Photo by Kübra Arslaner
Peter Solarz

blake kathryn
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
NASA
Sade Olutola

JBB: An Artblog!

Andulka
todays bird
hello vonnie
Mike Driver

Origami Around
No title available

ellievsbear
dirt enthusiast
Keni
noise dept.
Three Goblin Art
Not today Justin

No title available

seen from Morocco
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia

seen from Hong Kong SAR China

seen from Malaysia
seen from Italy

seen from United States

seen from South Korea

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from South Africa
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from South Korea

seen from Ukraine
@misteradrianmonk
Photo by Kübra Arslaner
𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 . ( a collection of 100 nonverbal action prompts . mature and potentially triggering themes are present . add “ + reverse ” to swap assigned roles .)
∗ o1﹕ sender tucks hair out of receiver’s face . ∗ o2﹕ sender offers receiver a bite from their fork . ∗ o3﹕ sender places their feet / legs in receiver's lap . ∗ o4﹕ sender offers receiver an earbud to share their music . ∗ o5﹕ sender comforts receiver in the aftermath of a nightmare . ∗ o6﹕ sender gives receiver company in the hospital . ∗ o7﹕ sender wraps their arms around a hysterical receiver to calm them . ∗ o8﹕ sender shows up at receiver’s home late at night . ∗ o9﹕ sender falls asleep leaning against receiver . ∗ 1o﹕ sender wields a [ gun / knife ] at receiver . ∗ 11﹕ sender runs their fingers through receiver’s hair . ∗ 12﹕ sender invites receiver to dance . ∗ 13﹕ sender takes a [ picture / video ] of receiver . ∗ 14﹕ sender places their head in receiver’s lap . ∗ 15﹕ sender and receiver make eye contact across a busy room . ∗ 16﹕ sender pushes receiver against a wall to kiss them . ∗ 17﹕ sender and receiver cook together . ∗ 18﹕ sender comes to receiver after being injured . ∗ 19﹕ sender sits in receiver’s lap . ∗ 2o﹕ sender lifts receiver's chin , invoking eye contact . ∗ 21﹕ sender overtakes receiver in combat . ∗ 22﹕ sender finds receiver [ injured / bloodied ] . ∗ 23﹕ sender straightens an article of receiver’s clothes . ∗ 24﹕ sender crawls into bed with receiver . ∗ 25﹕ sender rolls their eyes at receiver . ∗ 26﹕ sender lights receiver’s [ cigarette / joint ] . ∗ 27﹕ sender is caught wearing receiver's clothes . ∗ 28﹕ sender strikes receiver with a pillow . ∗ 29﹕ sender writes a note on receiver’s skin : [ note ] . ∗ 3o﹕ sender wraps a blanket around receiver’s shoulders . ∗ 31﹕ sender runs and jumps into receiver’s arms . ∗ 32﹕ sender shoves receiver out of anger . ∗ 33﹕ sender hovers over receiver’s shoulder as they complete a task . ∗ 34﹕ sender is found by receiver somewhere they shouldn’t be . ∗ 35﹕ sender curls up against receiver in their sleep . ∗ 36﹕ sender is found drunk by receiver . ∗ 37﹕ sender throws an item of sentiment bitterly at receiver . ∗ 38﹕ sender joins receiver in the shower . ∗ 39﹕ sender is caught following receiver . ∗ 4o﹕ sender traces one of receiver’s [ scars / bruises ] . ∗ 41﹕ sender twines their fingers with receiver’s . ∗ 42﹕ sender barges into receiver’s home unannounced . ∗ 43﹕ sender kicks receiver’s shin beneath a table . ∗ 44﹕ sender aggressively shoves past receiver . ∗ 45﹕ sender kisses receiver’s [ forehead / cheek ] . ∗ 46﹕ sender pulls receiver out of harm’s way . ∗ 47﹕ sender is found sobbing by receiver . ∗ 48﹕ sender locks receiver out of their room . ∗ 49﹕ sender brings receiver [ coffee / tea ] in the morning . ∗ 5o﹕ sender rests their forehead against receiver’s . ∗ 51﹕ sender plays a song for receiver that reminds them of them : [ song ] . ∗ 52﹕ sender takes a [ punch / stab / bullet ] meant for receiver . ∗ 53﹕ sender buys receiver a drink at a bar . ∗ 54﹕ sender needs receiver’s help getting in the bath . ∗ 55﹕ sender and receiver cross paths in the kitchen late at night . ∗ 56﹕ sender twists receiver’s arm behind their back . ∗ 57﹕ sender winks at receiver . ∗ 58﹕ sender is found collapsed by receiver . ∗ 59﹕ sender prevents an injured receiver from getting up . ∗ 6o﹕ sender claps a hand over receiver’s mouth to silence them . ∗ 61﹕ sender cages receiver against a [ wall / the floor ] with their arms . ∗ 62﹕ sender storms away from receiver during an argument . ∗ 63﹕ sender is found by receiver sleeping in receiver’s bed . ∗ 64﹕ sender [ applies / touches up ] receiver’s makeup . ∗ 65﹕ sender throws receiver into a wall during combat . ∗ 66﹕ sender dances sensually with