#that is a criminal offence sir

[racewinnerlandonorris]

undefined

i can’t believe will did lando dirty like this, i'm DEAD

[nonpracticinghumanbeing]

Taika Waititi, smiling: This show is a romantic comedy.

[Stede and Mary needing a murder attempt to patch things up] [Little Jim seeing their parents being killed] [Stede being traumatized by his father]

Taika, winking: Yup, just a romantic comedy.

[Both Badmintons being gruesomely killed] [Edward having PTSD after killing his abusive father] [Izzy being forced to eat his own toe]

Taika, blowing kisses and throwing flower petals all around: Totally. Completely. 100% A. Romantic. Comedy.

[petnews2day]

MP Sir Christopher Chope tries to block cat abduction offence

New Post has been published on https://petn.ws/0hpvZ

MP Sir Christopher Chope tries to block cat abduction offence

British short hair cats at show in Althens A Conservative MP is trying to overturn a government-backed plan to make abducting cats a criminal offence in England and Northern Ireland. Sir Christopher Chope has proposed changes to the Pet Abduction Bill initially restricting it to dogs. He says it should only cover cats when another […]

See full article at https://petn.ws/0hpvZ #CatsNews #CatsAndDogs, #ChristopherChope, #ConservativeMP, #CriminalOffence, #Microchipped, #NorthernIreland, #PrivateMember039SBill, #SirChristopher, #TheGovernment

[somethingintheforest]

I think a lot of modern Sherlock Holmes adaptations (as in, Holmes in the modern era) miss out by having Holmes work so closely with the police. A lot of people forget that Holmes was one of the original ACAB bitchies in fiction; he did not like the police. Yes, he worked alongside them sometimes, but he often talked about them with open distain. Sometimes he even worked directly against them (think of The Norwood Builder).

Granted this was mostly because the police lacked a lot of the skills they have today, such as forensics, something that Holmes was an advocate for, and tended to draw conclusions that did not fit the obvious facts. This has obviously changed - the police have a lot more resources at their disposal nowadays, but they are not a perfect institution - far, far from it, and if he were alive today, Holmes would have a lot to say about that.

I wish modern adaptations stayed true to the fact that in canon, Sherlock Holmes was the man you went to if you could not go to the police. If you had, perhaps, a criminal record, were homeless, were POC, were queer, were neurodivergent, an abuse victim, reliant on illegal substances, or even wrongfully accused, Sherlock Holmes would be the man you went to, and he would help you to the best of his ability.

Also, Holmes had his own unique sense of justice. Think of The Abbey Grange - a man murders the abusive husband of an old lover, and the wife is complicit. Holmes and Watson ultimately decide to let them go - Lady Brackenstall was being horribly abused, she was trapped in a loveless marriage with a violent husband. Captain Crocker murdered Sir Eustace, freeing Lady Brackenstall and perhaps saving her life. If the police had arrested Crocker, it would be very likely he would be hanged for murder, regardless of the circumstances.

Then there is James Ryder in the Blue Carbuncle. He, after Holmes pesters him, freely admits to stealing the jewel, but Holmes does not hand him over to the police and instead lets him walk free. It was Ryder's first offence, one he was manipulated into committing, and Holmes and Watson see him as a, quite frankly, pathetic little man. Holmes realises that if he were to turn Ryder in, it would destroy his life - he would be 'a jailbird for life'. Ryder committed a crime, but he is no criminal. Prison would turn him into one.

Holmes takes justice into his own hands, and in a way, it turns him into an anti-hero. But I think this a part of what makes him such a loveable, iconic character.

Holmes has created a 'safe space' within 221B Baker Street. I think this would be extremely intresting to explore through a modern lens.

[seowoobins]

230215 : twt update

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin]

Hanging Out

Spencer wasn’t one to detail his calendar to the last minute. But he liked having a clear idea of when he was going to be doing. He walked out of the office deciding to pass by a little coffee place for a breather, he didn’t dislike paperwork he just hated how much and extensive it was. He was on an indefinite break after just being lied to over and over again by an incredibly annoying suspect.

He watched as you stood outside frowning at your phone.

“Hey, Stranger.” you looked up at him and smiled, his heart skipping a beat.

“Hey Genius, what’s up?”

“I should be asking you?” you shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Come one now, you know you are a terrible liar.”

“Only when it’s you.” you sighed as you showed him your phone. “My best friend is on a date with my boyfriend, she made him text me to break up.”

Spencer squinted, analysing everything about the picture.

“They look comfortable, his posture leant more into her, this has been going on for a while.”

“So I’m not crazy, thank you.” you slid your phone into your pocket. “I’m trying to figure out what to do now.”

“Would you like to go have lunch together?”

“I just got broken up with Spence don’t you think a grace perios is in order?” Spencer turned slightly red at his ears.

“I-I mean the restaurant they’re at, a-and pretend but-”

“Revenge huh?” you cross your arms and envisioned it. You weren’t a confrontational type infact you hated it which was ironic considering your job but you managed to alienate any feelings towards your criminals and your loved ones.

It might get messy.

“OR you could just enjoy lunch SOMEWHERE ELSE WITHOUT ME i won’t take offence i promise.” Spencer looked genuinely scared that he might have crossed a line.

“I don’t know where the restaurant they are is so-” you held out your hand. “I’m trusting you to take me there and back.”

Spencer grinned and it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. “You can think of it as a hangout instead of a date.”

“I actually would like to go on a date with you, a real one.”

He nodded but the shy smile on his face betrayed him.

“I haven’t had the best er dating history.”

“I don’t care, it’s you Spencer, I like you.” He grinned again and you felt your heart beat faster.. “You have a pretty smile Reid.” His grip on your hand tightened.

“You are pretty.”

“Can I get one big bowl of croutons and a glass of railway?” Railway was some new smoothie that had everything I like in one glass.

“Alright, and what about you sir?”

“A club sandwich and a cup of coffee.”

“Your order will be with you in a few,”

You turned to look at them when Spencer stopped you.

“Have you texted him back?’ You shook your head taking out your phone.

“Should I?”

“Call him instead.” you blinked when you realised where he was going with this.

“I think you’ve watched a lot of revenge drama, Dr. Reid.” He looks away, blushing. You lean in and take in the man infront you. “You’re cute when you blush.”

“You are spinning me, sunshine.”

“Sunshine?”

“If you saw yourself in my eyes, I think you’d understand.”

You leaned back. “How the tables have turned.”

You heard glass break to the side but didn’t flinch keeping your eyes on the doctor as he kept his on yours.

“Touché.”

You scrolled through your contact.

Brrr

Brrr

He picked up.

“Hey, listen. I saw your text and honestly no hard feelings. It’s good we didn’t move in together or packing would be so annoying to deal with. I hope you and her are happy, Bye.” you ended the call without a second thought.

You blocked him and put your phone back in your pocket. All the while you were keeping eye contact with Spencer.

“You look way too good for someone who just got dumped.”

“What can I say.” you shrugged before winking at him. “I had someone help me stay steady.”

“You are a flirt.”

“Only for you doctor.” Spencer’s head fell back as he laughed. It was a boyous laugh that also had you laughing too.

“HEY!” you stopped laughing as you had met the eyes of your ex who was fuming above you.

“Why are you here?”

“I should be asking you, why are you on a date with your co-worker?”

“Says the one on a date with my best- ex-best friend. You're funny, don’t you think so, genius?”

Spencer’s eyes were sharp on the two as he nodded, “Funny guy.” his voice chilled up the summer afternoon. “Now if you two would move out the way, our waiter is right behind you.”

Fuming the both of them left and you and Spencer had lunch together. You both received a joint text from Aaron giving everyone the remainder of the day off.

“Hey, Spencer,” He looked at you as you both exited hand in hand. “Do you think you can walk me home?”

“You don’t even have to ask.”

______________________________________________________________

no.3 of spencer reid's firsts

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Espionage" - Kaz Brekker x Reader

SUMMARY: Lord de Witt is throwing an exclusive banquet for socialites - just the perfect opportunity for Kaz to put his hands on whatever the aristocrat has in his safe. Fortunately, being an ambassador's daughter, you can easily smuggle him in but the two of you must pretend you're engaged to avoid suspicion.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 3.7k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist&lt;<

If Jesper didn’t know Kaz, he’d think he was having a laugh.

“When you said you know someone, I was expecting everything but the daughter of an ambassador.” Then, in a slightly anxious manner, he turns to look at you apologetically. “No offence.”

