• f4airyboo • mubght
• izuwee •kooghe
• weif4 • hurny
• y9koo • detwag
• junkiee • xxgh0th
• zuqff • lilhoo
• guviiz • wozliin
(to help you)
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open: your muse is in prison and has been for a solid year bc they were wrongly accused / framed for (and convicted of) murder. Connor stumbles across the case and Notices the evidence doesn’t add up.
human verse or android verse, whatever works! (Also. Don’t feel the need to match length. He just wanted to do his job.)
He was chasing the evidence because it seemed best to run it through standard procedures before he lodged it. Connor sat up late at his desk in the DPD, paging through the cases his perp had ever been a suspect for in the past, because the handkerchief Connor had found in the back of a cupboard, stained with bleach (which made it seem extremely innocent) and behind a false wall - along with the rest of the evidence, which he could link without issue to the case at hand... the handkerchief made him hesitate, because it didn’t have the same, neat, A to B connection as the rest of it. Connor wasn’t sure how many crimes his guy had helped to cover up (a professional ‘cleaner’, as it were), but he knew he had an established system for destroying evidence. The space at the back of the cupboard under the kitchen sink had been a temporary storage place, and this ... well. He had more than enough evidence to incarcerate this man for life.
The handkerchief was just something that Connor thought he must have missed, when cleaning out the cupboard - it had received the first step, bleach, but his perp had missed it when he took the rest of the evidence out to ‘clean’ it. Connor took a look through the out-standing cases that police had at least suspected his involvement in, but none of them ... Connor had never worked a case where they thought the ‘cleaner’ was involved, which put him at something of a disadvantage. He yanked open his desk drawer and produced the evidence bag again, for the scrap of fabric he had guessed was a handkerchief for its size and shape, but really there was no telling. It had been bleached away, in places - haphazard defense should anyone catch a glimpse of it while he was moving it about - but there was a blue checked pattern on the places left untouched. Labs hadn’t truly given him anything workable. Very standard cotton make-up, a fairly unique blue dye but without something to match it against it was just a fairly unique blue dye (not unique enough to tell him where it came from)...
“You coming?” Hank stood by his desk with keys in hand, It was an invitation - not because they had prior plans, because the Lieutenant recognised the look on Connor’s face, and was hoping he would not spend the night in the police department.
Connor let the evidence bag drop onto the top of his stack of paperwork, for Hank to inspect. “I can’t link it,” he said (complained; explained).
“Sometimes you can’t,” Hank played along, though. He picked up the bag and frowned at it, turning it in the low light of the DPD in the late evening. “Guy’s been evading good cops for years, Connor. We’re putting him away. Sometimes open cases stay open and we get the bad guy anyway.” All of this was true. Connor looked up at him, and Hank looked back (measuring how serious Connor was about this - whether this was chasing a dead end or a gut instinct), and then he said, still playing the game, “What do you think’s going on?”
“I’m not sure. There’s no flag looking for it in the system, at least not in Michigan, and I’ve looked through our cases. It’s not linked to anything we’ve got open.”
This got Hank’s attention. He came around to sit on the edge of Connor’s desk, interested. “... You think it’s a closed case.”
He nodded, fractionally, “I think there’s an answer we don’t have.” And yes, he could go home, or with Hank, to wherever they were going, but Connor wouldn’t have stopped working. Hank knew this as well as Connor did. This was going to keep him until he knew what it meant.
Hank crossed his arms, evaluating. Technically, he could have ordered Connor to go home; it was a toss-up if Connor felt like doing it, but Hank was his Lieutenant. He was a lower-ranking officer.
Hank said, “Lock up, when you go home. Don’t stay the whole night.”
Connor tilted his head, amused. “Got it.”
“You want company?” A genuine offer, but the Lieutenant was exhausted. Connor did not blame him for the resignation present in the offer.
But this was Connor’s hunch - so Connor should be the only one who had to stay late for it. “Get some rest. If I find something, I’ll let you know.”
“That was once.” Immediate, defensive, but it was a shared tease between them. Connor felt lighter when Hank said:
“Uh-huh,” he pushed away from the desk, to head out the door. “Later, Connor!”
