all these small things @robbie-rivera - Tumblr Blog

rozwhite·:

Part of her was expecting him to send her away, giving her any excuse in the book to get her to leave and go home where she probably should have been right then — and he wouldn’t be wrong. It was nearly five in the morning, nocturnal animals were beginning to burrow into their respective dens despite the sun not peaking out from the horizon quite yet. There’d been countless moments like this where she’d be gazing out the window, watching the sunrise with a forlorn expression as she wondered if she’d be able to make it through another day — and she almost did the very same thing only minutes earlier, but her mind had been occupied on other things.

On someone.

And it bugged the hell out of her.

Swallowing thickly, Rosalyn stepped inside his house, eyes looming the unfamiliar space with a slight hesitation. She didn’t go over to people’s houses — to men’s houses, no less. The woman wrapped her cardigan tighter around her small frame, the loose braid that gathered her long, dark dresses unkempt and tangled over her shoulder. She looked like a mess, she felt like a mess, but at least Robbie appeared to be in a similar boat if not more so. To be fair, he probably had more reason to be than she did.

Rosalyn hesitantly sat down at the table, perched stiffly upright. Tense, and she could tell she wasn’t alone in that. She looked up at him from her seat, tongue poking at her cheek when he refused to meet her gaze. "And even if I was?” she questioned, rather than answering him outright. “You let me in anyway. There must be some part of you that is.” A bad attempt at humor, sure, but even she wasn’t laughing.

“You’re pissed that I helped Fletcher,” Rosalyn began, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “You resent the fact that you weren’t told of my involvement. I get it, but…” she shook her head. “It wasn’t my secret to tell. It was his. You know that, don’t you?”

the reason he let her in, it wasn’t for a fight. and if he was honest, and perhaps the hour permitted it, fletcher’s words kept twirling in his mind you pissed off your girlfriend and your boss for the sake of decorum and robbie had definitely other things to be upset about beside rosalyn white being called his girlfriend. and fine, maybe that wasn’t the ‘girlfriend’ mention irritating him, more than the fact that once again, robbie seemed to have disappointed rosalyn again.

her words flood his kitchen, and even though his usual response to those kind of conversations was pretty much flight or fight (with selina, it had always been flight. with rosalyn, always fight), robbie stood his ground. let her voice join the surrounding sounds, taking its place within the empty walls of his home. like its always been here.

“listen,” he poured her coffee in the loveliest cup he has, in his opinion, at least. placed it in front of her, while nursing his own on the seat next to her. “i...understand why he did it, alright? and why you didn’t tell me. it’s fine.” the night’s anger, that pursed through his vein, pushed against the exhaustion alongside the adrenaline of the night’s events, seemed to leave him at this moment. sagging a little against the back of the chair, a sigh escaped robbie’s lips and his fingers went to his hair.

“i apologize. for the way i acted.” at least towards her, and though her behaviour had been the most dangerous, especially for her name and business, she was still only a consultant. not the instigator of this situation. fletcher was. and in his desire (obsession supplied a small voice, in the back of his mind) to solve this case, he’d done a faux-pas. and if robbie had listened to him, and minded his own business, he would’ve never known. would have walked out of his office, but not out of the case. the weight of his own action still lingered heavy on his shoulders, and the anxiety of wondering if he’d done the right thing eating at him, softening his edges.

rosalyn was in his kitchen, still. at five am, looking for a fight. and robbie knew, oh lord that he knew, he’d give her everything tonight if she pushed. his own tongue seemed to work on its own volition, untied by the exchaustion. “i was-- am, just scared. for you.” and this honesty, easy and dangerous, selina had always wanted it. had it, once. before violence and death stained him to the core, before his whole being became a festering wound she could no longer clean. robbie wasn’t looking at her, at this very moment. embarrassed by his own words, expecting a witty response from her. the usual. “dead corpses disappearing in the day, and just … people acting cagey.”

how could one convey, without letting the other know, that the current circumstances were pretty much abnormal, and that perhaps, knowing the other had been dragged to the heart of it all, was more frightening that all the rest? “i had no right. i’m sorry.” abdicating, robbie looked up at rosalyn, offering a small, tight smile.

#(roz005)#(its been 84 years ....)#(im just about this)

when: the night following thefuneral where : kane funeral home who: @jaylenmaxwell

the meeting of daisy outside had been crucial to his decision to come inside, the lie in her mouth so apparent it tainted all she said. as soon as they both departed (robbie should have given her more than a warning, an accusatory voice whispered in the back of his mind -- he was going soft, so soft people were walking all over him), robbie made way to the funeral home, all senses on alert. it took him a moment to adjust himself to the darkness of the house, and the shivers down his spine were rightfully ignored. no time for this superstition business.

the radio cackled, and robbie could see through the windows, illuminating the walls, flashes of red and blue, other officers as reinforcement. if josie was to reappear there, in the middle of the night, all of this just a fake, a prank, robbie was ready to burn the home to ashes. slowly, carefully, each rooms were inspected, the light showing emptiness everytime his light fell on it.

it all happened so quickly, a body bumping into his own, perhaps in a hurry, and robbie, years old reflexes working quickly, grabbing the nearest wrist. twisting the arm, slamming the body in the nearest wall.

if robbie had known then, the identity of the young man pinned under his hands, then perhaps he wouldn’t have let go faster. but he didn’t. and perhaps, at some point tonight, robbie got tired. got indifferent.

still, his hold softened for a moment, eyes falling on the young man’s face, his stance suddenly less aggressive. “jaylen?” the night couldn’t get any worse; of all the people he thought he’d find here … the deputy was unfortunately not surprised to stumble on jaylen. “god, you did not choose your night well.” it wasn’t even anger at this point, just this immense pool of disappointment building up inside, hands grabbing for the handcuffs.

#( jay bird )#(jaylen002)#(event002)

jaylenmaxwell

WADE + INCORRECT QUOTES (1/?)