There is something quite amusing in his uneasiness as though Jesper is expecting to be decapitated for as much as giving you a sour grimace. You’re probably the closest thing to nobility he’s ever been around.

“Worry not, sir,” you reassure him with a polite smile on your face, “I will try my best not to spoil your criminal quality.”

His eyebrows furrow and he leans towards Inej. “Did… did she just call me ‘sir’?” he asks quietly.

“Don’t get used to it,” she answers half-heartedly, busy pondering something else.

“How do you even know each other?” Jesper points between you and Kaz but the moment his index finger is directed towards you, he quickly puts his hand down. “I doubt you’ve been to the Barrel before.”

To any passerby, the sight of you and the Crows standing next to each other must look like a skit. With your expensive, light-coloured dress and back about as straight as a broomstick, you really do stand out like a sore thumb. Are those lowlifes bothering a proper lady or is she perhaps noble enough to offer them a few coins?

“That’s quite right. When my father was fraudulently accused of conspiring against the crown, mister Brekker,” out of pure habit you vaguely gesture towards him, “had been so kind as to solve this perplexing hoax. It is only fair that I agree to help him when he asks.”

Kaz checks his watch. Then, his expression suddenly becomes stern, focused, and you know exactly what it means.

“We should go,” he states. His eyes have a strange glint of both coldness and concealed worry to them. “There’s no backing out now.”

Your polite smile doesn’t falter. “I wasn’t considering such a thing.”

The dearth path around the lawn in front of the manor is blocked with countless carriages - horses of one freight have their nostrils pushed against the rolling stock of another cart. It seems as though Lord de Witt has invited half of the continent to his exclusive banquet. Half of them, one might assume, came out of courtesy or simply because of the other guests sure to attend.

Mixing into the crowd of rich men and aristocracy, choking on the powder and perfume, you tell Kaz the basics of banquets like this:

“Let me do the talking. You’re accompanying me, which among socialites makes you akin to a show horse. Of course, someone might ask you a question but it will be pure courtesy. They don’t actually care, because they don’t know you. Answer shortly and politely.”

“Will it not raise suspicion that the ambassador’s daughter is engaged to a no-one?”

“Not if he’s a First Army veteran, wounded on the front lines by a Fjerdan savage,” you say in a theatrical manner. His perpetual frown elicits a chuckle from you. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m sure you can sell it. Besides, if you seem grim enough, which shouldn’t be a problem honestly, the guests won’t dare ask any more questions.”

The porter nods knowingly in your direction. Despite his old age, he’s quick to recognize the little lady you once were. You offer him the invitation but he waves his hand in dismissal. His fingers tremble slightly, making you wonder in all of your melancholy whether he’d still be able to do all those small magic tricks he used to entertain you with.

Following the mob of guests, you end up in a spacious ballroom. Crystal chandeliers reflect candlelight, causing ethereal rainbows to dance across the frescoes painted on the ceiling. Some of the artwork presented landscapes, other battles and even Saints - all of them equally breathtaking. The hall is filled with a plethora of scents: vertigo-inducing perfume, imported fruits, freshly-cut flowers, braised meats. To Kaz, this is the smell of wealth but to you, the ballroom only smells of home.

Appearance-wise, Kaz falls a bit behind compared to the three-piece suits and cylinders but the difference is not stark enough for people to give him contemptuous glances. In all honesty, this will help you sell the yarn you’re spinning. After all, what veteran has enough money to buy a whole suit for just one evening?

“Come on, we should say our greetings to the host,” you say quietly while gently nudging his arm.

As though you are something of a Grisha yourself, the middle-aged man in question suddenly appears in front of you. His face has gained a few deep wrinkles since the last time you saw him but still, his prominent laughter lines are the first thing people notice about him. Considering what kind of person Lord de Witt is, it’s a reliable first impression - a rare occurrence among thieves and noblemen alike.

The man’s face beams with happiness when he recognizes you, his eyes nearly disappearing in a genuine smile. “Ah, принцесса!” he exclaims, opening his arms. “You’re more beautiful every time I see you.” Holding your hand, he meaningfully leans down but never presses a polite kiss against your skin. Instead, he curtly nods while maintaining eye contact, uneasy at the thought of such a gesture.

“I thank you for the kind words, Lord de Witt,” you answer. “It is a pleasure to be your guest.”

He furrows his eyebrows and dismissively waves his hand. “Nonsense, you’re not just an ordinary guest. Tell me, how’s your father? Is our ambassador in good health?”

“The weather is terrible on his knees, I’m afraid. Only laudanum and nettle curb his pain enough to let him work. If I may inquire as to where Lady de Witt is? I haven’t seen her among the guests.”

Lord’s face grows brighter once again but this time there’s a sense of longing in his tired, grey eyes. “My dear Betty left for Novyi Zem just a few days ago. Ever since Lady de Serre expressed interest in her antique collection, she’s been eager to go back.”

Kaz, so far unnoticed by the aristocrat, glances between you and the man. You’re exchanging mere greetings and courtesies, yet he’s learned quite a few interesting things in just those few sentences. Nobility, as it seems, will say everything and anything as long as they think they’re talking to an equal.

His inquisitive thoughts must have pushed some Saint’s hand because Lord de Witt suddenly turns his attention to him, although continues talking to you. “The dapper young man is your husband, I presume?”

“Not yet, unfortunately,” you say with a bashful giggle - very ladylike, even if forced. “Igor Dreesen,” you introduce him. Kaz shakes the Lord’s hand without ever giving away that he’s never heard that name before. “He has fought in the First Army, on the front lines.”

“You have my eternal gratitude, gentleman.” Lord de Witt has an iron grip on Kaz’s hand, holding it significantly longer than Brekker is comfortable with. “May we all have your bravery and loyalty. Please, enjoy the evening.”

Kaz waits for the Lord to be out of earshot before turning to you. “He seems to know you well.” Maybe you’re reading too much into it or maybe there is a hint of suspicion in his tone.

“When I was younger, I used to come here every week. Valeriya de Witt, Lord’s eldest daughter, taught me embroidery. I know this manor like my own home.”

“Then you surely know where the safe is.”

“It could be in his bedroom or in his office.”

Kaz cocks his head. “So you don’t actually know.”

“I’ve met quite a few noblemen and state officials, Kaz. The older the money, the less we’re careful. De Witt’s office is next door,” you motion your head to the side.

Strolling through the ballroom towards the office door, weaving your way between gold-threaded gowns and made-to-order suits, you can’t help but wonder about the master thief by your side or rather what the world looks like through his eyes. You can recall so many gossip exchanges where a group of complete strangers would discuss their wealth and business, believing that their secrets are safe among socialites similarly to unaffiliated thugs discussing their commissions over a pint of watered-down beer. In a thief’s world, you’re something of an encyclopedia on fast enrichment. Maybe telling a secret or two could be treacherous of you but in the grand scheme of things, you think it’s not nearly enough to cover your debt.

You lean towards Kaz, speaking in a low voice. “See that lady with a scandalously huge hat? That’s lady Maria de Bouvier, harbors so much contempt towards her stepmother, she’d probably be elevated if some of the jewelry was to disappear.”

Brekker spares you a questioning glance but doesn’t say anything. 

“Or that retired soldier by the pillar? Next to the girl dressed in all-white?” you ask him. His keen eye quickly finds the dark green jacket with an obnoxious amount of medals attached. “Captain Geoffrey van der Greiss, earned most of his fortune from smuggling. Open any crate with fish at the Eastern harbors and the sides of the box will be filled with cash. Yours to take if you can bear the smell.”

Kaz suddenly steps in your way, stopping you. His usual frown appears more like a scowl now. “Why are you telling me all of this?” he spits out. “You’re so eager to point me towards easy wealth. It’s not just about returning a favor, is it?”

You look away for a moment - you should have expected that if someone was to notice your motive, it would be Kaz Brekker himself. His face is still contorted into an expression of contempt or anger when your stare returns to him.

“Have you ever, even for a single second, considered what would have happened to me had my father been found guilty?” you ask in a hushed tone.

“I can’t say I have.”

“I often do. He would have been locked up in Hellgate or simply killed. The family fortune would dwindle rather quickly as my mother and I would live off of it. Then one day the money would run out, we’d have to sell our house and live modestly if not on the streets. No one would employ us because of the scandal and soon we’d find our place in a brothel. All of that did not happen because of you, Kaz.” His expression visibly softens, even if he’s doing his best not to show it. “I owe you my life.”