Connor worked late into the night. He checked the closed cases. He ruled out the long-historical ones, because the cloth couldn’t have been in the dark and damp that long and stayed in this condition, but that was his only lead; there were four cases that could have fit (flagged as potentially having his involvement), but each of them had already reached a conviction. Grand larceny, vehicular manslaughter.... murder.
Connor opened up the murder charge - the person who had been convicted of a murder charge the police had briefly considered Connor’s perp might have been involved in. There were few people in Connor’s day-to-day life who “looked” like they could murder somebody, but the mugshot here didn’t bring him the familiar sort of gut-instinct lurch that he was used to feeling. A trip down to the filing room later Connor had the case’s folder in front of him (he’d had to formally check it out - that would raise some eyebrows in the department, this murder charge was a high-ranking officer’s work), and he flipped it open, expecting to find compelling evidence and to be able to discard the idea that this scrap of fabric from the back of a cupboard might somehow prove something tangible about how this murder victim had met their end. At the very least, he entered into reading the evidence with the benefit of the doubt in mind.
The evidence mounted. He did not find any reason to be offering the benefit of the doubt.
Arranging the meeting had been simple enough, after he had navigated the Captain’s annoyance that he was taking up a case that was already closed. Technically speaking Connor was off the clock, here - he wasn’t being paid to chase a case that already had a conviction based on a hunch and a handkerchief (and the fact almost all of the evidence mounted against this person had been circumstantial), but they couldn’t stop him from coming here on his time off, and they couldn’t stop him from poking around. The Detective who had closed this case thought he was wasting his time, and had refused to answer even basic lines of inquiry about the conviction: shockingly non-cooperative, for a police department.
There was something to hide, here. Connor had happened into it mostly inadvertently, because he had caught a scrap of fabric that didn’t belong, and the Captain could say what he liked: Connor was already finding people who weren’t pleased that he was digging around.
The prison guards patted him down and took his badge (metal - sharp corners - not permitted in this prison), then dug through his pockets like they were intent on finding something incriminating. They did not. He had to ask to be allowed the folder he had brought with him, and even then they’d had to go to check with the prison warden, first; Connor had waited. He’d insisted.
And now he was here. The room was fairly plain, but it was a prison cafeteria. Though currently empty, there were tables, and a vending machine. The prison chef cluttered around in the kitchen next door. It was almost lunchtime. Connor had asked to see them early, mostly because it meant they walked across the yard to the cafeteria, through open air, during daylight hours: in their position, he would have preferred early sun to the cold of the evening. There were three guards standing in the room with him, already. Connor watched them, mildly pleased they were there.
This wasn’t a maximum-security prison. He was just making somebody high up very uncomfortable. That was good.
“Hi,” he said, when the door opened at last, and someone he suspected to be wrongfully convicted of murder stepped into the room, hands still shackled: “My name’s Connor. I’m a Detective for the Detroit Police Department.” This likely wouldn’t earn him any favours, but lying (or omitting this fact) would probably earn him even fewer. “I have some... questions I think you could help to answer. Can we talk?”
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Loud steps echoed throughout the hallway that Sonia walked down. The distant clank, clank, clank, of their very own mechanic in some other room sent chills down the princess's spine. She never thought she'd be scared of her friends. She never thought this idea would turn to death. Reaching the large wooden doors, Sonia paused. Where did Fuyuhiko even find this place? It didn't matter. It almost reminded her of Novoselic. Shaking off the bad memories she placed her hand on the door. Was she really about to do this?
Taking a breath she rested her head against the door. What else could she do? She needed to talk to someone. Fuyuhiko and Souda were just about insane at this point. And Gundham... Sonia clenched her fists. With a quiet creak, she opened the door. She refused eye contact at first. She didn't quite know what to say, how to begin with talking to him, but she shook off her nerved and closed the door after her, walking to the other and looking down at him. "Shinguji." Her face was stern. She wasn't ready to let down her tough exterior yet, although traces of her emotions were slipping; in her shaking hands, tired and scared eyes, quivering lip, she was clearly emotional about something; but she tried to cover it with a glare. A simply glare, that barely hid all of it.
