "breasts" or "tits" in his narrative voice, I can't decide

His mobile goes off at half-four on a Sunday; the whole drive up to Kingsgrove Wood he has his mum's voice echoing in his ears that it's God's day, for rest and prayer and not mucking about in the woods. The voice gets louder as he's lead further in by a pair of constables, their torches flailing through the darkness for nearly twenty minutes before they arrive at the scene. 

Miller's there already in a full noddy suit, talking in low tones with Brian as she juggles her phone, her notebook and a thermos just outside the forensics tent. "Go away," she says cheerfully as Hardy finally stumbles into the clearing.

Brian glances over his shoulder, makes a face, and disappears back into the tent. Hardy's about to follow him inside when Miller gets in his way. "Miller," he warns.

"Listen, we're all overjoyed at the prospect of seeing your smiling face at… five oh seven in the morning," she says, glancing at her phone, "But this is why you've got a DS. I can brief you later."

"Brief me now," he says. She sighs and thrusts the thermos into his hands. "This for me?"

"No, lesson learned there, you'll just leave it on your desk until it gets mouldy." She waves her hands a bit — noddy suits don't have pockets — before unzipping just enough to slip her phone into her bra. She then flips her notebook open and peers at her handwriting, nudging him out of the floodlight positioned above the tent. "All right, a pair of adventurous young people were out here 'for a walk' at just past eleven, saw 'something weird' sticking out of the ground, poked around and found a jawbone, which I'm fairly sure wasn't how they wanted their evening to go. They've been statemented and released; Katie's running them home under protest."

"Under protest? Why?" Harford's got better in the past six months or so — Miller's oddly fond of her now, Hardy will never understand people — but if she's whinging again about basic aspects of the job, he's not above giving her a bollocking. He's cut back on caffeine, but shouting makes for a passable substitute.

"The lad was sick all over his own trousers." Miller grins. "And he had vindaloo last night."

Hardy uncaps the thermos and takes a whiff — burnt coffee, which seems to be the only kind Miller drinks. "What about the jawbone?"

"'Human' is about as far as they've got; they're digging up the rest now. We did take pictures of what the area looked like before they got their trowels in — looked completely undisturbed. This area doesn't have much in the way of footpaths; it's part of one of those preserves that's been popping up all over this area the past twenty-odd years. Makes me wonder a bit about how our outdoorsy friends just happened to trip over it, to be honest."

"Seems a bit out of the way, aye." He wouldn't be surprised if this was the most people who'd stood on this ground in the past few centuries.

"Mm. Something else odd. From what SOCO's got so far, the body was definitely buried — about three feet deep — but with the angle of the hill here and all the rain we've been getting—" She makes a complicated gesture; her phone lights up her breasts in a very distracting way. He frowns down at the thermos. "And there's another thing," she adds. "We haven't found the actual… head part. Yet."

Hardy forgets about her bioluminescent chest for long enough to glare at her. "You lost the skull?"

She glares right back. "It's probably rolled down the hill! It's pitch dark! We'll find it, it's just—"

"For God's sake—"

"Oh, don't 'for God's sake' me at this hour, we're doing the best we can!"

"Minus the skull!"

"Which might not have even been buried with the rest of the body!"

He hands her back the thermos, keeping his eyes off her glowing tits. "Find it, all right?"

"Dawn's still an hour off," she shouts after him. "We don't even know how old the body is! It could be from the bloody Bronze Age for all we know!"

[czerwonywilk]

a great change and a great way to execute the idea

[shobiolovechild]

there are 2 kinds of mangaka when drawing: the ones that hate woman and the ones that love woman

And, guys...

i think ryoko kui really loves woman.

[faeriekit]

"This fic was ai generated—" Cool, so lemme block you real quick

[lotrmusical]

never let anyone tell you that trawling through mediocre victorian poetry isn't worth it. we just happened upon an absolute BANGER of a worm poem. go read it or else 🪱🪱🪱

[theboxfort]

Peace and love

[hojlundaise]

the transition im crying

[bronzetomatoes]

Why dont we all look at Andy

[griancraft]

Listen to skyjacks also look at my cat

[ladydorian]

[leupagus]

The worst part about getting fannish about a thing is that there's always a risk there's zero fandom for the thing

and hence nobody will appreciate my "Dalgliesh" fic idea where Miskin and Masterson have to pretend to be married for [MacGuffin] reasons, which leads to Dalgliesh being extremely normal and chill about it, including a scene where Miskin finds out that Dalgliesh can dance. I don't care why, I just want Miskin to get forced onto the dance floor only to find out her boss knows the waltz.

There will also be a scene in which Dalgliesh has been drugged for [MacGuffin] reasons and Miskin has just found out Dalgliesh is secretly a super famous poet:

The monitors beeped in a sort of sullen background chatter, like Kate's aunties whispering at a family dinner. She ignored them and squeezed his hand; it was still cold, but warmer than it had been in that alley. 'So you're a poet?' she said, aiming for 'cheerful' and probably closer to 'manic.' 'Hope that guy wasn't a fan.'

'One of them did try to stab me, in '72,' he mumbled, drowsy and drifting. 'He'd read one of my poems to his girlfriend as a method of proposing, and she turned him down. He was rather upset with me.'

'That's what you get for writing romantic poetry in this cruel modern world,' she said. 'Can't trust these artsy-fartsy types.' Kate hadn't been kidding, that day her and Masterson had their fight: she didn't think Dalgliesh was handsome, not really. But there was something about his face, the unsure jut of his chin as though he were constantly forcing his way through his own self-doubt. 

He smiled, his hand holding hers carefully. As though it were precious, more precious than that emerald necklace they'd just spilled so much blood to find. She wondered where it had ended up; hopefully in one of those bins in the alley, thrown out with the rest of the trash. She'd throw away a dozen of them, a hundred, millions, so long as Adam was all right, so long as he— 

'So other than failing love poems, what sort do you write?' she asked, keeping her voice light, keeping any sort of tremble out of it.

His eyes were still glassy and unfocused, but he frowned as if he were giving her question deep thought. 'I can't really remember any, except one,' he said. 'And it may not be entirely appropriate.' It took him a few tries to get out 'appropriate,' but he got there in the end.

'Go on, then,' she said, scooting the chair closer, laying her arm along the side of his bed. 'Amaze me with your genius.'

'Very well,' he said, voice catching on a yawn which he passed onto her, the bastard. 'Are you ready?'

'You want me to get out my notebook?' Kate asked, tugging her hand away to reach for her jacket and the notebook tucked in the pocket.

His hand tightened around hers, threading their fingers together. 'Not necessary.'

'Then get on with it. Sir,' she added, more for her own benefit than his.

He huffed and settled himself further into the bed, drawing her hand up to his chest. 'There was,' he began, 'An old man from Nantucket—'

Kate snatched her hand away. 'I'm resigning immediately,' she hissed, and he chuckled, his eyes slipping closed.

'Whither thou goest, Naomi,' he mumbled, so faint she could hardly hear over the clatter of her own heart.

[taffywabbit]

they should invent a new type of "staying in bed for 2-3 hours after you wake up repeatedly opening and closing apps on your phone" where it makes you feel awesome and energized and emotionally fulfilled

[charhounds]

[beaft]

can anyone tell me why i enter the grocery store a normal person and emerge as some sort of vile ravening monster

[tenderanarchist]

These are so fun to make

[blastdamage]

the paris catacombs are 1000x more fucked up than i imagined