@robbie-rivera @detectivewright

#( officer fletcher )#( musings. )#THAMKS

detectivewright·:

rozwhite·:

She shot Fletcher a look as he glanced between them, eyes pleading for him not to play detective when it came to her and Robbie’s relationship — not that they had much of one to begin with, but as always she tended to stray away from conversation she deemed unnecessary. That was certainly one of them. “Thank, Fletcher,” the woman mumbled then, moving to exit before a hand was promptly brought up, causing her to pause in her step.

Shit. Despite how much she wanted to look away, her eyes tracked each and every one of the Deputy’s movements, from when he bent down to grab the stray piece of paper (stupid, clumsy Fletcher) to when he dropped it back on his desk. Averting her gaze would prove to be a sign of weakness, a face she was not about to put on now. No — doing so would simply undercut all of her work thus far.

She couldn’t argue with his words — it had been a stupid idea, one that she knew was idiotic from the beginning. However, although she’d never admit it out loud, Fletcher was her friend. He’d come to her desperate, in dire need of someone to trust in an otherwise distrustful situation. Rosalyn understood how difficult it could be to let someone in, and while this wasn’t necessarily the same thing, she couldn’t help the burning feeling that arose in her stomach the second Fletcher handed her that autopsy report. A sense of duty, perhaps.

“Blunt forced trauma on the back of the skull, caused from the inside out. So if you know of any way someone could take a blow to the head, but not have it happen externally, be my guest.” Rosalyn answered adamantly, crossing her arms. She stared at Robbie for a long moment, jaw clenched.

“Other than that, no. Nothing substantial.” The doctor pursed her lips slightly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get home. Unless there’s something you need from me, deputy?”

“Enough,” Fletcher said sharply. It had been a long day and was going to be an even longer night, and every day that followed would be that much more grueling until they had something, anything, that could appease the rabid dogs of this town. Fighting with his friends wasn’t something he signed up for, and maybe pulling rank was a bit of a cop out for disentangling himself from this whole situation, but he couldn’t handle the way Robbie was looking at him, as though he’d been betrayed, as though he’d done something wrong.

That was the problem with friends. With caring. It just left you hurt.

“Roz, I’ll call you later if I have any questions. Thank you for stopping by.” It was a dismissal, clear as day, and he waited for her to leave, for the door to close behind her, before turning to Robbie.

Robbie, his first friend here in Wade, Robbie, the only person who even remotely felt like he was on Fletcher’s side, Robbie, who pieced him back together when all the different shards of him went flying. Robbie, who turned a blind eye to the drinking and the mood swings and the cruel, cruel things Fletcher could do if bored enough.

Part of him wanted to scream. Most of him wanted to cry. But neither were options right now, faced with a Robbie, demanding explanations the same as the rest of the town: with pitchforks and accusations, rather than any modicum of decency. And perhaps, he should have known better, But right now, he didn’t really care.

“I don’t need to consult you before making decisions about Josie, Robbie,” he said wearily. It took effort to string these words together because they weren’t pretty, and they certainly weren’t going to make things better. But that didn’t change the truth in them. “This is my case. Whatever happens, it’s on me. Whatever difficult choices I make to get what I need to solve it, that’s on me too. And I don’t appreciate the moral superiority or the lectures when you know as well as I do what we’re up against.”

He cleared his throat, thumb pressing into the bruised flesh of his knuckles. “I asked for Roz’s help because she’s the smartest person in this hell of a town, and I needed the insight of someone I trust. Your personal feelings aside, you have to understand why I did what I did, and if you don’t,” he added, expression stormy, “I never asked for your opinion. So as a friend, I’m saying take a step back and realize this: you pissed off your girlfriend and your boss for the sake of decorum, and maybe, just maybe, today wasn’t the day to have this fight.”

Finally, Fletcher met Robbie’s gaze, eyes frigid. “And as your boss, I’m saying, unless you have anything more to add – which, I hope you don’t – you’re dismissed for the night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

his jaw clenched, and robbie took a step back, nodded. did not follow rosalyn’s escape, eyes glued to his friend. his boss. fletcher was right, of course he was. ugly and imposing, a very familiar anger took place in his chest, and it would take a long time before it’d dislodged itself. right at home, it was. the deputy did not interrupted the detective, his authority rightfully displayed when it should be. as always. this was fletcher’s case. as he’s been told before.

“i understand.” his voice hoarse, robbie’s glare met fletcher’s own. “i’ll have my files transferred to officer richardson. he’ll assist you well.”

the last nod he sent towards the other man’s direction reminiscent of his time in the military, though robbie was not the same man. and right at this moment, he understood something. the thing, here, was that they weren’t stuck overseas, in a foreign country, where every split decisions resulted in life or death. they were stuck in wade, where a woman’s corpse kept disappearing, and no matter how fucked up this whole situation was, there was no knife at his throat. no man pulling a gun to his temple, and no orders he had to follow through in order to come back home.

you’re dismissed for the night. like hell he was. robbie still had a lot on his plate, and stepping down from josie’s case was seemingly the best thing to do at the moment. richardson would never question the detective, and robbie would never find himself choosing between his friendship and his work relationship with fletch. “good night.” without much of a last glance at fletcher, the deputy turned his rigid back and stepped out.

(there’s a voice, inside his head, sounds like his old sargeant cowards. only cowards turn their back on duty.)

and if the sound of the office’s door closing resonated in the whole den, making the glass rattle and the walls tremble, robbie did not care enough to meet his colleague’s eyes and answer their question.

end.

#(fletch002)#(roz004)#this was literally the saddest

rozwhite

where: robbie’s home who: @robbie-rivera & rosalyn white

Her fist was hovering right in front of the door, as if an invisible force was preventing her from bring able to connect her skin with the wooden frame. Had she officially gone mad? The funeral had put everyone on edge, word of Josie’s disappearance spreading like wildfire even before the premises had been emptied. She’d even been stupid enough to take part in the conspiracies, playing the part of detective with DJ from the confines of her own home, as if anything could have been solved that way. Fletcher should have never brought her so close to this, that much had become abundantly clear when she bowed her head in shame and declared that she’d found next to nothing that would assist the police in the dead woman’s case. Had she really gotten her hopes up, become invested in this case, for nothing?