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Craig ran through the hospital as fast as he could, his ears ringing as his stomach flipped and flopped. He'll be okay, he's fine, he's alive, he'll be okay, he's fin- The mantra repeated in his head, if he let any other thought in, if he let his mind wander and even start to consider the opposite he'd fall apart right in the middle of the busy hallway. Finally finding Tweek's room, Craig slammed the door opening, not even bothering to knock. It wasn't like he'd see anything he hadn't seen before. " TWEEK! " He sprinted to his bedside, wrapping his arms around his middle, sobs wracking his large frame. " Y-you're alive, you're alive- " He buried his face into Tweek's hospital gowns, the tears seemed to be never-ending.
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“ This is the night of the expanding man. ”
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Akane jumped around cracking his neck, him and Maki were going to do a few some timing on his running but Akane had other plans. He stopped jumping seeing Maki walk over, he smiled waving "hey Maki. I'm glad you showed up" he put his hands in his jacket pockets "you have the stop watch?" They wouldn't need it for long.
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⌲ - Your muse hugs mine from behind
"Heeey Shuichi!" Rantaro came up behind the detective, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on Shuichi's shoulder. "How are you? It's uh... Been a minute since we talked, haha," He hummed a bit, not holding the other too tight.
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☂ - Your muse shares an umbrella with mine on a rainy day ( @un-lucky-komaeda )
"Jeez, you couldn't even bring an umbrella?" Hajime sighed at the other, offering a hand to him. Having found Komaeda sitting on a bench in the rain, he felt somewhat bad. He shook it off however, and decided to help. "You can use mine, if you need. Though with your luck you'd get struck by lightning or something." He sighed. "Oh well." His gaze rested on the silver haired ultimate; his expression softening as it did. Right. Unlucky Komaeda. Even as someone without an ultimate, Hajime always felt the need to keep Komaeda okay. Same as he did with Chiaki. Always he felt the need to help others, even if he didn't like it that much.
"Well? Hurry up then." He urged the other, taking action and pulling Komaeda up to stand by him. "We should probably go back. You should get to your dorm and dry off." He shrugged. "Come on." He muttered, starting to walk and making sure the unlucky man was following.
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“You can always talk to me, you know.” - @ultimate-anthropologists
"Mm, You say that as if i'm sad, mr. Shinguji." The girl giggled, swinging her feet slightly on the desk where she sat, her hands folded in her lap. "I know I can always talk! I like talking. Just like a like peeled chestnuts or how I like adorbs things!" She smiled, thought it was a fake smile. "Did I do something to make you think I was sad? My bad! I don't mean to seem sad! If I did do anything please tell me, I wanna know if I do things wrong! Just like if I seem to angry or, or If I seem too aggressive or sad! Not adorbs at all!"
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Kirumi needed a break. Very rarely did she ever get one, and the one day she did everything went horribly very quickly. Usually she was there to calm people or do what people asked, but apparently since she wasn't, the dorm building was in chaos. So, she would go on a walk. She grabbed her umbrella and went out in the rain, taking a short walk before spotting Rantaro. Deciding she didn't have the energy to deal with that either, she went to walk in the opposite direction. Unfortunately for her, that led her straight to Kokichi, whom would have been an even bigger issue at the time.
"Ah. Kokichi." It was too late to run from this one; he would have already spotted her. It was fine. She put on her polite tone, polite face, polite stance, and gave a small bow to the shorter. "Apologies, I didn't see you there. You startled me." She said, her voice stayed steady despite how exhausted she was.
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THERE ARE TRUTHS I HAVEN'T EVEN TOLD GOD. And not even myself. / indie crime oc written by xia.
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Making his way our of the hospital after the lengthy process of getting discharged. He got his clothes, freshly washed, and left after changing. He made his way to Craig's house, exhaustion clear on his features, but determination more prominent. He made his way up, knocking on the door and waiting for Craig with his arms crossed. He was worried, and his worry was clear.
"Craig!" He called out. "I'm here!" It took him a bit longer then he expected, two, maybe three hours to actually get out of the hospital and get there, but he didn't mind. He just wanted to see Craig and comfort him.
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‘ The heart makes its own rules, (name). ‘ (@ultimat3-cl0wn honk honk 🤡 [i'm just now realizing how this seems like such a heavy topic for a clown 😩])
Haruka, caught off guard Mazoku's statement, snorted into his hand, "Oh? That is quite philosophical dear, did you pick that up from all your time with Togami?" his golden eyes lingered on the clown for a few seconds before he looked back to the open workbook on the ground between them. "Though I do agree, I struggle to see the application of that to our current predicament. I mean, the two of us pining for taken men? The situation seems to be beyond simply 'the heart making it's own rules.'" Haru's sigh that followed was unintentional but fitting, deft fingers carefully spinning his pen.
