Marshall Walsh

Marshall Walsh. 32. Boston native. Detective of Boston Police Department B-2 Roxbury

[ariel-hamilton-deactivated20221]

Lila was out at the grocery store, picking up some food for her and Parker for the night since she didn’t feel like making anything and she was over by the rotisserie chicken in the deli when all of a sudden a gush of water hit the floor. “Fuck. Not now.”

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Marshall was over by the rotisserie chicken when he heard a sudden gush of water. Did some eight-year-old spill their drink? Was he gonna have to deal with that secondhand embarrassment? He glanced over in the direction of the sound when he realized he heard a soft swear, his brows pulled together into a frown as he tried to make sense of the scene in front of him. “Are you--are you good?” he asked hesitantly.

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when i see you, i wanna touch your face

When I see you, I... meme

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When I see you, I see a good friend

When I see you, I... meme

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when i see you, i roll my eyes

When I see you, I... meme

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Marshall Walsh - TASK001: TV Tropes

Deadpan Snarker: It’s a coping mechanism. Since he lost his mother at a young age, he’s found the best way to deal with life is to deal with it sarcastically, and now that he’s working in such an emotionally draining field of investigating homicides and questionable deaths, 80% of what comes out of his mouth is a sarcastic comment. 

Empty Shell: He’s learned early on that death is a part of life, and losing his mother at such a young age became a major shaping factor of his personality. He has issues growing attached to anybody who isn’t his father and the rest of the police department, and to save himself the emotional pain, he tries not to get too friendly with people.

Consummate Professional: He takes his job seriously. He knew it was something he wanted to do early on as a kid, and he enrolled into the police academy straight after high school. He loves his city and found he could best contribute his community by staying local rather than pursuing a career with a federal agency. He deals with people all the time, and he’s seen what losing a loved one can do to a person firsthand. He makes it a priority to help people as much as he can and when he can.

Jerk With a Heart of Gold: Although he can come off as curt or as an asshole, he’s willing to drop everything he can to help others--it’s in his job description. As aloof as he can come off, he’s willing to do anything for the people he loves, and he cares about them deeply. 

Honest Advisor: Marshall doesn’t have time to bullshit you. From what he’s learned as a policeman, it’s best not to bullshit people, especially detectives.

Not So Above It All: Although he tries to remain stoic and unwavering in all facets of his life, he has his moments where he can stop for a second and actually enjoy his life to the fullest. He is a person at the end of the day, just like we all are.

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katyasinclair:

There was something about writing an article that made her smile. Researching and really digging always got Katya’s blood flowing. Got her excited. Political and things that got her death threats sent to her email were her favorite but she still took the fluff pieces. Somehow that last habit had her standing in front of a piece of art that had used food as a medium to create the illusion of food that was somehow making a political statement. Slowly she tilted her head to the left, then to the right before sighing. “Riddle me this,” she paused to lean towards the person standing neatly her. “How is a food paste created eggplant making any sort of statement?” It wasn’t that she wasn’t art inclined but there was just something…. just… what? “It just sort of looks like the emoji in an over-glorified form. May as well put an actual dick on the canvas.” 

Marshall was having a difficult time exactly enjoying himself at the art gallery that his friend had dragged him to. It wasn’t often that he had a weekend off from work, and most weekends, he was on-call, pulled out of bed at two in the morning to investigate some unknown death and then have to deal with the mounds of paperwork that soon followed. On a rare weekend entirely off work and off duty, he managed to find himself in a gallery showing that he had absolutely no interest in aside from the open bar. With a bottle in hand, he wandered aimlessly to look at the pieces of “art,” only to grow bored within the half hour. He stood at one painting, his brows furrowed as he tried to scrutinize the piece when a voice chimed in from his side. He glanced over to the woman beside him before he shook his head, his shoulders lifting up in a shrug as he answered frankly, “Fuck if I know.” His finger started to motion towards the piece, his eyes turning back to look back over at Katya. “This is all made of food?” he asked, “It won’t get gross and moldy or anything? Because that sounds disgusting.”

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astrid-hayes:

Her current work on veterans was to be her magnum opus, but it hardly paid the bills. And with international reporting out of the question, Astrid had been forced to elbow her way into the small, competitive world of local reporting - not an easy feat, considering she was still technically freelance… She picked and chose her stories carefully, however, and was more than up to the task of forcefully inserting herself wherever she needed to be to get the story done. She was sure she hadn’t made any friends doing it, but her work out in the field had taught her to be ruthless and thorough, and every story she wrote inevitably got picked up. 