And then there was Robbie, unable to get his face out of her head in the hours that’d passed since she left the police station. Was it shame? Disgust? Regret? Not that anything had happened between them — why would anything happen? — but his reaction had felt like a punch in the gut. Doctor White. So informal, so lacking.

Nearly five in the morning; he was probably asleep, or getting off a shift that become far longer than expected — she assumed the latter. Her own REM cycle had become incredibly unordinary since becoming doctor, so she was wide awake. Though, she had the sneaking suspicion that this alone was not the cause for her insomnia.

But then, she knocked. And then, he answered.

“I —” a pause, the entire situation she found herself in dawning on her. Rosalyn noted the dark circles under his eyes, ones that rivals her own. His appearance, so casual, made him look far more…human. If that was even possible, because from what Rosalyn had discovered, Robbie was, perhaps, the most human person she’d met in a long while.

“The only people who call me Dr. White spend eighty percent of their time in the hospital.” She swallowed thickly, fists clenched tightly at her sides. “I’ve never treated you. I’ve never even seen you there.” Rosalyn stared at him for a long moment, finally allowing the breath she didn’t realize she was holding to escape her lips. “Do you have coffee?”

robbie-rivera

of all the people that would knock on the deputy’s door at five in the morning, while wade would stir in the wake of another police’s failure, robbie never have expected it to rosalyn. fletcher, perhaps, for work. daisy, even, who he still wondered why he did not arrest tonight, why he let her go while some of her friends (he assumed) got in. robbie had been utterly exhausted. today did not seem to want to end; the deputy had left the station not more than forty minutes ago, and his empty home did not hold the same peace it usually provided. the silence was heavy with today’s implications and robbie practically punched the radio open.

his brain short circuited as she spoke, something about him calling her doctor white, it seemed. wasn’t she, though, a doctor? fletch had requested the aid of doctor white, not rosalyn. not rosalyn, who used to smoke in silence next to red’s wall with him, while he listened to the night. not rosalyn who spoke of elephant mugs and shared experiences with stupid people. both of those women were the same, though. and perhaps he’d thought that at least one of them was his friend, or … was on the path of being a friend. the damn knife in his back said otherwise.

still, even though robbie’s feelings had been hurt, he would do what he always did : bottle them up, put them aside, and ignore them. maybe he’d follow fletcher’s example and punch a wall, but that could wait another time, where all his limbs felt like lead. he felt depleted, and that was probably the reason why the door opened wider for rosalyn, an invitation to come in. she did look worse for wear, and a small part of robbie felt sorry for her.

“please come in,” always polite, he was raised well. “rosalyn.”

the door closed without much a sound, and robbie felt suddenly underdressed, vulnerable in his own home. while his own appearance was usually well-put together, he knew he looked a mess, an old sweater on (it read the name of an old unit, faded), his sweats hanging low, hair wet from the quick shower. seeing roz, though, she did look as a mess as he was, and that settled something in his chest.

gesturing to the kitchen table, inviting her to sit as he prepared the coffee (he let his forehead fall on the cabinet for a second, what the hell was he doing, he should be asleep, she should be asleep, josie should be found and dead, six feet under) any fight he could have had in him, gone. “if you’re looking for a fight, i’m really not in the mood.” leaning his back on the counter, the deputy kept his eyes the coffee, watching it fall and drip in the pot.

#(roz005)#(im sorry this is a bit ugly and meh)#(event002)

oblvvicn·:

Arthur should have known he never truly would have been able to blend into Wade, not like he did in the city. With thousands of faces passing everyday, masses gathering and disbanding through the streets, he’d be nothing more than another man in a suit. There was peace found in that, in not being noticed by people with more interesting lives without you in it. Wade was small enough, the streets he’d drive through that all look the same even in sunset. And faces of residents, all staring, searching for something to pry into. He’d be far from invisible, so he had to be someone no matter where he walked. He had to cover the cavern of nothing that swallowed him whole.

“English for the most part, unless they need subs elsewhere.” He’s taught his words to come more naturally over the years, from when they once caught in his throat and failed to find their footing in the world. He learnt to mimic horns at dawn, and crisp breeze on the horizon- the blue wafts that promise day to return. But all this, it’s unnatural in Wade.

Perhaps he made a mistake.

“I guess I haven’t gotten to know them well enough, always on their best behaviour the first few weeks aren’t they?” It had been just over a week since he first stepped into the desolate town, not barley enough to know anyone yet, and not nearly enough to know if he was going to stay. The plan after all was just to continue driving- but he’s here. Offering a smile to the deputy with a hand on top of his car’s roof, “I can’t thank you enough.” He holds out a hand to shake the other’s, a proper thanks he’d been taught years ago.

“Would you let me buy you a beer tomorrow maybe, after Gabe’s? I’ve got to get back to grading tonight- otherwise.”

robbie shook the other man’s hand, offering him a small smile. “don’t worry about it, my pleasure.” sharply dressed men were usually not a good sign here in wade, but robbie had a good feeling about this teacher. “ah, sorry, no can’t do tomorrow. we’re in the middle of this …” he stopped himself from saying investigation because the man did not knew robbie was a deputy, and surely talking about the gruesome case of one josie johnson was not something he could spring on anyone, especially not in the middle of a gas station. “...let’s say work has been hectic. and, i’m mostly working nights. crime never stops.”

“here let me,” robbie went to his car, took a page out of his notepad and scribbled down in his neat handwriting the direction to the garage. he put his number as well, he case the stranger, arthur ever needed it. one might wonder what was faster, calling robbie or the 911? still, at night, those two things kind of was the same. “call me if you need anything, arthur. and … don’t worry about the people here.”

the deputy’s voice had dropped a moment. sure, the wadians were often intense, prying into things they shouldn’t, but they were mostly good people. good faith and all that. it wasn’t the people, the problem. it was wade itself. “i speak of experience when i say that they can be … overwhelming. but mostly good people.” the shrug was meant in to add some sympathy to robbie’s words, though the deputy hoped it could also shake some of this heaviness that wouldn’t leave the pit of his stomach.

"alright, i'll see you around?"