receiver . ∗ 67﹕ sender strikes receiver across the face . ∗ 68﹕ sender places their hand on receiver’s leg while driving . ∗ 69﹕ sender pulls a chair out from under receiver . ∗ 7o﹕ sender catches receiver’s wrist when they turn to leave . ∗ 71﹕ sender leaves an intimate mark on receiver . ∗ 72﹕ sender beats receiver in a video game . ∗ 73﹕ sender and receiver stand in stunned silence after a fight . ∗ 74﹕ sender cares for receiver while they’re sick . ∗ 75﹕ sender and receiver go on a hike . ∗ 76﹕ sender is caught snooping in receiver’s things . ∗ 77﹕ sender and receiver cuddle while watching television . ∗ 78﹕ sender throws something aggressively at receiver . ∗ 79﹕ sender creeps up behind receiver to scare them . ∗ 8o﹕ sender and receiver go shopping together . ∗ 81﹕ sender helps receiver [ dye / style ] their hair . ∗ 82﹕ sender draws receiver into a kiss by the back of their neck . ∗ 83﹕ sender is discovered having a panic attack by receiver . ∗ 84﹕ sender accidentally injures receiver during sparring . ∗ 85﹕ sender grabs receiver roughly by the hair . ∗ 86﹕ sender brings receiver to their knees during combat . ∗ 87﹕ sender shows receiver evidence of a lie they told . ∗ 88﹕ sender winks [ seductively / mockingly ] at receiver . ∗ 89﹕ sender yells at receiver to put their hands in the air . ∗ 9o﹕ sender helps receiver patch up a wound . ∗ 91﹕ sender holds receiver as they cry . ∗ 92﹕ sender silently and angrily points receiver towards the door . ∗ 93﹕ sender gestures for receiver to sit down . ∗ 94﹕ sender pulls receiver into their lap . ∗ 95﹕ sender cradles receiver’s face . ∗ 96﹕ sender tackles receiver out of the way of danger . ∗ 97﹕ sender has hidden an injury from receiver , and receiver finds out . ∗ 98﹕ sender confronts receiver about their unhealthy behavior . ∗ 99﹕ sender proposes to receiver . ∗ 1oo﹕ sender has just died , receiver finds out .
what do you call a fish with no eyes
a fih
"Mrs Garcia, I'm not accusing 'anybody' of 'anything'. I'm accusing you. Of murder."
he's so. i love him
Henry approached the unfolding of the library shelves a bit like a conservationist did some wild phenomenon; intentionally quiet (so as not to disturb), a little awed, very curious. That was all, for at least a full three seconds. This visitor pulling books from the shelf. Henry observing. Eventually getting noticed. Good- his brows lifted, surprised he was not interrupting.
A label maker?
“Not.. that I know of. But this-” vague gesture, at the disassembled collection and their former rightful places- “is the closest I get to clerical work around here. There could be one ...floating around in a desk somewhere.” There was a sort of bemusement, but ultimately even his tell-all face remained unperturbed. He felt people were always reorganizing entire stretches of the shelves, with the number of books left lying in strange places or out on the tables, even slotted into the wrong shelves seemingly at random. There was... some tedium to returning them, but no more than usual. Henry often found he didn't mind it so much, though he wasn't sure why. Dry tasks weren't generally his favorite. (Being even half as tolerating of the filing system in the DPD would be nice from a strictly practical point of view.)
Henry hummed lightly, scanning his eyes over the stacks surrounding the library's very busy visitor. It'd been... what? Under a half hour, anyhow, since he pointed him here. Henry leaned his weight on his heels.
“Carrying a grudge against the Library of Congress Classification?”
Oh. This was partly this man's job.
He rolled his shoulders, more of a tic than a gesture, head twisting to the side like he had water trapped in one ear (awful comparison; he would never. At least not in public.) "Oh. No." No, there was nothing wrong with the LC, "No, no grudges. It's really - it's an incredible system." Not without a smile (aware this might not be the most normal thing to say), "I use it at home."
But that still left him with the correction to make, because he had not shared it yet. The pads of his fingers touched, lightly, against each other, a tap-tap-tap as he chose the words. "It's just --" it wasn't like letting it go was an option anymore, and he winced with his inability to help the simple fact, "you had them backwards." See? He watched Henry to check if he knew what Monk meant, but then, apparently unsatisfied (or unsure), he stepped back to gesture loosely with one hand:
"These shelves, along here, up the top, they - they - they jut out, on this side. The metal comes out this way." This way, with emphasis. "But if you look ... every other bookshelf, it juts the other way. On the other side on the shelf." He shook his head. It didn't match. Someone - and he was not saying Henry had been the one at fault here - had set up the shelves like it didn't matter that they matched, and "You could turn it around, but honestly, at that point, all the books would flip to the other side, they'd be in the wrong spot, what's the point?"
He was almost done emptying the shelves. He lifted his hands in a shrug. "They were backwards."
out of context Monk
And here we see Randy in possession of the group's braincell.
What's Adrian's favorite kind of crime?
Organized crime.
Ba-dum tss 🥁
out of context Monk
will i always be this angry?
what if i say i made him an about page now
Wow. This guy was a freak.
Nathan hadn't noticed at first, he'd been too focused on stuffing his gob with the actually not-so-bad butter cookies. He wasn't usually a fan, more of a chocolate chip kinda guy (or better yet berry and white chocolate, if he wanted to get fancy schmancy), but this was the first thing he'd had to eat all day. Of course he'd take advantage.
So he was eating, right? Enjoying the crumbly, sugary, buttery goodness, getting crumbs everywhere, when he noticed the man wandering in was having some kind of nervous fit. Total mental case, that guy. Probably from a hospital somewhere, Nathan guessed, on account that he had someone looking after him. Nathan absently licked a few crumbs from his palm. The crazy guy all but wailed.
Huh?
Nathan sucked the crumbs from a finger and reached for another cookie, and like stabbing a high-calorie voodoo doll, he watched from the corner of his eye as the man spasmed like he'd been struck. Or maybe was gonna hurk.
Oh my god.
Nathan was careful not to look at them directly, but his mouth wobbled. He wasn't very good at hiding his grin. He might've let it go after that, really, really, he might have. Especially when the fella's caretaker all but dragged the guy over to talk to him, but now that he had no choice but to look at them... (Ahahaha! Oh, shit, oh. Shut up, Nathan. Don't giggle. Straight faced. C'mon.) ...he saw what the man looked like. The impossibly straight button-up shirt, the perfectly polished shoes, the sharp-as-a-razor ironing job on his everything. It was like someone had put the man through a clothes press and pumped him full of starch every morning. He looked like an old, curly haired Simon Bellamy. The immediate comparison pinched funny in the centre of Nathan's chest.
That cinched it, then, didn't it?
Nathan grinned at them both and crammed a cookie whole into his cheek. Crumbs sprinkled onto his shirt and his finger came away from his lips with a pop.
Mister Young. That was nice, and she was cute. In a polite, probably too put together for him MILFy sort of way. Ten bucks said her house was all beige and white with Live, Laugh, Love slapped somewhere on a wall.
"Oh, yeah, no problem. Just doing my civic duty, y'know. Helping solve a murder." He grinned around the cookie and waggled his brows. "You guys are cops?" Tellingly, his eyes trailed to Adrian. Something wasn't adding up. "Why haven't you got on uniforms?"
Crumbs sprinkled onto Nathan's shirt and his finger came away from his lips with a pop. Monk thought, with something like a shudder he had to breathe all the way through, a slow, controlled exhale:
This kid was d i a b o l i c a l.
"We work with the police, but we're not the police," Natalie told Nathan, "Mr Monk is a well-respected consultant on cases that seem impossible. He's really - he's really good, you should see him."
What? No. Monk looked at her, shaking his head just a little bit (don't invite this guy closer to him, Monk didn't want to be so much as in line of sight of him), but then it was his turn to speak and Nathan was looking at him and Monk actually did, really, want to know more about this case. It did seem kind of impossible. And things weren't impossible. They were just... particular.
Like him.
"The --" yeah, okay, his turn, "Mr Young, I read the statement you gave to the police about what happened that night. I know they were satisfied but I don't -- I don't think it quite adds up." Where Nathan had been in relation to the body, how long the body had been in the water, what Nathan had done when he'd found it there. "Did you know the victim?"