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Filmore looked in the sewer "Firkle? You in there?" Filmore shined his flashlight into the sewer before stepping inside "God i forgot how bad the sewer smelled." He clenched his nose and walked around "where are you Firkle!"
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Scott sat on his couch and tapped his fingers together, he was nervous. He didn't know what got into him, he hadn't been bothered by this before. He looked up hearing a knock on his door, he stood up and walked over opening the door "Tommy come in please, sit on the couch."
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“It isn’t safe here at this time of night.” (@shesakillerqueeen hi 🥰🥰)
Late Night Wandering Starters: Open!
"It ain't much safer anywhere else this late, I don't think." Cherry hummed, shrugging her shoulders. Hopping right up next to Jessica, she nudged her in the side, a wide grin on her face. "But y'know, if I didn't know any better, sugar, I'd think you were worried about me!" She was only teasing, a twinkle in her eyes; entirely unbothered by the fact that Jessica was right, it was incredibly dangerous in this part of town, especially this late at night. It probably didn't help that she had her fair share of people she'd pissed off, who would readily (and happily) slit her throat given the chance.
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😫 my muse has woken up sweating and screaming after a nightmare and yours can’t console them
Kokichi was not good for comforting people, he was a little clumsy and insensitive at the best of times, but when he began to panic it only made it harder for him to do anything for them. Sitting on Shuichi's bed, he flinched back when the detective woke up screaming. Kokichi himself was only awake because he couldn't get to sleep without the nightmares getting to him. "Hey hey Shuchi? What's goin' on?" He placed a hand on his boyfriends back with a nervous smile.
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Kiibo ran down the hall "Chihiro!" He yelled running to Chihiro's ultimate room, he knocked quickly "please tell me you're here! Open up please he's chasing me!" Kiibo was scared, no terrified. Nothing really scared the robot but his creator scared him to the point where he wanted nothing to do with him. He kept hitting the door in front of him "please!"
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" this is what your plan is? hiding? disappearing and running away when the going gets tough?" ( @the-affluent-progeny )
"What else am I supposed to do?!" Fukawa paced back and forth, jittering nervously, biting her thumb nail and she did. "I'm a creep, you know that, I only hurt people, i'll hurt you and everyone! Wahhhhh!!!! I can't do this!" Now pulling at her braids, she teared up. "I don't want to! I don't want to I don't want to I don't want to-" She sat down on the floor, covering her face. "I feel awful! Shou is a curse on my life and I don't want want to plague anyone else with her presence!"
"Wahh! I don't want to go! Or hide! Togami I'm scared of her! And i'm scared of what she's capable of!" She sighed, her tears still falling from her eyes. "I didn't even think you'd care..." She hugged her knees to her chest, looking away from the other.
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Reading what "Kiyo" had written to her, Kirumi felt chills go up her spine. Fear resided in the back of her mind. It felt just like talking to Fujio. She hasn't talked to their sister in so long- it almost felt foreign to her. Freeing, in a way. Kiyo was finally moving on; he had worn different clothes then the uniform Fujio made for him, he seemed to be happier with Sonia, and Kirumi felt happy for him. She felt like they could go on being normal. However, this disease spreading had been making everyone act different. And apparently, in Kirumi's eyes, meant a bit of Fujio was still here. And to Kirumi, that was terrifying. What was even more terrifying was that she was about to meet her for the first time in what had felt like centuries.
Making her way to the lab, Kirumi held her emotions back. Putting on a polite face, she knocked. She almost didn't have the energy to do so; being absent for 2 weeks drained her a lot. The last thing she needed was a light chat with her previously deceased sister. Even if it wasn't really her, she still felt a wave of negative emotions wash over her. Frustration, why had Kiyo started acting like this? Fear, if he is acting like this then Kirumi may be putting her life in danger. Anger, the dead are meant to stay dead. And most of all... despair. A loss of hope. The hope she had carried that Kiyo would be better died quicker then it had blossomed. And she was far from ready to face whatever was on the other side of the door. But she would, for her brother, whom she loved dearly, and whom she would go to hell and back for, and whom she was willing to risk her life for.
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