#(arthur001)#(sorry if i already used this gif)

nongratae

WHEN & WHERE: hour unknown, wade police department WHO: robbie ( @robbie-rivera )

when they’d set out, arriving at the entrance of the funeral home right as it struck the witching hour, there hadn’t been much concern about the night running smoothly. everyone knew the kane’s home was an old building, and that they – being too respectful for their own damn good – thought it unkind to set up proper cctv. had those circumstances been any different, maybe she would’ve sat the break-in out. but stubborn nora, who had maybe gotten too confident as of late, just didn’t know when enough was enough.

she’d only spotted the flashes of red and blue when it was apparently too late for her to jump back out of the residence. even if she’d ran down the street, they probably would’ve tracked her down in some way. but in all fairness, she’d rather take this than letting it reach any of the others; it was the least she could do, unable to bear the thought of either of them getting detained. besides, it wasn’t like she’d been coerced into anything – getting caught red-handed this time around, nora thought to herself, had been her own fucking fault.

“so…” nora began, looking around every so often. even when keeping up the stoic demeanor, she still felt uneasy. something in her had told her that she’d end up here, in this very spot, sooner or later – it was just a tad surprising it’d backfire this out of all the other times, “how does this work? do i get to make a phonecall, or do just head straight into the paperwork?”

robbie-rivera

“right,” robbie sat down in front of her, in the interrogation room. brandt sat next to him, silent as ever. “You have the right to remain silent,” robbie started while setting up his files in front of him, his voice as monotone as ever. perhaps it was the day getting to him, but dios, he was tired. “Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.” the rights were recited with the same tone, and robbie wondering what would the young woman in front of him choose.

“You have the right to an attorney; if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

crossing his arms on his chest, robbie watched the young woman sitting in front of them. nora wilkes, 24 years old, and surprisingly, she did not seem to be known by the law. the deputy had absolutely no idea who she was, and that ignited fear inside of him. he knew the usual culprits, the department even arrested some, but having a young woman he did not know standing in front of him … how much of other homemade detectives was there supposed to be in one small town like wade?

“ms. wilkes, i’m deputy rivera and this is officer brandt. as i said, you have the right to remain silent, but if you willingly choose to talk here,” a sigh escaped robbie’s mouth while tilting his head, expressing his exhaustion at all of this. “the faster we can all go home. today was a special day, and in josie’s memory, i’d really like to know what you were hoping to find there.”

#(nora001)#(event002)#(idk like A SINGLE thing about american law enforcement procedures after an arrestation beside what hollywood told me)#sorry in advanc

daisyjcnes

TIME: Late night, after Josie’s funeral LOCATION: Kane funeral home, outside STATUS: Closed, @robbie-rivera

It was dark. Really, really dark. As the leaves and the branches cracked underneath DJ’s feet, with each step that she took towards the outside of the search perimeter in the back of the Kane’s funeral home she had outlined in her own mind, her phone torched shined all around and then at her feet. Why did I think this was a good idea?

Each time DJ thought she’d seen something, found anything that could tell her and the rest of the group something about what happened to Josie’s body, it would either be just a trick her mind played in her eyes or something as useful as her search at night, in a very, very dark area.

And then, DJ heard a crack! that didn’t belong to any of her steps. She turned on her heels. “Anyone there?” DJ called out, shining her light towards the place where she thought she had heard the sound come from.

robbie-rivera

when the radio cackled at work, someone calling in some suspicion for breaking and entering at the kane’s funeral home, they all looked at each other. who’s gonna go? robbie was still pissed from today’s conversation in fletcher’s office, and anything to get out of there was good enough of a reason, even though his better judgment would suggest that he’d let a colleague take the call. it had been numerous hours of work since this morning, and though the office was still buzzing with activity, the atmosphere was a bit subdued.

he took it, putting on his jacket and moving swiftly out of the department. and a few minutes later, the deputy found himself in front of the house. “this is deputy rivera, calling for backup. i get a feeling that we’ll have company here tonight. over.” the voice on the other end acknowledged his request, and not a minute wasted before he took out his flashlight, walking around the home, feet barely making any noise.

years of training sharpened his senses in the night and it wasn’t long before he heard a branch cracking not so far from him. narrowing his eyes, slowly making his way, he was suddenly met with the back of a young woman. “daisy jones?” well, robbie had seen enough of her silhouette late at night, lounging on her porch, to not recognize her. what she was looking at, the deputy did not know. but she might have heard the same thing. “give me one good reason to be here.” his tone had lost the usual easiness, replaced for his cop voice.

robbie had liked daisy. in his opinion, she had so much potential. to find her here, of all places … what a shame.

#(dj002)#(event002)#(disa ppoint ed)

hcllixn

date: april 23rd, 2020 time: 10:42 pm location: outside red’s diner status: @robbie-rivera

Paint chipped years ago left to rot away at walls that even the tangerine glow of streetlights fail to hide how grotesque the dull town was. Forgotten was the best term, left to swallow itself with that well known Wade, Ilinois pride that stains the egos of the locals. And god, it got boring.

Gravel tossed beneath her skates as she roamed the cracked pavements, and ears filled with the ambient sound of the town. Passing cars driving nowhere late at night, crickets singing in the spring breeze, chatter coming from televisions in home windows as she cruised. A gentle rattle came with each bump she crossed, from a can of spray paint in her hands that left the black inky mess on a few of her fingers.

The lights inside Red’s Diner always seemed to glow no matter the hour, artificial and blinding she’d skate past just in time to see a familiar patrol car in the parking lot. Then her eyes shift up to the doors, just in time to make eye contact with a familiar deputy adorned in uniform on his way out.

Shoving the can of spray paint into her backpack, she begins to skate up towards the door where Robbie was about to be in the nights air. The paint still tacky on her fingers, she has all the air about her as a girl who hadn’t just stuffed the obvious vandalism into her backpack in front of the man. “I didn’t know you’d still be welcome there, it’s not like you’re doing Josie much good.”

robbie-rivera

a superstitious man, robbie believed there was two curses one him:

First, all those shitty paranormal things happening to him. he did some research, coming back from night shifts, still riled from the anxiety of walking in nightly wadian eeriness.there was an old legend, he kept remembering from his abuela, luz mala or some shit coming from his worst nightmares. god, how could he have faced death on many occasions while on tour, but was still scared shitless of ghost stories?