“I don’t want it.” 

Without waiting for you to continue, he resumes walking towards the office door. Although off-limits to the guests, the manor staff is simply too busy to pay attention to anything else other than restocking drinks and food. On the other hand, the guards employed by Lord de Witt are so convinced drunk aristocracy doesn’t need nannies that they’re playing cards in some dark, isolated corner and drawing lots when someone has to go swipe some alcohol and lamb from the kitchen. Perhaps they are paid to complete much different tasks but if someone is familiar with de Witt’s banquets, they wouldn’t be exactly surprised - a scandal is yet to happen inside his manor.

You meet Kaz’s gaze but immediately regret it. There’s something both chilling with determination and burning hot with focus, making you feel rather flustered at the intensity of it all. 

“Make sure no one comes in here,” he says quickly before swiftly crossing the remaining meters and sliding inside the room. For a man with a limp, he’s exceptionally agile.

Minutes go by while Kaz is absent and you begin to worry. What if someone caught him? Or if he got injured somehow? He may be something of an atelier of theft but he’s still a man, after all.

Debating whether to go after Kaz or trust his expertise, you don’t notice a young man approaching you:

“Excuse me, my lady, but you are the ambassador’s daughter, are you not?”

Torn out of your spiraling thoughts, you look up at him with wide eyes. He has a kind face with strong features. His tanned skin is in contrast with his creme-coloured suit, creating a quite enticing sight. Warm, brown eyes study you with interest.

“I am, master…” you make a meaningful pause.

The man immediately picks up on your cue. “Tolkov Ilya Romanovich. My father is the legat of Ketterdam’s Merchants’ Guild.” Contrary to Lord de Witt, Ilya doesn’t hesitate to plant a kiss on the back of your hand.

“Oh, I have heard about you. Horse racing enthusiast, is it not?”

He gives you a flustered chuckle. “My vices precede me, I see. As does your beauty, if I may say so.”

You feel your cheeks warm up. There’s something about Western men’s charm that really gnaws at a lady’s heart. “That’s very kind, master Tolkov.”

“Lord de Witt spoke of you with exceptional fondness. I thought it only appropriate to witness your marvel myself.”

At the same time, Kaz is slipping back through the office door into the ballroom. Judging by the lack of interest he attracts, none of the guests even noticed his disappearance. He is making his way back to you, when he catches the sight of a rather dignified man politely kissing your hand. Although you don’t look swept off your feet, there’s nothing akin to discomfort on your face either. Kaz feels sudden uneasiness in his chest like he’s watching something he shouldn’t be, while being unable to place his gaze elsewhere. He doesn’t even know his face has turned into a grimace of distaste.

“You’re finally back, my love!” you dramatically exclaim when Kaz reaches you and the stranger. His expression is rid of anything pleasant but you decide to play along for now. “Master Tolkov, this is my fiance, Igor Dreesen. Darling, this is the son of the legat of the Merchants’ Guild, Ilya Romanovich.”

Legat of the Merchants’ Guild? Finally someone worth knowing of.

Kaz shakes Ilya’s hand but that marks the extent of his politeness. “I do not take kindly to anyone descending on my lady,” he says in a stern voice.

“But of course, sir.” Tolkov nods curtly. Annoyed or not, he’s proficient at keeping his face blandly kind. “My sincere apologies.”

Ilya gently bows his head towards you before leaving the two of you alone. Your gaze follows him until the man disappears among coiffures and cylinders. Then, you look at Kaz with hardly hidden amusement:

“You play your part better than I was expecting.”

Kaz, however, completely ignores your comment. “The safe isn't here. It must be in the bedroom. Where is it?”

“Upper floor. There’s the grand staircase in the vestibule but we can take the kitchen stairs, there won't be many people in that part of the mansion.”

The presence of ground floor guards is revealed only by loud laughter from behind the door leading to the staff rooms. All of the guests could just leave at once and none of them would notice. Still, you’re exceptionally careful when sneaking between the tables that are bending under the weight of food - even a small misstep, nudging one of the silver platters, could cause a cacophony loud enough that someone might hear it, even if not the guards in question.

You’re leaning against the wall when walking up the spiral stairs. Cocking your head to the side, you’re trying to look into the hall on the first floor but there’s not much you can actually see. As it appears, theft takes a lot more faith than you had previously thought.

The upper floor guards are out of sight but you don’t let yourself give in to the sudden feel of relief - this is only the first step into this little big scheme. There’s still a safe to find and an exit to make.

There’s a long, red carpet covering most of the floor. Although it muffles Kaz’s cane, it also makes the steps of the guards hardly audible. If you do see one, you’ll have to rely on quick thinking and a certain level of stupidity accredited to aristocracy.

Left turn. Pair of doors. Two right turns. Another left and another right. And then - footsteps.

“Someone’s coming,” Kaz whispers. His keen eyes are scanning the long corridor to find anything remotely close to a hiding spot. Decorative cabinets could well work but only if the unwanted passerby doesn’t walk past them.

The idea, a true testimony of quick thinking and aristocratic carelessness, hits you like a bolt out of the blue:

“Push me against the wall,” you order him.

His head snaps towards you, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen. “What?” he stutters out.

“No one likes clingy couples.”

There isn’t any time to discuss and ponder as the footsteps grow louder. Visibly displeased, he puts his arm against the wall next to your head. At first you’re wondering just how enraged your father would be had he heard about this but then you smell Brekker’s cologne and suddenly one nervousness is changed for another, a more bashful one.

The footsteps, as one might expect, belong to a lonely guard patrolling the manor. His face is grim even before he notices the misplaced lovers. When his eyes do glance at you and Kaz, the soldier’s cheeks visibly raise and the frown quickly becomes more of an expression of disgust. Passing by the two of you, he grunts in distaste or irritation and continues walking farther down the corridor.

Kaz, to your surprising displeasure, wastes no time in putting more space between the two of you when the guard is out of sight. No words are exchanged like a collective agreement to pretend this little embarrassment had never taken place. But, it can’t really hurt him if he doesn’t know you’re thinking about it, can it?

With a confident push, you open the ivory-coloured door, their golden decorations glistening in dim lighting.

Lord de Witt’s bedroom is strangely dark compared to the rest of the house. At first glance, there is nothing that stands out as a possible hiding spot for a safe: a bed that could easily fit five people, a vanity with boxes of jewelry and cosmetics, a small desk with private correspondence, a cold fireplace, a folding screen. The artisan taxidermy hanging on the walls only adds a touch of grim macabre.

But a master thief is not so easily dissuaded. You watch Kaz in a slight confusion and interest as he walks through the room, gently knocking against solid wood or carefully. brushing his hand along some surfaces. More than once he tapped different parts of the floor with his cane, only to let out a short sigh as if the strange rite gave him some kind of information but not necessarily the one he was hoping for.

Then, as though he had known all along or played a secret magic trick, he pulls the base of a taxidermied boar’s head. The decoration, for a lack of better word, moves on hinges, revealing a strongbox - one of those that will survive explosives as the manufacturer promises. The safe has a dial and a handle, rendering any kind of traditional lockpicking useless. But Kaz Brekker, as you’re about to witness, is not much of a traditional thief either:

He puts his ear against the iron box, turning the dial a few times in one direction and the other. Then, he lays his other hand on the safe’s door, his whole body leaning against it. Kaz begins slowly turning the dial in one direction. A silence falls between the two of you.

You can’t be sure whether the tension you’re feeling is because of the hallway perplexity or because he’s so determined to open this strongbox but either way, you’re completely uncomfortable with that. “To be honest, I used to be intimidated by you,” you throw at him in hopes of some kind of conversation, no matter how pointless.

“What changed?” he asks in an absent voice. His hand stops turning the dial only to start rotating it in the opposite direction - whatever he’s doing, it seems to be working.

“You have turned out to make a rather lovely spouse.”

A loud click resounds in the room and Kaz immediately pushes down on the handle, opening the strongbox. He reaches inside, pulls out some documents and quickly reads through them. Some he puts back, others he stuffs between his waistcoat and shirt.

“Such nimble fingers you have. I know a market for that,” you joke partially expecting the thief to say something sultry enough to get you to be quiet for the rest of the night.

He spares you a glance and goes back to rummaging through the contents of the safe. In an unexpected act of goodwill, he takes only some of the cash. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Even a lady of my sort has her weaknesses.”