“ Be still, don’t move. ” he's probably freaked out there's a butterfly/moth near JD's head or sth. "I have experience with these. They can sense... fear." (foooooor JD? from monk @misteradrianmonk hi it's aster i have started writing a strange little man with a lot of phobias. you don't gotta write for this but here i am nonetheless)
Just as he raises a brow at the man—was he messing with JD? It sort of felt like he was being messed with (then again, the guy did look pretty freaked out…)—the colourful little butterfly that’d been fluttering around his head landed directly on the tip of his nose. It was kind of hilarious, like something out of a cartoon. JD went a little cross-eyed trying to keep looking at it. “It’s just a butterfly.” No judgements here; a phobia’s a phobia (unless he was being messed with, in which case, not cool, man). “They don’t bite.”
It only lingered for a heartbeat longer, before deciding JD wasn’t actually a flower and lifting off again. He watched it float away with an amused little smile. Wait until Steph heard about that. She’d probably tease him about being a Disney princess, but honestly? Part of him was pretty pleased with the idea of that. He’d be the prettiest damn princess there was. “See? Gone now. You good, man?”
@misteradrianmonk (x)
"Aaaah." The butterfly floated just a little bit too close to Mr Monk and he pulled away with both hands drawn back, a flinch of fear outside of his control. The suddenness of the movement spooked the butterfly and it continued on its merry way, deciding Monk, too, was not a flower, going to take its vicious... licking.... butterfly straw of a mouth and suck the life out of something else. Of course it didn't bite. It did much worse. It fluttered and it licked.
A flying licking machine.
(Trudy had, once, loved butterflies. Monk usually didn't hate them if they weren't flying directly at him.)
"Did --" no. No, no, he was - he was sympathetic, he produced a little plastic pack of wipes from his pocket and yanked one out, crisp and white and folded carefully, to offer it to JD, "Here, I, um -- I have a wipe." Sharing the wipes. Did JD want a wipe? "If you want. You probably want. You should take it."
Mr. Monk was a very strange fellow. BJ couldn't decide if watching the poor man fuss with the collection of ink pens was more soothing (the sensory clicky-clack of them rattling together was nice) or agitating (god, why doesn't he just put them back?) but it made a nice distraction. Enough that the reflexive fight or flight building in BJ ebbed long enough for him to remember to breathe again. In, out. Steady. Easy on. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
Experience told him to keep his nose out of it for once. Stop answering cops' questions. Stop getting involved. Hell, maybe it was time he legged it out of the United States altogether. He could go to Mexico next, find a beach where he could hide away, make his money off the rich and lonely tourists. From there, maybe he could go to Spain. He'd liked Spain. But (and this was a frightening but) just because the killer failed didn't mean that TK wasn't still in grave danger. Running away wouldn't protect TK.
"You have to promise that you'll be careful," he said. "And that you'll catch him. Quickly. Before he can have another chance."
BJ sighed.
"I don't know who TK told about the trip." A tiny, tiny white lie. He didn't know for sure, but he would be willing to bet that any of the 126 knew. If the detective here was worth anything, he'd figure that out easily enough, BJ was sure.
"But his dad was supposed to go. Owen Strand, I think is his name. He cancelled last minute, upset TK pretty badly. That's why he asked me to go with him." Gingerly, he straightened one of the stray pens with a nudge. "Never met him but he seems a bit of an arse. TK loves him." A beat. BJ leaned in, gaze suddenly sharp.
"You don't suppose it were him that tried to off TK? Is he a suspect?"
He moved the pens.
Adrian's eyes flicked up to stare BJ down, long and hard, pads of his fingers pressed lightly together on the desk in front of him as Mr Anderson 'corrected' the straightness of a pen that was already correct. He didn't think BJ did it, really. It didn't make sense, he was there at the last minute, he had agreed to go at the last minute (knowing a parachute was sabotaged?), even if he could ... mark the bum chute in some way, and they were still figuring out if it had been marked, voluntarily putting himself that close to a would-be murderer?
And he was asking them, Monk and the Detectives who worked this case, to be careful. It didn't seem like a threat. It seemed... genuine.