Second, all those shitty teenagers (they weren’t teenagers, and robbie, as an honest deputy, should not call them shitty) getting in trouble at night. especially since josie’s death, it was like … a constant need to get out, and though none of them would tell the cops of their own investigative work, they all knew they wanted as much answers as the cops. which was absolutely understandable. the need to know was stronger than anything, and robbie could understand that.

but beside the josie’s meddling youth, there was one that kept robbie on edge all the time. and that one was standing right in front of him, as he got his coffee for his upcoming shift.

maybe there was a third curse on robbie : charlotte milder, affectionately known as chuck. robbie knew brandt liked to call her chucky, like the scary puppet. the deputy, though he’d never admit it out loud, could not find the lie in that. “good evening, charlotte.” he took in her appearance, her stained fingers to the sly smile plastered on her face. “you’re in a good mood tonight. a little late for platitudes, though.”

#(chuck001)#(this is gonna be fUN)

when:a few days after the funeral who: @detectivewright

wade was still a bit gloomy today, and through the rain had stopped this morning the sun had yet to make an appearance. the weight of the last days were pushing down on the town and its residents, and the sheriff department had never been this busy. everyone was putting extra hours in it, determined to get more clues in this gloomy affair. still, once in a while, the cops had to lie down (though the rest of the town would still call them incompetent after this whole fiasco), regroup and just … do some laundry or something. which was the predicament robbie was in at the moment, his home an absolute mess (always, since the night at daphne’s). the whole cleaning ritual would bring him some peace of mind, if one of his hand wasn’t so busy holding the phone, where his abuela’s voice stridently broke the silence of the house.

her calls, which had to be answered at least two times in a month, were usually something robbie was looking to. it usually meant news from his children, of his sisters and sometimes, the man could even be graced by news of abuela’s poodle.

this time, though … this time, his abuela kept talking fast, worry tainting her words. it seemed that the news of josie’s third disappearance had make it to his abuela’s weekly Wade checkup

(she had to look up what was happening in his town, because her nieto was not the most eloquent of men)

and though he knew she must have seen it on the internet, Isabel Rivera insisted she had dreams of it. which, honestly, robbie could do without the whole premonition thing. and weirdly, how it came on the subject, he did not know, but one second she was talking about how she had dreams about miguel flunking his math exam to how she knew robbie had gone through … supernatural … situations. “Te dije, Roberto, tienes un don. Eres un conducto de Dios. Necesitas leer las señales, te ayudarán con tu problema de desaparición de cadáveres.”

a sigh (she hated it when he sighed) escaped his lips and before he could argue with her, the door chimed. saved by the bell. fucking finally. still, if he opened the door a little bit harsher than before, annoyance from this phone call seeping on his features, only fletcher would know. “aye ...espera, abuela.” isabel did not wait, as requested by her grandson and her voice could still be heard on the phone as robbie opened the door wider, surprised to see the detective standing on his doorstep. “sorry, did we … were you supposed to pick me up?” wait, was he supposed to work today and he forgot? “wait, am i supposed to be at work?” isabel’s voice kept insisting for robbie to come back and robbie glared at the phone for a solid 10 seconds, before turning his attention to fletcher.

“come in, let me just … handle that.”

a few arguments later, robbie switching from english to spanish every two sentences, the call finally ended. “dios mio, that woman.” there had been a promise to call her back, and perhaps a bit of warmth spreading in his chest when she said her goodbyes, told robbie she loved him and that her children still did as well. on a much better mood, robbie walked back to the porch, where fletch had move to the living room. there wasn’t much to investigate beside robbie’s plain, empty walls. “hey, sorry about that,” robbie could pride himself in his ability to compartmentalize, and right now, he decided to put the last time he saw the other man in a little box inthe back of his mind. you never knew when fletcher would need robbie for work, and whatever awkwardness there might be in their informal relationship, work was always priority. so robbie would beable to walk on his own feelings, if that meant he could do his work well.

“you need me for something?” why else would the man be standing in his living room?

(was it the first time fletch came in here? robbie couldn’t remember. also couldn’t remember the last time they blew off some steam together. which, he’d admit wasn’t really fletcher’s fault, his time was precious, and it hadn’t been long since he’d arrived in town.)

#(fletcher003)#(event2)#(one: i'm sorry this is like very messy and bad)#(two:i'm sorry for bad spanish pls someone correct this)#(three: i was finally able to plug abuela somewhere so thanks)

where: kane's funeral home when:an hour after josie's third disappearance who:elijah

and looming over the red and blue lights of the numerous police cars, the kane funeral home stands tall, dark and empty. the home’s insides are being thoroughly checked out, while the investigation is going on outside. there’s a crowd, in front of the house, and many wadians are conversing amongst themselves, throwing hypotheses in the air like gossip.

there’s one figure that stands out, alone in the crowd, a bit retreated from the masses. robbie narrows his eyes as he spots elijah, and wonders if there wasn’t a better spot for his … side hustle, especially today. the walk towards elijah is a short one, determination tainting every step that robbie made. most of the conversations die as he cuts through the crowd, but he’s focusing on only one person now.

“mr. smalls, a word please.” robbie’s head pointed away from the other residents, where he knew they would not be overheard. it was bad enough that robbie singled him out like this, he knew people ought to speak about how deputy rivera arrested (though he did not, and had no intention to, unless elijah gave him a good reason) the bowling place’s manager. still, robbie only wanted to some information and he took his notepad out, watching the man in front of him. “i did not know you knew josie enough to come to her funeral.” why are you here, it was meant to ask.

#(elijah001)#(event002)

dailyshowbiz

OSCAR ISAAC photographed for Details Magazine

#( face )

detectivewright·:

rozwhite·:

The doctor lightly dabbed the red-stained knuckles with a baby wipe, eyes looming over the cuts revealed below for any signs of debris or depth that would require stitches. Part of her wanted badly to pry into his own frustration, to see what lay beneath the sore hand and the shattered wall, but she refrained. Rosalyn knew better than to ask because it would only serve her own agenda — it wouldn’t help Fletcher. And, frankly, the less she inquired, the less he would when the opportunity presented itself on her end.