You wait for his answer but Kaz doesn’t as much as look over his shoulder at you as though he hasn’t even heard your words. Although awkwardly, you patiently wait for him to be finished with whatever selective theft he’s committing. That tense silence again.

After a longer while, he closes the safe and locks it again. When he turns around to face you, something glistens between his fingers - a string of pinkish pearls. They flow along the shape of his hand as he offers you the necklace.

A quiet sigh escapes your lips. “I don’t want a payback, Kaz,” you shake your head to accentuate the refusal. “You have helped my family tremendously, this,” you make a vague gesture with your hand, “is the least I could do for you.”

“This isn’t payment,” he states.

Your eyebrows furrow. “Whatever do you mean?”

His intense gaze bores into you for a minute or two before he slowly answers. “It’s a bastard’s inclination.”

With a flustered ‘oh’, you take the string of pearls from him, feeling blood rushing to your cheeks. Still feeling his passionate gaze gliding along your face, you’re a little too abashed to meet his eye. Who would have thought - a thief with a heart!

[miryum]

"Clark's Phone Number"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy’s relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

Cass and Steph’s phones pinged at the same time. Steph scanned the message then called over to Damian, “shouldn’t we be using the other group chat for this?”

Damian glared and typed something on his phone. The message was: I doubt we need Richard or Timothy for this revelation. Are they truly as invested in this cause as we are?

Dick created the group chat in the first place, Steph reminded her friends.

“We’re sitting a couple feet away from each other,” Cass deadpanned. “Why are we even using the group chat?”

Because it’s more entertaining, Damian wrote while maintaining eye contact with Cass.  

Anyone else notice that Todd and L/n aren’t here? Dick stopped their bickering by typing away in the larger, all-encompassing, precinct group chat that was titled Operation Lovebird. The group chat with everyone, including Y/n and Jason was graciously named Practically Hell, courtesy of Y/n, due to the six-six being “only one six away from Hell.”

Al Ghul was just mentioning it in The Best Ones, Cass replied. 

Why do you guys even *have* another group chat? Tim asked.

Because we’re ‘The Best Ones.’ Obviously. Steph added the eye-roll emoji.

Just tell us what’s happening with Operation Lovebird!!! Dick demanded. 

All we know is that they’re both gone, Steph said. 

If you were better detectives, you would’ve noticed the culprits entering the copy room together. Captain Wayne’s contact suddenly popped up on everyone’s screen.

A plethora of messages popped up after his comment, including:

Dick: Culprits???!!!!! Brucie, why???

Tim: Why is Captain in this chat again? No offence, sir.

Wayne: None taken.

Steph: omg are they…

Steph: … you know?

Cass: Fucking?

Steph: NO!!!

Steph: Smooching, obvi.

Damian: Brown, please. Stop maiming my eyes with your typed words. 

Tim: Though, seriously, what are they doing?

Wayne: Pull the security tapes and meet me in my office.

There was a scrambling around the precinct as the detectives (and Damian) ran to Wayne’s office. “Does anyone have the surveillance tapes?” the captain asked. The detectives glanced around and slowly shook their heads. Wayne groaned and commanded, “Cain, grab the tapes.”

Once Cass did as she was directed, Tim used Wayne’s computer and pulled the tapes onto the screen.  

On the tape, Jason stood in the copy room, glancing around anxiously as he fiddled senselessly with the machine. Y/n’s figure appeared on screen and she shuffled into the room, calling out to anyone who would listen, “yeah, I'm just gonna make some copies in here. In the copy room. Heh. Perfect cover. Nailed it.”

“Hey…” Jason waved awkwardly to his coworker. “Hi… Y/n…”

“Jason,” Y/n stepped towards him, smiling devilishly. “Why’d you wanna meet me here?” Her grin showed that she knew exactly why Jason wanted to talk to her. “To boink? At work?!” She gasped dramatically. “Todd, I expected better of you!”

Jason’s cheeks flamed up and Y/n congratulated herself on making the buff, six foot tall detective stutter. “No…” He said, “I wanted to talk about uh, Brian and Lacy.”

“Ah… yeah. Brian and Lacy,” Y/n nodded her head, demeanour shifting. “What about them? I thought they were a pretty cute couple.” 

“So did I,” Jason admitted softly. He took a step forward until Y/n could simply reach out and touch him. He had a faint bruise on the underside of his jaw from an incident with a criminal half a week ago. He stared down at his colleague, his gaze filled with agonised hope. “Brian wanted to ask Lacy on an official date.”

Y/n’s heart was being cleaved in half and sewn back up again by Jason’s own hands. “What about Brian’s old girlfriend, Daisy? Lacy was pretty sure that Brian was making googly-eyes at Daisy during their last meeting.”

“Just to be clear, Daisy being Rose?” 

“Yeah.”

“Brian went on a couple dates with Daisy,” Jason continued, “but soon realised that Daisy couldn’t hold a small, dying match to Y/n’s burning, beautiful fire.”

“I thought her name was Lacy,” Y/n whispered. Jason’s chest rose and fell and he moved even closer to her. Jason reached up towards her face and swiped the pad of his thumb along her cheek. He angled Y/n’s face up so he could finally look into her eyes with the redamancy and forelsket that had been stored away for so many years. 

“Yeah, well,” a corner of his lips curved into a knowing smirk. “I just made Lacy blush, which is usually an impossible feat.”

“You flatter me, Brian,” Y/n said. “It’s clear that you take your words straight from a romance novel. You spend too much time reading.” She reached up and brushed a tuft of hair away from Jason’s face. Her words were teasing, but her actions were careful.

“My words aren’t from a romance novel,” Jason reassured her. “They’re from the heart- yeah, no, I hear it now. A little too cheesy, huh?”

Y/n shrugged and said, “I rather enjoyed it.” She relished the feeling of Jason’s touch on her skin. She hoped to feel it more often. “Your kissing could improve, though,” she referenced their impromptu kiss at the restaurant. 

Jason chuckled lightly. “I doubt that. You seemed to like it a lot.” He spoke lightly while memorising her face. “So, what do you say to a date, darling?”

“Darling?” Y/n asked. “I thought I was the one with the nicknames.” 

Jason shook his head. “I think I’ve found your ten.”

“And now you’ve stolen my quips. Love, you’ve already stolen my heart. Soon I’m gonna see you in the interrogation room.”

“I bet you’d love to see me in handcuffs.” 

Y/n’s mouth fell open and she let out a shocked laugh. “Mr. Todd! That’s no way to speak to a lady!” 

Jason’s hand was still cupping Y/n’s cheek and his other hand drew up to trace meaningless patterns on her forearm. “Does this mean you say ‘yes’ to the date?”

“What if it makes working together awkward?” Y/n’s hand clutched onto the fabric of his shirt.

“Then we’ll be awkward together,” he answered easily. “I want this too much for a little awkwardness to get in the way. I want you too much, Y/n.”

“I wanna try this,” she decided after a moment. “I want you too. Tonight? At eight?”

Jason nodded quickly, afraid she would take it back. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”

Y/n stared at him and she couldn’t seem to place the expression on his face. It had a softness that looked suspiciously like love. His cheeks held a pink tint and his eyes gazed down at her and Jason knew he would spend the rest of his life holding her if he could. After a moment, Y/n realised, heart jumping, that Jason looked like he was in love. “We should probably get back to work before they realise we’re missing,” Y/n said slowly.

Jason nodded and moved towards the door, not before taking Y/n in his arms and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Should we tell the rest of the team? he asked quietly. 

“Probably not,” Y/n said. “They would get way too involved.”

“Should we tell them we’re spying on them?” Tim asked from inside Wayne’s office where the rest of the six-six was still crowded around the computer which displayed Y/n and Jason.

A chorus of ‘no’s and shushing erupted from everyone else and Steph squealed, “oh! They’re finally together! I’m over the moon! They’re adorable!”

“Brown, will your fangirling get in the way of your work?” Wayne asked, smiling slightly.

“Yes, definitely!” 

Wayne sighed. “Understandable.”

“Well, what are you looking for?” Jason asked. “Symbolism and overall themes or simply personal enjoyment?”

“Both,” Y/n took a lick of her ice cream, legs swinging happily under the park bench.

“The Great Gatsby for symbolism and overall themes,” he answered after a minute of thinking. “And then my favourite book is Pride and Prejudice.” 

“Yeah, I definitely knew that one,” Y/n nodded. “You’ve read it a thousand times in the precinct.” She shook her head, “I’ve tried to get through that book, man, but I don’t get the hype over it. Granted, I’ve never been able to get through the first five chapters.”