"No," Sharona said -- Owen was not a suspect -- at the same time Adrian said, "We're considering all of the possibilities. We don't ... really talk about active cases with the family." (The way he included BJ in 'the family' was not on purpose, but he did not think anything more about it at all.)
They exchanged a look, Monk and Sharona. This was, apparently, a common thing, common enough that they could communicate in the way Adrian's eyes lingered on her -- half turning away -- before Monk seemingly relented. Sharona thought this young man was worried about his friend, had picked up something Monk had thought was irrelevant (obviously, BJ had feelings for the guy) and she thought it was very relevant, especially given they were currently keeping BJ from seeing him.
Fine, said the way Monk turned back to BJ.
Fine.
"It - it doesn't seem likely, to us." You know? His hands turned outward just slightly, gesturing almost like a shrug but only with his thumbs, fingers still intertwined, "They work together every day, it would be easy to manufacture an incident on the job, he's - I mean, he's a paramedic. His father's the fire captain." It wouldn't make any sense to set it up as a jump like that. And it was statistically too impersonal for a domestic dispute, that sort of thing was usually explosive, this was... calculated. "Statistically, it doesn't make any sense."
This was cold and detached, but it was planned. Adrian still needed to meet Owen Strand, but... he wasn't sure whether the man could premeditate the murder of his son.
A knock at the door. They were not, Monk remembered, in an interrogation room: they were in a room with a line of ascending-order serial-numbered pens on the table and a coffee machine and a little hustle and bustle outside. They, the three of them, looked up, to a young DC named Jamie. Jamie was new to the department, almost newer than Monk, but they had been assigned this case to sort of tide them over into their first homicide. Monk wasn't sure if they were cut out for it. He was still deciding.
"Hey, Mr Monk," they did not 'um' or 'ah' in their speech, at least, "you said to let you know when the hospital was taking visitors, they've just opened up. You want I should hold the instructor?" somewhere in the building they had the jump instructor waiting to be interrogated, too. Katie had already said that she'd been paid off by 'someone - I don't know, they were anonymous', to send TK out of that plane. She'd been distraught, but she hadn't been the one to actually plan the attempted murder. Monk wanted to interrogate her properly.
"We should interrogate her while she's here," Monk told them, instead. He did not quite have the capacity to scoop all the pens back up and put them in the cupholder, but Sharona wasted no time in doing so, rattling loudly. "Mr Anderson, if you can stay in the area--"
"Go and see him, BJ," Sharona told him, "have you called his family, do you need to borrow a phone?" Was he alone? (Monk stood, to leave them to this conversation, going to check paperwork with Jamie about Katie's initial statement, instead.)
Mystery/Detective themed starters
“Haven’t seen you in this hole for a while… who’s missing today?”
“You detectives are always so serious.”
“You were seen at the scene of a murder last night and I want to know why.”
“There’s a hurricane coming for you, detective.”
“I need your help finding someone. It’s important.”
“Your case is low priority, there are other things I need to do first.”
“In this town, not even your blood’s sacred.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed if you don’t back off, detective.”
“You’re not taking this seriously.”
“You think you’re a badass? I once slept in a van full of dead bodies to get the jump on a perp. You’re a kitten compared to me.”
“This city’s a hard place to live. Don’t let it change you.”
“If you want to be one of us, be ready to leave your family and friends behind. People will hurt them to get at you if you keep them close. It’s just how things are.”
“The eye that never sleeps is on your tail, (name). Pack up and get gone before they get you.”
“You’re a wasp among honeybees, detective (name). We’d have a better use for you, if you’d let go of your damn righteousness.”
“Your fingerprints were found at the scene of a crime. Why were you there?”
“…you were the mole?”
“You’ve been feeding them information the whole time?”
“I can’t give up on this case.”
“I wont give up on you.”