Still, she was a bit surprised at the softness in his voice, the gratitude that fell from his lips as she tended to the wound. Pressing her lips together in a tight line, she only met his gaze for a quick moment before grabbing a few tissues from the box on his desk and a few strips of scotch tape, wrapping them around the area and then placing the clear adhesive on the outskirts of the cuts to hold the paper there. “Pick up some gauze on your way home. Change it at least twice a day and make sure to dab it with Neosporin,” Rosalyn responded, voice quiet and polite; her way of saying ‘you’re welcome’.

The door to the office opening caused her to jump, startled by Robbie’s sudden entry and instinctively moving away from Fletcher. Clearing her throat, the dark-haired woman’s eyes instinctively flickered down to the open file. She didn’t know why she hadn’t expected to see the male there, in his own workplace. Perhaps she figured he’d be heading home by now — but, then again, with what he had revealed to her that morning at the diner, his usual hours weren’t one of them.

“Deputy,” Rosalyn returned the greeting, a bit put off by the way he addressed her despite the fact that it was perfectly acceptable. Dr. White — it was just so formal. “Perfectly fine. I was just —” she crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “Giving the sheriff some of my research.” The doctor gestured to the file, suddenly freezing once she realized how blatant of a statement that was, especially since her red penmanship was splayed out besides Josie Johnson’s me.

“I mean —” Rosalyn struggled to cover her tracks. “I should probably let you get back to work. I’m sure you’re both…busy.” And yet, Robbie was still blocking the doorway.

Fletcher looked from Roz to Robbie and then back again, trying to figure out what it was that was making him feel like the intruder in his own office. Maybe it was the way Roz had leapt away from him or the way Robbie couldn’t quite look either of them in the eye, gaze flickering between the two of them. It wasn’t his business what was going on between the two of them because if either of them wanted him to know, one of them would have told him. Robbie was his first friend in Wade and probably his only friend, at the rate that things were going, and Roz– well, he doubted she’d tell him anything even if there was a gun to her head, but that’s just how she was.

He was happy to tell Robbie exactly what was going on here, but that would require him telling his deputy, not his friend, that he’d given sensitive information about an active investigation to a civilian. And he knew Robbie, knew him well enough to know that he’d carry that knowledge and keep it to himself, and hell, he’d even get himself in trouble for it, but Fletcher would rather shoot himself in the foot than see someone he cares about take the fall for his choices.

As subtly as he could, he slid the file with all of Roz’s notes off his desk and into a drawer, out of sight. But, of course, he was also trying to hide his busted up hand, and his fingers were throbbing and uncoordinated, sending the file flying to the ground. Fletcher bent quickly to pick it up, tucking it into the back of his jeans because, well, he could make Robbie leave if he really wanted to, but he didn’t. “I feel like I missed a birthday,” he said, glancing between his friends. “Or like someone died and no one’s telling me.”

He turned to Robbie, trying to read the man’s face – normally, it was so easy, the quirk of his brow to say he was annoyed, the press of his lips to say he was thinking, the lines around his eyes when he smiled. But now, Fletcher couldn’t tell a damn thing. “Dr White,” he said, not looking at her. “Thanks for coming by. If you want to leave me and the Deputy, we’ll finish up here.”

between rosalyn and fletcher sudden awkwardness, as if the deputy had marched into some kind of secret meetup, whatever suspicions robbie had about their relationship morphed into something else, as soon as his brain registered rosalyn’s words. glancing down at her research, robbie did not have to hold the file to know what it contained. god, the many hours lost on memorizing it, to find a tiny details they might have missed, that might give them a clue ...he had looked at it enough for a lifetime to recognize it everywhere. his feet brought him a step forward and at the same time, fletcher seemed to get the memo and subtly tried, without much success to be honest, to hide the file in his desk. not before dropping it on the floor, one loose sheet coming to robbie’s feet.

“hold up,” robbie brought up a hand, stopping rosalyn’s escape, before bending as well, picking up the rebel sheet. the deputy looked at it, some notes written on it. didn’t need to be a genius to assume this was rosalyn’s handwriting and robbie did not stop the frustrated sigh escaping his lips. he threw the paper on fletcher’s desk, a silent you missed one hanging over the gesture. noting the way the other man’s hand glistened, knuckles angry red. that explained the hole behind him, but robbie couldn’t find any spare concern to give right now.

hands on his hips, he regarded both of them, acting like nothing was wrong. the weight of the day, heavy on his shoulders, the stress of seeing another fucked-up, paranormal shit, summed with this issue ...

“you had to know that this was a bad idea.” he looked into fletcher’s eyes, noted the cold of his hues and stoicness of his face and it angered robbie. not long ago, that same man ripped him a new one because he thought his deputy had chosen not to call him upon receiving josie’s autopsy report. that new information regarding the case had to be submitted to him, at all times. robbie hadn’t realized then that this was a one-way kind of request. well, fletcher was the primary on this case, and if he considered robbie just as any other cop who would help on the case, so be it. robbie would gladly delegate his position to any of their colleague. ellie would be a good replacement.

“rosalyn could lose her licence over this, she’s a civilian ... you could lose the whole case, fletcher.” scrubbing at his face, he tried to control his words, keep his emotions from colouring them. if both of them did not care enough to share this with him, what on earth was he doing here? why on earth did his own anger matter. “if the mayor gets wind of this, he’ll close the whole fucking case...and don’t say you didn’t tell me to protect me, mios dios, you know i will be suspected by association.” robbie barely looked at rosalyn, remembering the last times they spoke, and wondered at what time did she started analyzing the file. remembered her words, still, after the spring celebration, the small apology in the cafe. she did not owe him anything. did fletcher owe him anything? no. another sigh.