Jason began ranting about Pride and Prejudice before shaking his head in defeat and asking, “what’s your favourite book? Please don’t let it be Goddess Girls or Geronimo Stilton or some other children's series.”

“No, although those were great series.” She pointed her spoon at Jason accusingly. “As I’ve grown up and matured, it’s either The Fault in Our Stars, Memoirs of a Geisha, All Quiet on the Western Front, or Ella Minnow Pea.”

Jason stared at her and finally said, “those are all very different books. Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve even read four books.”

Y/n punched him in the arm. “How dare you! I’m very well-read! You should see the length of my Ao3 history!” 

Jason laughed loudly and cradled his ‘hurt’ arm. “I’m sorry I underestimated you, Y/n.”

“You better be!” Y/n crossed her arms before finishing off her ice cream. “Now I’m not gonna have sex with you until our fifth date.”

Jason let out a dramatic groan. “I don’t know if I can wait that long, sweetheart.” 

“Keep calling me ‘sweetheart’ and you may not have to.”

“How was the daaaaaate?” Steph used her wheely chair to roll up to Y/n’s desk, grinning cheekily. She waved a finger in Jason and Y/n’s direction. “What is this, huh? Casual? Serious? I need to know how to make fun of you. Also, please get married in a barn ‘cause I have a lot of jokes that are centred around that.” 

“How’d you know about the date?” Jason asked.

“You guys are officially dating?” Dick was walking by when he paused and placed a firm hand on Jason’s chair.

Y/n looked at Jason helplessly. “...yes?” she said quietly. “Maybe?”

Dick and Steph exchanged a look. “This isn’t good,” Dick said.

“We said we weren't gonna tell anyone,” Y/n explained. “It's very new, and we're still figuring it out, you know?”

“Enough.” Dick stated. “Look, I love love, but I also love maintaining a professional work environment. As your commanding officer, I’m kinda disappointed in both of you.” He bent down and added in a stage-whisper, “but as you loving friend who sees himself as a father-or-brother figure to both of you, I adore you two dating and hope that it works out. Kori and I have a big binder left over from our wedding full of ideas and samples we’d be happy to lend you. Please lemme give a toast at the wedding.”

”I already have mine written,” Steph admitted excitedly.

Y/n’s head fell into her hands and Jason cursed Dick under his breath. Dick had to admit, Jason’s curses were getting more creative.

Bonus Scene: 

“You guys have a group chat dedicated to us?!” Y/n cried out. 

“Why wouldn’t we?” Dick chuckled. “It’s where we share blackmail, cute updates, and random stuff related to you guys.”

Y/n snatched Damian’s phone away, the closest person to her and much to his protest. “I can’t believe-” She scrolled through the messages before realising, “wait, I’m sorry, what are our contact names, Dami?”

“It’s simple.” Damian explained, “Richard is Moby Dick. Todd is Bamboozled from when he was drunk and said it out of context.  Drake is obviously CCA which stands for Computer/Coffee Addict. Y/n is Da Best Homie because she set up her own contact and I haven’t gotten around to changing it. Stephanie is Titus because she reminds me of my valiant and excitable dog. Cain is Cassandra Cain and Wayne is Captain Bruce Wayne. I also have Clark’s number and he’s listed as Mr. Clark Kent.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended or unsurprised,” Dick mumbled.

“At least you’re a classic novel,” Steph crossed her arms. “I’m named after a dog.”

“Steph, you’re literally the epitome of a joyful dog.” 

“Aw, thanks!”

“You have Clark’s number?” Y/n murmured to Damian, “can I have it?” 

“No.”

Not my fav way to do it and I would probably rewrite it, but it's already on ao3 so... *shrug*

[bl00dlight]

EPISODE 8 - THOUGHTS

I dont think this was Ryan's intention but by attempting to make Aemond seem more deranged and 'humanise' everyone else, the show has accidentally made Aemond seem the most rational on team Green LMAO. Like? Yea no like, this episode - no baby g I get you. What the fuck is going on?

Also likeeee why is he the only one making sense? Like no I think he actually was kinda justified in being really upset - obviously not to the degree of.... well uhhh.... mass murder... BUT in terms of being fed up with Alicent. No he is totally right. Alicent was the one who incited this war, she indoctrinated him and Aegon from birth to fight it, to go against Rhaenyra... and now that he is basically going up against like seven other dragons, he has NO choice but ask Helaena to fight because??? What else is he going to do? Sit around and die? And Alicent is just lowkey like "oh well there is another way" and it's like well... no the fuck there isn't girl. And you know what? Even though I get why Helaena refuses, Aemond DOES also have a point that - from his perspective, she has to take action as Queen and show a united front. He is basically fighting the war alone. So like? Girl I'd be mad as hell too if my sister had a big ass dragon and she refused to help. He definitely could have gone about it a different way, like uh... not assaulting her. But in principle he was fully justified in asking her. I mean look if it were me I'd be ready to SUIT UP AND SAY SIR YES SIR. but I'm a slut for the man so....

I think accidentally the show has become less tragic now that they continue to centre the show as Rhaenyra and Alicent's story over Rhaenyra and her siblings. I don't really want to see Alicent remorseful yet because... that's going to take away from her story overall and her arc when the dance is finally done? It was tragic in the books when Alicent's final wish was to be able to see her sons and daughter again. Like... I just... I mean okay hbo.

Criston Cole ate this episode. I loved his speech, I thought that whole scene was perfect. And honestly? Yes slay, finally he is cooking because I wanna die too rn King.

Helaena... I'm not sure what the fuck is going on with her and Daemon? I avoided those leaks and yea... that was weird as hell. Like even his face was like? What the fuck are YOU doing here? We've really spent no time developing her powers at all... and it's irritating to me. Because why would she be connected to the weirwood? Is this purely for the fact that she'll haunt Aemond once he gets to Harrenhal? Or.... was that just something fun to throw in there?

The CGI on the white walkers was.... I mean... clearly all the budget been going to the Velaryons wigs cause they have been EATING it up.

Speaking of that I love Rhaena so fucking much. She's become my new favourite on the Blacks. However not showing her claiming sheepstealer is a criminal offence.

Jace was eating again. He spoke nothing but facts and I get why he is mad too.

Ulf is fucking annoying.

Daenerys has always BEEN that bitch and will always be that bitch. So clock that.

Alys is??? Again... helping the Blacks? So... what does that mean for her relationship with Aemond? I guess... well, I guess I can only assume she'll be working to lead him to his doom, right?

Rhaenyra slayed a little but I hate this cult leader thing. It's so weird, I want my rage filled mother who mourns her son.

Aegon... I miss him for some fucking reason. But weird mention of his dick being chopped off.

Still no sign of Maelor.

Daeron yea yea I know everyone is quaking but it doesn't really matter since? I mean... this is unpopular opinion - but I'd rather he be cut then bring him in and have him be super irrelevant and take up precious screentime.

The pirate shit was fun, but three whole scenes? Again? THREE ENTIRE SCENES... when we still need to wrap up major plot points? Couldn't that have been achieved in two scenes?

Allyn ate Coryls up and I'm glad about it. That's what you get for being a deadbeat dad and cheating on your wife.

Love Addam, whom also ate Ulf up. I absolutely am pro Addam atm.

Baela being useless again.... which disappoints me... but at least she got another scene with Jace, instead of giving her an arc that explores the complexities of her relationship with Daemon.

And well...... Simon? His ass is cute and quaint.

Anyway, a part of me is lowkey excited to see Aemond fuck shit up. I honestly. I know I talk about what a shit bitch he is but, girl I LOVE HIM. Like LMAOOOO his ass so crazy and mad and as the youngest sibling myself, I lowkey get why he is so fucked off with his useless ass family. I don't blame him at this point because if my mother did that shit to me after priming me for 18 to go to war and now she is basically like 'oh no I'd rather go skip in the fields' girl.... it would be on sight.

That being said this was a solid episode with some beautiful moments. And as always 99% of the actors were incredible, the score and the cinematography was unbelievable. And if this were episode 8 out of 10 I would be UNBELIEVABLY excited. But because it's the finale... I feel a tad underwhelmed.

I am going to go back and rewatch this season to check in and see how it flows. But yea, it is missing that magic season 1 had. I'm not sure what it is.