She was at the latest scene when she spied Detective Walsh, an officer she had worked with (a term used loosely) before and had weaseled out some sort of reluctant report. She knew well enough that he was trying to avoid her - cops often did - but she managed to cut him off anyway. “Detective Walsh, Lovely day, isn’t it?” she greeted with a sardonic sort of charm, one that spoke of the fact that they both knew it was empty pleasantries. 

Marshall’s eyes scanned around the crowd for his partner, a cop, or just somebody he could cling on to in order to avoid Astrid and let someone else deal with her, but her knack for cornering people was somehow so uncanny that he’s managed to find himself stuck in a corner every time she was around. He should have known better than to not expect to see her around and let his guard down. How the fuck did he miss her? 

“What do you want, Astrid?” he cut in. He didn’t have time for bullshit small talk, his tone curt as his eyes continued to look around and over her head. He hated reporters--they kept him from doing his job and being able to go home on time. This homicide was nothing special, just another connection in the string of mob-related deaths. To him, she was just chasing something trivial. “If you’re looking for comments, you can go speak to Officer Richards,” Marshall said, his thumb jutting to one of the uniformed officers who was surrounded by press, “Otherwise, I have nothing to say to you.”

[marshallwalsh-blog]

annika-j:

“You said you wanted to get laid, you got laid, what are you complaining about?” Annika called from the bathroom as she pulled on an oversized t-shirt - though, really, in her tiny apartment, she barely had to raise her voice. She stepped back out through the door, leaning against the frame and giving Marshall a look as he pulled his shirt back on. “Are you feeling a little bit lonely because of Valentine’s Day,” she said with an over-exaggerated pout, walking back towards the bed and resting her hands on his shoulders as she stood above him. “Getting a little clingy? In need of some cuddles?” she teased. “Technically I’m not kicking you out. I’m just politely implying you should leave,” Annika added, lifting one hand to pat his cheek twice. 

Marshall’s stare lifted up to meet Annika’s as she moved back over to him and stood in front of him with that same, casual smirk that she always seemed to wear. He wrinkled his nose at her teasing, but despite it all, he couldn’t help but feel like there was some amount of truth to her words. He may have had such a hardened demeanor, but like many men, he always fell victim to a woman’s charm as soon as he has sex with them--something about seeing a woman at her most vulnerable always drew him in. On top of that, she was someone he actually had a good time hanging out with. “No,” he lied, “I just wanted to hang out, you know?” His hands moved to her sides, a slight smirk on his lips as he drew the subject away. “I haven’t seen you since--who knows?,” he answered, “What if I wanna know what you’re up to? How’s life? How’s baseball season?”

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Text | Open

Anders: I'VE BEEN CLEARED TO PLAY ON SUNDAY!!!

Anders: THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!

Anders: You have to come? PLEASE COME?!

Marshall: Sorry, kid. I think you have the wrong number. If you're looking for your mom, this ain't her.

[princesconsuela]

[warrengabrielzuko-deactivated20]

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I think you're a genuinely cool person.

Send me a confession and I’ll publish it without answering.

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pricemily:

“Judging by your inability to keep a straight face, I’m going to say that it is, in fact, still pretty bad,” Emily replied in a panic as she searched her purse for some sort of compact. "I knew I should have listened to my mother when she said always carry a compact around,” she muttered, still rummaging through her bag. “I hope this is entertaining for you, you know,” Emily paused as she looked at the male before going back to her purse. 

Marshall pressed his lips together to suppress his grin, and he shook his head and did his best to seem or act normal. “I mean, I would be lying if I said it wasn’t a little entertaining,” he said, his eyes watching as she rifled through her bag, “If anything, I’m sure this would make you pretty much stand out more with your boss, right?” He sat down, prepared to go back to his lunch as he picked up a fry. “You could also just lie and say you got sick,” he said, popping a fry into his mouth and chewing on it slowly, “I won’t tell.”

[marshallwalsh-blog]

Speaking of dicks, let me ride yours

Send me a confession and I’ll publish it without answering.

[marshallwalsh-blog]

You're like... really pretty.

Send me a confession and I’ll publish it without answering.

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I dig your beard.

Send me a confession and I’ll publish it without answering.

[marshallwalsh-blog]

Cuff me, Officer.

Send me a confession and I’ll publish it without answering.