“well, was it worth it at least? did you find anything”

#(event002)#(fletch002)#(roz004)#please accept my trashy sad boi and this messy reply #thanks

detectivewright·:

Fletcher wasn’t used to care. He was used to his bad decisions turning into jagged scars that no one asked about because he was a cop – he was supposed to have wounds that didn’t heal right, and he was supposed to grit his teeth and bear it. He watched Roz as she approached him, and, slow, hesitant, he extended his right hand and unfurled his fist for her to look at. “Thank you,” he said awkwardly because that was what you were supposed to say, and he meant it, but the words were uncomfortable and stiff with disuse coming off his lips. Maybe, one day, he’d send her a singing telegram. Thank you for being a friend. He smiled, just a hint, at the thought of how much she’d hate it.

Fletcher cleared his throat. The file, right.

“I was going to see if we could get you fifteen minutes alone with her body,” he said dryly. “Now…we’ll be lucky if we ever see her again.” God, he wanted a cigarette. Something that would burn through him, make him feel something. Even the throbbing of his hand had faded to the background, never as crystal clear as the moment of impact. “I’ll look these over,” he said appreciatively, nodding towards her notes. He couldn’t think about what Josie’s head wound meant, not now at least. There was too much white noise taking up every inch of his brain, and he needed some quiet to read this over, process it, and think. He hadn’t even fully processed that Josie was missing yet, how was he supposed to process the ways in which a person could get a fatal head wound with no external blow?

Fletcher took a deep, steadying breath before lifting his eyes from his hand in hers to her face. Exhaustion had robbed him of the capacity to guard his thoughts, and he needed to say this because he needed her to know, needed to give one of the few people in his life here, in Wade, who actually helped make it all easier the credit she was due. “I know what I asked of you, Roz,” he said sincerely. “And I know it wasn’t easy or pleasant or even particularly fair on my part. But you did it anyways, and…” He shrugged. Neither of them were particularly fond of big declarations of emotion. Already, he was teetering on the line of too much, too soft, too vulnerable. And yet… “Thank you,” he repeated again, this time, with feeling.

the following hours were tedious, emotionally charged, especially with the Johnsons. fletcher was incisive, determined to get answers from people and where his tone got sharp, robbie tried to counterbalance with empathy. he left the johnsons, after the detective had taken his own leave, with a small squeeze to caroline’s shoulder. they were all under pressure, and the deputy couldn’t imagine what the family was going through. unable to grieve, unable to say their last goodbyes. the line of bystanders needed to interview was long after that, and the kanes kept assuring them that they didn’t know what happened. robbie could see their anxiety, trembling hands betraying their honesty.

fletcher left at some point, when key witnesses had all been interrogated, their statement securely written in their pads. robbie could see the exhaustion, the heaviness of the event.could remember the night where they read the autopsy report together, where fletcher had wondered why. why now, why him, though that he did not say out loud. a sigh escaped his lips as he removed his jacket and rolled the sleeves of his black shirt (has he had known that all this had would happen, robbie would have brought a change of clothes). time to get to work.

robbie emerged out of statements-taking-hell a few hours later, dragging his feet in the station. nothing. nothing of interest had popped out, and beside closing the funeral home down, the large yellow tape moving with the wind around the property, the department was at a standstill. exhaustion could be noticed on his face, but his movements, if a bit slower than usual, did not betray his state of mind. they were all rattled from what happened, but he had a job to do. still, it seemed that josie was decided to make this whole investigation difficult, and if robbie was absolutely honest with himself, he did feel like he was under prepared for this. he wasn’t some hot shot detective from chicago, far from it.

the deputy did hope that his boss had taken the time to breathe a little, though he was prepared for another full blown outburst at this point. his features were rapidly schooled after the initial surprise of noting the presence of one dr. white through the glass of fletcher’s office, as he made his way. they were … friends, right? right.

his fist rattled against the door gently before he opened it. “hey boss,” his voice paused the moment he saw both their hands in one another and he couldn’t help the rise of one eyebrow. looked like they were ...more than friends. especially with the soft look on fletcher’s face (that was not something robbie saw often on the other man’s face). he cleared his throat, felt his own shoulders suddenly heavy. well, good for them. people deserved to find some peace and support in these complicated times, fletcher and rosalyn more than anyone, in his opinion. “statements are all done. perimeter secured and brandt is coordinating with the allen county to alert them of the situation. in case they find something.” robbie’s eyes kept looking between them, mostly because he realized he’d just given updates on a current investigation in front of a civilian.

“dr. white, pleased to see you here. you’re both doing ok?” robbie was ready to be dismissed, to get the hell out of the the office as soon as possible.

#(event002)#(fletch002)#(roz004)#!!!

writing prompt 1; religion

Oh in dreams I have watched it spin Seen a violent crack of atoms were all that comes in Oh in dreams I saw Aesop's kin Just a carcass of a man, I belong inside his skin

#( wp1)#tw / violence #tw / religion #tw / death

oblvvicn·:

It had been a long time since Arthur had his hands covered in grease for days on end, unable to wash it from his hands and where it stained shirts. Those few shirts he had to keep clean for he couldn’t afford more. Since he was asking to be taught the difference between each part of the car with the dream that one day he could fix them himself- the time that a future where grease on his forehead, and grime staining his jeans seemed like the only option for him. A future, just within grasp.

But that wasn’t him. Or he wasn’t that person. Not anymore. That could have been a lifetime ago.

So when the other man knelt down before his tire, he didn’t have much protest to the matter. He kneels down beside the other, as if perhaps he may be able to help. But no, those hopes were long lost to forgotten memories he didn’t much care to dig up. “God, where are my manners. Arthur, I’ve just started down at the highschool.” He offers the other a smile where the words leave his lips, he knows the next question. It’s always the same when he says it, new. The fresh meat on the block- something thrilling to gossip about. They always ask why Wade?

He doesn’t have a fitting answer, he never does. Because it was there? He’d want to say, like it was that simple. But he can see it, on the other’s expression. And so Arthur offers before he even gets the chance to ask, “Nice change of scene out here- you know to the city.”