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

he's living in my head rent free

sir this is a criminal offence

[morrow-teller]

KINKMAS: Day 1 | Car Sex

Jim Hopper x Male reader

Contains: MALE READER, NSFW themes, Car sex, Raw sex, Dirty talk, Abuse of power, mentions of P in A

──────. • ☆:*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ• . ──────

You timidly tap at your steering wheel, watching the cruiser slowly pull in behind you through your mirrors. The flashing lights becoming an unwelcome distraction.

Moonlight peered through your car windows, the cotton-material seats glowing with a grey outcast. The cruiser’s headlights dimmed but the red and blue grew brighter, flashing back and forth in the desolate street.

Releasing a heavy sigh, you glare at the white car parked closely behind, the car door slowly opened which shimmered underneath the dim street lights, they hardly gave your eyes support, squinting, you try to make out the taller male who stood cockily, his hands settling on his hips.

Scoffing out of nervousness you listen to each thud of his heavy boots, with each step he grew closer to the car, to you. He stood before harshly knocking at your closed window.

You flinch before looking upwards. It was the county’s Chief, Jim, Jim Hopper. His brows were furrowed, his mouth sat straight, his piercing blue eyes practically ordering you to open the window.

His stare encourages your fingers to skim over the button, the rough screech of the lowering glass which once separated the two of you, now disappearing from view into the void-like line.

He lowered, resting against the open window.

“You know why you got pulled over kid?” His voice, low and husky, you could tell he smoked often, a few between breaks and a few more after work, you could smell it on him as he moved closer.

Tiredness controlled your mood. You shake your head before glancing his way, watching the cop hoop both thumbs into his leather belt, joining the gun that loosely clung to his hip.

“Well…let me remind you, running a red light is a criminal offence”

The words roll from his tongue like honey, smooth yet raspy, you understood but surely running a red light was the least of his worries, right?

A heavy rattled sigh escapes your lips before you dip your head in annoyance. Chief Hopper stood with authority, awaiting for an answer, one that could potentially allow you to slip from any accountability.

“It’s a criminal offence for the lights to stay red when nobody else is around“

Hopper shook his head before stepping back, crossing his arms.

“Sir, Please step out of the car”

His tone had changed from kinder to degrading within seconds, it was filled with anger, hatred? Surely not…

You really couldn’t achieve a criminal record right after graduation, that would permanently fuck up your life, you couldn’t let some lousy cop ruin your reputation.

“Sir all I did was run a red li-“

He began to loom over your door, resting an arm, crossed, on the hood.

The glint in his eyes, it changed, he looked angrier, meaner, the pride in your chest diminished to nothingness, replaced with a lack of feeling, you were fucked.

“I said, step out of the car”

Unfastening your seatbelt, you wiggled out of your seat, turning to the door before slipping two fingers behind the door’s latch, tugging it forwards until you hear the click.

Hopper pulls on the handles, swinging the door forcefully backwards. Both of his hands settle into the collar of your shirt, yanking you out of the warm car.

Using his heel, Hopper slams it shut, now pressing you up against the cold metal of the closed door. You hiss at his strength, his knuckles digging into your collarbones pushing your shoulders back, you kicked but to avail, his grip was much stronger.

You could feel his hot breath fan over your cold cheeks, the breeze sent a chill down your back, goosebumps forming over the skin of your arms. Glancing down into his icy blue eyes you looked for that same angry glint…

It had been replaced by something darker, something sinister.

“Please- stop, let me go you fucker”

The older man grunts before turning your body, pushing you into the metal frame of the car. You couldn’t help but surrender, allowing the cuffs to easily slip around your wrists, the click taking away all of your power to fight back.

He presses into you, securing you against the car. Each movement of your hips draws him in closer, he can himself twitch, it’s been so stressful at the depot lately…he couldn’t could he?

“Hopper…m-maybe we can both gain…something from this?” You hiccup, fighting the tears threatening to stain your cheeks. His mumbles are incoherent but the slight rut of his hips is noticeable, too noticeable.

The angle allows you to feel the outline of his clothed man-hood, something so intimate, it felt wrong which pushed Hopper further, you couldn’t honestly tell what you craved in the moment but it definitely wasn’t a ticket.

He buries his face between the crook of your neck, forgetting his role for a second, he was suppose to protect and punish, not seduce.

“You don’t want this ticket? Work for it” His tone now soft but lust-filled, husky and deep. By pushing back you had enough strength to open one of the back car doors, flopping onto the flat seats stomach first.

Hopper took in the sight, watching you spread your legs eagerly, your hands still bound by the metal. The cool air forced Hopper to push forwards into your car, pushing your body upwards forcing you onto your hands and knees.

Quickly, he slammed the door shut behind him trapping the cold air out but pushing him even further in until he towered over the top of your arched body.

Every single one of your movements enticed the town’s chief, he couldn’t look back, he didn’t want to, the ticket had left his mind the moment you pressed back into him, he slotted perfectly between your open legs.

“Are you sure…you want this?”

A quick tug on his zip was a short but viable answer. You turn back, watching the man above you undress himself, pushing his now open trousers below his knees, his jet black boxers joining, you hear the audible smack his heavy cock creates from slapping up into his pudgy stomach.

It was big, bigger then anything you’ve ever had, it had your stomach churning with want, your mouth watering, your heart skipping beats. The head was red raw, glistening with copious amount of pre-cum. You took note of the thick base, a large vein journeying to the tip on the underside, you were scared.

Hopper took note of your surprise, watching your eyebrows raise in shock, mouth slightly agape, his chest filled with more pride then it would giving out a ticket.

“I’m so fucking sure of it kid”

His hands sink around your waist as he lowers his hips closer to you. His fingers search for your belt clasp before popping the metal, untangling you from your confines. You push down your denim jeans, like Hopper only to your knees, your boxers joining also.

A low growl erupts from Hopper’s chest before he hurriedly pushes forwards, his plump tummy settling in the dip of your back. The tip hovers over your hole securing it’s place between your parted cheeks.

“Hold onto the door’s handle sweetheart, I’m not gonna be gentle”

doing as he ordered, your fingers wrapped around the thick handle. Hopper didn’t care if they were secure, he showed that by pushing into your entrance, the tip being enough.

You cry out in pain, the burn quickly spreading with every inch he pushes into you, the stretch was dangerously sweet but without any prep, the pain also swiftly followed suit.

He held you down by his weight which kept you in place, several profanities slipping from his lips once he manages to stop himself half way, allowing you to accommodate him.

“better then that ticket could ever be-“

He sounded cocky and he had every right to because he was right, it was better then any slip of paper, including the one containing your uncertain future.

nodding softly, your body goes limp and fuzzy underneath his once he starts pushing forwards again, sliding in slowly before bottoming out, his balls pressed snug against your ass.

He pulled back within seconds before pushing forwards roughly drawing a sharp huff. With each piston of his hips, he fucks into you quicker, using the seats to angle himself differently.

“Feels good-“

Using your words as encouragement, he quickens, the tip of his cock brushing up against the bundle of nerves deep within.

“Yeah?”

“P-please fuck m-me sir” you begged Hopper, clenching around his cock already. It had Jim light headed that he had you so accepting and open for his cock, his essence.

Breathing deeply into your ear, he licks at the shell, thrusting into you quicker then before the sound of skin on skin bouncing off the car’s interior.

Hopper’s hips faltered once you began to push back, the pain that once was gone, now replaced with a bliss-like feeling, each drag of his cock on your walls earned him a small whine.

You were so close, every single slick thrust on your prostate had you feeling dirty and used but you still used all the power you had left to meet his hips half way, bouncing away on his cock, chasing after your orgasm.

“Gonna cum?” He mumbled huskily, his lips attacking the skin underneath your ear, his hips slamming into you.

falling limp against his body, clenching your fists, meeting your wits ends, you explode, foiling your car seats. The warmth spread as so did the puddle of cum forming against your stomach.

Releasing a sharp breathy “fuck”, you begin to clench around the foreign invader, practically trapping his cock inside. The sight alone had Hopper collapsing on-top of you, losing his balance before reaching his limit.

“Shit- there you go kid…” he trails off, resting his hips against your ass. With each pump, a small gasp emitted from his heaving chest, load after load painting your walls white, leaving you with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

You both stilled like the tree’s outside, relishing in each-other’s warmth. Hopper was the one to break it up, peeling away from your body like a sticker, his now soft cock slipping out of you, his body sweaty. He managed to belt up his trousers once more, eyes like a hawk, watching the cum trickle out of you.

He smirked at his work. Still, it wasn’t enough to keep him, his fingers looping around the door’s handle, clicking it open, the chilly air already settling on his after-sex glow.

“Listen…no hard feeling’s kid, think about the ticket? You did it for the right reasons”

His words hardly had an effect on you, he still slammed the door shut without waiting for a response, making his way over to his cruiser, scrunching up the ticket he had ready, slotting it in his pocket…for next time.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Arrest Me

Pairing: Scoups/Choi Seungcheol x female reader, ft. Jeonghan

Genre: fluff

Tropes/AU: police officer au

Warnings: suggestive banter

Word count: 401

“Arrest me, Officer.”

“Ma’am,” you heard Jeonghan start with his I don’t get paid nearly enough to work here tone. “I’m a receptionist at this station. Not an actual officer.”

There was a bout of confused silence, and you itched to turn away from your sergeant who was addressing you on the same neighbourhood watch details as he had painstakingly shared yesterday. And the day before. You already knew the area was low on crime. You assumed that was down to the fact that everyone knew everybody’s business in this tiny precinct, and the largest criminal offence that took place here was the garish outfits Old Maeve downstairs assaulted your eyes with every morning on your way to work.

“Oh,” the woman purred – or was it slurred – and then giggled. “Well, can you point me in the direction of an arresting officer?”

Seungcheol snorted beside you, and you bit your lip to suppress your own amusement. Your sergeant eyed you both suspiciously. “You think the neighbourhood night watch is a laughing matter?”

“No, Sir. Of course not.”

You shook your head in agreement with Seungcheol’s statement. Your boss huffed and then dismissed you both, right when Jeonghan rounded the corner and rolled his eyes.

“Did you hear? She’s in need of an arresting officer.”

Seungcheol grinned and gave you a nudge. “Off you go, Y/N. You’ve got a set of cuffs on you right now.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s in need of someone from the opposite gender, hm? And a big strapping police officer like you would be much more suited,” you quipped, holding out your index fingers and thumbs as if to frame him inside the view.

“That and so she can stand and watch your ass again,” Jeonghan suggested without emotion, already done with the day despite it only being eight-thirty in the morning.

Gaping at the jaded receptionist as he headed for the kitchen to no doubt doctor himself up another coffee, you then smiled brightly at your co-worker who was watching you with renewed interest. “I don’t stare at your butt.”

“I don’t mind if you do,” Seungcheol teased, shooting you a wink before gesturing to you to go help the lady out the front. He leaned in as you brushed by him, his lips almost catching your earlobe in the process. “I’m sure as hell guilty for looking at yours. Might need to arrest me afterwards.”

_________________

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[SEVENTEEN Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist]

[scotianostra]

On June 5th 1592 an act of the Scottish Parliament came into force “concerning the Office of Lyoun King of Armes and his brether Heraldis”

The Lord Lyon is still in use today and an important office in all heraldic matters.

The title, Lord Lyon - King of Arms, stems from an ancient tradition of sovereign appointment. The appointee is responsible for "granting armorial bearing of the recognition of clan chiefs". The Lord Lyon, who has his own procurator fiscal, investigates abuses of heraldic law.

The position may incorporate the much older Celtic office of royal Seanchaidh or of King’s Poet with responsibility for keeping the royal genealogy and attending the inauguration (later coronation) of the King.

The Lord Lyon is the sole King of Arms in Scotland. He is Head of the Heraldic Executive and the Judge of the Court of the Lord Lyon which has jurisdiction over all heraldic business in Scotland.

On ceremonial occasions the Lord Lyon is accompanied by Her Majesty’s Officers of Arms, all of whom are members of the Royal Household. They are at present Rothesay Herald, Snawdoun Herald and Marchmont Herald, Ormond Pursuivant, Dingwall Pursuivant and Unicorn Pursuivant.

The Officers of Arms may be consulted on matters of heraldry and genealogy by members of the public and may represent their clients before the Lyon Court.

An Act of the Scottish Parliament of 1592 gave the Lord Lyon responsibility for prosecuting as a criminal offence anyone who uses unauthorised Arms. The Court has its own Procurator Fiscal an independent official prosecutor.

In 1672 a further Act of the Scottish Parliament authorised the creation of the Public Register of All Arms and Bearings in Scotland. This Register is maintained by the Lyon Clerk and Keeper of the Records and contains an official copy of every Coat of Arms granted in Scotland since 1672.

Anyone can create their own coat of arms for your family. it is the Lord Lyon, and his deputies that will do a search to verify it is unique and register your design.

Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount a poet and diplomat during the Scottish Renascence was the first official Lord Lyon from 1542–1554 but the actual office of Lord Lyon predates the year 1399, with Henry Greve recorded as the first holder during the reign of Robert III. There is an oft-repeated statement that Robert the Bruce created a Lyon King of Arms in 1318, but this is open to considerable doubt. The story seems to have been originated in the fifteenth century by a sub-prior of Arbroath Abbey, one William de Pittenweem. However, the Exchequer and other Records do not support the assertion and it is not until 1377 that the office of “Lyoun Herauld” is known to have existed.

The Rev. Canon Dr. Morrow is the present day Lord Lyon, he was appointed in 2014.

The first pic is the arms of Lord Lyon, next is Sir David Lindsay of the Mount who was Lord Lyon from 1542 to 1554. A poet and diplomat during Renaissance Scotland, then the Seal of the Lord Lyon King of Arms, created in 1673, depicting the arms of the Lord Lyon, lastly is Lord Lyon King of Arms' crown. The others are labeled

[beardedmrbean]

“Cuckooing” could become a new criminal offence in plans under discussion by the Home Office.

A total of 48 MPs have backed a proposal that would make the act of occupying or exercising control over another person’s home in connection with criminal activity illegal for the first time.

The practice, known as “cuckooing”, is most commonly perpetrated by county lines gangs who often occupy a vulnerable person’s home to store or distribute drugs.

Problem highlighted in popular TV dramas

The problem has been highlighted in such popular television dramas as Line of Duty and Happy Valley - but is in itself not a criminal offence.

Sir Iain Duncan Smith has put forward an amendment to the Criminal Justice Bill that would make “cuckooing” punishable by up to seven years in prison.

The former Conservative leader has had a meeting with Home Office officials to discuss the proposals, which have the backing of 40 Tory MPs including Suella Braverman, the ex-home secretary.

Police visited more than 1,200 “cuckooed” addresses within one week last month, as part of a national “country lines intensification week”.

There are tools, both civil and criminal, available to police and local authorities to disrupt “cuckooing”, and perpetrators can be prosecuted for the crime that they commit within a property, such as drugs offences.

But backers of the amendment, including Sir Robert Buckland, the former justice secretary, believe that using a vulnerable person’s property as a base for such activities itself needs to become a recognised crime.

‘People with vulnerabilities being exploited’ 

“I think that ‘cuckooing’ is another example of how we can reflect the sad reality that there are still many, many people out there who have vulnerabilities who are being exploited by criminal gangs or more sophisticated operators, who use these people as a human shield in order to conceal their criminal activities.

“Therefore, I think anything we can do to strip away that last shield has got to be a good thing in terms of really meeting the criminality where it lies.”

He warned that currently victims of “cuckooing”, which can include people with mental health issues, the elderly or those with learning disabilities, currently risk facing criminal sanctions themselves for criminal activity going on in their home.

He added: “I think it is important that we seek to use the full force of the criminal law to tackle this type of exploitation.”

The proposed new law would mean that a person will have committed an offence if they occupy or exercise control over the home of another person in connection with carrying out a criminal offence.

‘Police need more powers’ 

Means of exercising such control range from the threat of use of force or other coercive behaviour, fraud, or the giving of payments or other benefits to achieve consent of the victim.

Louise Gleich, of the Joint Modern Slavery Unit at the Centre for Social Justice and Justice and Care, said: “The police need more powers to go after the criminals who cause such devastation in the lives of vulnerable people.

“Simply prosecuting offenders for other crimes takes no account of the harm done to the victims. Civil orders are inadequate to properly disrupt this behaviour and stop offenders just moving on to other victims.

“A specific criminal offence is needed and we urge the Government to use the Criminal Justice Bill to update the law.”

The Home Office said: “Cuckooing is unacceptable, and the police already have a range of powers to step in and protect vulnerable people if they are being exploited in this way, including possible jail time for the perpetrator.

“We will consider the amendment and engage with parliamentary colleagues in the usual way.”