“ah,” robbie pauses from his close up observation of the tire to look at the other man, and tilted his head. “you’ll definitely get that around here.” if robbie had been privy to the rumour mills recently, other than to put out feelers regarding the whole town’s reaction to josie’s investigation, he might have heard of this new hotshot city teacher starting at the school. but robbie was nothing if not consistent with his displeasure of listening to gossips, so he’d missed out. a lot ofnew people in wade recently, though. that he noted. like moth attracted to flames. robbie only hoped none of them would get burn by the current town’s dramatic events.

his fingers spotted the nail, and the deputy was relieved. that meant that something could be done temporarily for arthur’s tire. soon enough, robbie had gotten some tools from his trunk and was sitting on the ground, trying to tape it and push it down. “so, the high school. you’re a teacher, i guess?” the man’s elocution was too good for him to be a mere janitor, and his posture seemed to show a certain ease that small town people did not have. a...business kind of ease.

“in any case, i admire your courage and bravery. working with teenagers...phew.” truth was, robbie also worked with teenagers in his line of work, if arresting them in the middle of the night for trying to investigate cryptids and ghosts could be considered as working with them. he doubted it was. “god knows some of them needs good leadership.” robbie would never draw any names, but he knew who he was talking about. “alright, i think that’s it man. just need to pump some air and you’ll be good until tomorrow, at least.” up to his feet in an efficient move, robbie cleaned his hands on the back of his jeans. a bad habit from usually working on his bike in old rags. “i can give you directions to gabe’s for tomorrow.”

#( mask man )#(arthur001)#(accept my apologies for this crappy reply)

onceangel·:

She really ought to get it checked, he’s right. She brings it in for maintenance about as often as she can, but it still breaks down almost bi-monthly. Still, Roger gifted her the old rust bucket, and she probably wouldn’t trade it for anything else. The girl is far too sentimental for her own good. She could likely afford a modest car payment if she really tried, but alas, she’ll probably drive that thing into the ground.

A ride home with Robbie sounds an awful lot better than a ride home with Randall, who she’s only worked with a handful of times. Not that he’s not a nice guy, but she doesn’t know him, nor does she really know if he needs to know where she lives. Not that she’s typically paranoid, but these days, you’re better safe than… Josie sorry. “That would be great, actually,” She’d have to explain it to Randall, who was (unbeknownst to Daphne) quite excited to show her his collection of death metal CDs. “I just have to grab my coat, and punch out.” She’s quick to turn on her heel, and head towards the back where her coat, and purse are hanging on a hook somewhere. She’s beyond ready to call it a night, it’s been a particularly long shift after… well, after everything.

It’s nice not to drive. She’s no used to going places her self, spending time on her own, that she’s almost forgotten the feeling of sitting in the passenger’s seat, allowing the driver to take control of the destination. There’s also always a twinge of fear there, fear that likely stems from her mother; it sits in her stomach, and she tries to stifle it. She hears Roger’s voice in her head, you can’t let it hold you back. She won’t.

Gathering her things, she finds herself smirking at Robbie’s last words, “I could say the same thing to you.” She’s joking as well, though she can see from the tint under his eyes that she’s surely tired. She’s well aware the whole situation with Josie can’t be easy on anyone down at the station.

Keep reading

home was where a cold cot was waiting for him. empty white walls, nothing too personal. affording a semblance of normalcy was reserved to people who had their life figured out, and really, robbie was not one of them. as soon as the sounds of the key broke the silence of his house, his jacket found its way on a hanger and robbie made way to the shower. he did take the time to look at phone, noting the many messages of fletcher. robina, really? a certain feeling, guilt probably (really, after all this time, robbie should know it by heart), setting in pit of his stomach. he should have known that fletcher would take it bad, this hellish day. realizing that he never got to see the man before his departure, robbie hit up the call button, his free hand scrubbing his face. fletcher’s voice came to his ear, a request to leave a message. robbie frowned. called again. it hadn’t been that much time between his daphne dropoff and the timestamp on fletcher’s texts. “fletcher, it’s robbie. where are you? i’ll come get you.” if the man could he his voice, he’d find it a low rumble, a forgotten accent rounding words. sleep could wait, still. fletcher did seem pretty affected.

robbie texted fletcher (hey man, where are you, i’ll pick you up. fletcher. boss. ???) and when no responses came, decided to call the bar. was told that the detective had left with a man not long ago, so he could be dropped at his home. what man? he tried to call his tall friend, but when the voicemail resonated again, echoing in the empty rooms of robbie’s home, the deputy let it go. dropped the phone angrily on his bedside table. time showed near 2am and after a quick, efficient shower, he was in his bed, trying not to imagine fletcher dead in a ditch. trying not to think of rosalyn’s disdain. rewatched red grabbing the mayor over and over, until red’s anger comforted his own.

an hour later, his phone rang and robbie was up in a second, grabbing and answering. “fletch?” it wasn’t fletcher, but daphne’s sweet voice, and that did not help the spike of fear in his spine. “i’m coming daph. just stay inside, make sure the doors are locked, and close the blinds, alright?” a hard minute later, robbie was putting his jacket on, grabbing his keys and leaving in a hurry, keeping daphne on the other line. just in case.

many scenarios ran up in his head, and he couldn’t help speeding up. to hell if he got arrested (and really, who would arrest him at 4am? he couldn’t remember who was working tonight). around fifteen minutes later, robbie was parking behind a car, who was still running, though no driver was apparent. “daphne, stay inside.” when no response came from the other line, robbie realized his fully charged phone was dead. no way to call for backup. he got out of his car, grabbed his gun, and closed his door loud enough so that any intruder would know he was there. get their attention away from daphne’s home as much as possible.

the gravel cracked under his boots, as he walked slowly towards the empty car. the lights were on, the radio was cackling nonsense, as if someone kept tuning the am channels. a familiar feeling kept hold of him, right at this moment, and wouldn’t leave until a few hours later. he could feel goosebumps on his arms, and once again, he knew this was last year’s june all over again. swearing in spanish under his breath, he turned, tried to see if he could see anything else.

a startled sound left his mouth as soon as he spotted daphne behind him, her pajamas a stark contrast with the darkness of the night. “daphne!” he practically growled, though it was more because his heart was beating too fast, “stay inside, it’s not safe here.”

#( mariposa )#(daphne001)#(SPOOK) (spoopyspoopy )

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