[amypihcs]

Bonsoir! Second part of this pretty spooktober story! Holmes and Watson are re-interviewing GK and they are NOT. AMUSED. Let's listen to the rich ass

Tell him Holmes! Teach this guy how a gentleman behaves when he has no blackmailer to catch!

Look at this! Holmes is a moment from STRANGLING this man.

SHE IS NOT AN OBJECT YOU BIG BASTARD! Holmes is taking the case only for HER sake, not sure for yours! And you ARE asking for criticism. I'm bonking him HARD over the head! With my chemistry universitary book (1.8 kilos)! (Also Watson is torn between tearing GK to shreds with his eyes and admiring his husband's FORMIDABLE self. Man's sooo much in love)

HE SAID IT! Assault or attempted assault CAN BE WORSE THAN MURDER. AND I HEREBY QUOTE THE LAST SENTENCE TOO.

Rich people, this was written at the beginning of 1900s and IT'S STILL VALID. Holmes is being so valid in this story.

Well, story gets explained, Holmes snarls a bit more and then off to the country to talk to the policeman. Watson favors us with some pretty description too, but i do believe i'm doing what holmes would do in omitting them.

Holmes OF COURSE REMITS ALL THE MERIT! Don't even worry, he's not like Scotland Yard. (Lestrade, yes, it's Holmes, let's postpone this week's thursday sleepover and dinner, ah yes, sorry i've a case, maybe on saturday?) Watson will publish a full account in a couple of years anyway, lol. People still trusting Watson to shut the hell up about the cases.

And incredible but true, even the local police is ANXIOUS to hold GK accountable for his actions! Godo. Come. Un. Riccio.

Let's see what we have here...

detectives detectiving for a while. And apparently we lost a pistol. GK is being very american in having so many firearms, no offence to my dear American mutuals but this is a part of what America looks like from Italy.

And we have to praise Holmes' intellectual honesty. It was sensible. Even if he's saying it through gritted teeth as every single letter was more painful to him than having his nails tore out. Chapeau!

Hey, nice and anxious cop, calm down. There's an overabundance of 'sir' there! Holmes is seeing some light in it? Apparently?

Let him sit and think... Meanwhile infinite thanks to Jeremy Brett that gave us Holmes walking on the parapet and having a lil lie down on the bridge. I loved that sce- WHAT'S THAT??!

Chipped! And even violence time served just to understand that it took A LOT of violence to chip the stonework. Interesting.

Now, let's hop at GK's, we have a nice examination of the arm-room and then our boys try to go to talk to the young lady. Let's have some considerations

Watson is having a Himbo moment... And Holmes is of course willing to explain. Of course, the place where the weapon was found is the key detail! In freeing her. Let me explain, dearest Watson

Holmes: -sigh- My husband will be never a good criminal. He's too honest. Watson, my darling, DO try and think like a character of your stories THIS ONE TIME.

BUT THE POINT STILL IS

-rubs hands- We have a NEW TRAIL! A new line of inquiry. Ah, the day's so beautiful, don't you all think?

Which line? Oh well, that comes with the end of the story!

[amphibious-thing]

Monomania With Unnatural Propensity: Thomas Joseph Dunning

Thomas Joseph Dunning was an English bookbinder and trade unionist. He was born in Southwark, London in 1799 and apprenticed in 1813. In 1820 he joined the London Consolidated Society of Journeymen Bookbinders and he was Elected to society's committee in the 1830s. He was active in the formation of the National Association of United Trades in 1845. By the 1860s he was one of the most prestigious trade unionists in London having written his most famous work Trades Unions and Strikes: Their Philosophy and Intention in 1860. Karl Marx cites Trades' Unions and Strikes in Capital commenting that Dunning "not only hits the nail on the head but also treats the subject with an apt turn of irony". (Iorwerth Prothero, Dunning, Thomas Joseph (1799–1873), Oxford Dictionary of National Biography)

On the 22nd of April 1836 at age 37 Thomas Joseph Dunning was admitted to Bethlem Royal Hospital. Bethlem records list him as a "Widower with 1 Child" and notes that he had "very studious habits and abstemious". Before being admitted to Bethlem he had "attempted Suicide three times". He was discharged less than a year later on the 20th of January 1837. His doctor was Sir Alexander Morison.

In his 1838 book The Physiognomy of Mental Diseases Sir Alexander Morison published several case studies including that of T.J.D. aged 37, a widower who "was of studious and abstemious habits". Before being admitted to Bethlem he had attempted suicide. He was "cured within a year". T.J.D. was diagnosed with monomania with unnatural propensity.

[T.J.D. by Alexander Johnston from The Physiognomy of Mental Diseases by Sir Alexander Morison]

Morison defines monomania as "cases of insanity in which we find a small number of predominant and exclusive ideas, upon these delirium or wandering is manifested, and the attention is fixed, the judgment being sufficiently sound upon other subjects". Morison explains that there are different varieties of monomania for example monomania with grief is when "melancholy or an habitual state of sadness is accompanied with delirium" and monomania with fear is when "fear forms the characteristic feature of a variety of partial insanity" this could be a fear of "one or more objects" or "a dread of every thing".

Morison defines monomania with unnatural propensity as "a variety of partial insanity, the principal feature of which is an irresistible propensity to the crime against nature." The "crime against nature" being of course sodomy. Morison explains:

It is stated by Blackstone, in his Commentaries upon the Laws of England, when treating of this offence, "that being from its nature easily charged, and the negative difficult to be proved, the evidence should be plain and satisfactory in the proportion as the crime is detestable;" it may be added to this caution that where the offence becomes the subject of criminal investigation, the jury ought to be fully assured whether or not the offender was in possession of his reason and power of self controul; the propriety of this evident, when we consider the circumstances of some of those who have been accused of this offence, in regard to rank, wealth and talents; for instance, a nobleman of high rank, rich in fortune, family and friends, sacrifices all these blessings and herds with the vilest of the vile; a clergyman, eminent for eloquence, and high in the confidence of his fellow citizens, sacrifices his reputation and his means of living, by betraying the trust reposed in him, and abusing youths committed to his charge, — cases of actual occurrence; in such cases we have reason to suspect that disease in the brain may have led to the perpetration of the crime; in the greater number of cases that I have seen, the existence of this disease was rendered more certain by other marks of disordered mind being combined with the unnatural propensity. In one case insane ideas of grandeur, in another melancholy with attempts of self-destruction were combined with it, and in a third case, that of a minister of the gospel, he had so little controul over himself that he frequently laughed in the midst of a serious discourse delivered from the pulpit. The treatment of this variety differs little from that generally employed in cases of insanity — of nine cases I have known two cured. Camphor in large doses has been employed with advantage.

Morison writes that T.J.D.'s "propensity was so strong, that even before a number of persons he could not refrain from exposing his person and attempting to commit the crime". He was "cured" with "purgatives, an emetic, a blister to the nape of the neck, the cold bath and camphor, of which eight grains were given three times a day for some weeks".

While my research into Dunning hasn't been extensive I have't been able to find any references connecting him to Morison's patient T.J.D. Most sources mention nothing of his mental health or Bethlem at all except for an article by S. Stubbings published in 1906 in an issue of The Bookbinding Trades Journal:

In April, 1832, two more pensioners were elected, making eight on the funds, which, thanks to the enthusiasm in the trade, were continually increasing. In this year, the first trouble came. Defalcations were discovered in the secretary’s accounts, and he was expelled from office. Fortunately his brother, Thomas Joseph Dunning, volunteered to take his place and to make good the deficiency. He honourably redeemed his promise, and was so active in the office that during the next three years he personally collected nearly £600. Then, although only 36 years of age, his health gave way to the severe strain to which it had been put. For not only did he work at the trade and act as secretary to the Pension Society, but he also took an active interest in trade matters, social problems, and the political questions of the day. Happily for the trade at large, his mental illness, though severe and long, was but temporary, as afterwards, in 1840, he became secretary of the trade society, and in 1859 wrote a pamphlet entitled “Trade Unions and Strikes: Their Philosophy and Intentions.” John Stuart Mill favourably referred to it in the fifth edition (1862) of his “Political Economy,” of which the following is an extract : — “There are also many sound arguments and an instructive exposure of the common fallacies of opponents. Readers of other classes will see with surprise not only how great a portion of truth the unions have on their side, but how much less flagrant and condemnable even their errors appear when seen under the aspect in which it is only natural that the working classes should themselves regard them.” Writing for a trade journal, I felt compelled to make this digression to illustrate the strenuous life of one who helped to pave the way and make the path smoother for those who were to follow him.