#bekowsky

[cliffsnotes]

i will not say i am attracted to stefan bekowsky but i will say that i am attracted to the version of stefan i have concocted in my head and that’s worse i think

[delborovic]

Stefan Bekowsky from L.A.Noire drawn for AutumnHarbinger ! :) Relaxing after a long day at work~ I hope you like! I've only ever drawn Bekowsky as a chibi before so it was a lot of fun to try and capture his face. It was her pose/pic idea! I just drew it up ^_^

[sorcerer-supreme-pizza]

Had to stop playing LA Noire to draw LA Noire stuff but now I can resume playing!

[nutsaholic]

Cole Phelps: Supercop

*********Obviously, it's a comedy *********

“Nothing interesting here.” Detective Cole Phelps flung the matchbook back on to the pavement. For some unknown reason, he had always felt this compulsion to pick up pieces of garbage and investigate them. It was almost as if someone else was controlling him, inspecting the detritus in his hand with unnecessary scrutiny. He had always passed it off as being “thorough,” but lately it seemed his partner was catching on.

“Phelps. Hey, Phelps. Will you stop it with that shit already?”

“Wha- OH, COME ON!” Cole wiped the piece of dog shit he had been examining from his hands. “Fuck. Is there someplace I can wash up?”

“Try the sprinkler.” His partner Stefan Bekowsky motioned to a garden hose lying idle in the grass. It would have to do. He turned on the hose and water began to spray in segmented waterfalls. It looked so cold, and clean. He just had to taste it. Cole’s tongue peeped from his lips, jutting into a paradise of liquid.

“Are you fucking finished here? We have to interrogate the wife.”

“Uh, yeah. Coming.” He wiped his hand on the back of his sleeve and wet his shit-smeared hands, drying them on his slacks. Straightening his hat, he felt confined. The L.A. sun was beating down on him like an angry drunk. But he had a job to do.

His wife was a brunette, petite little thing with a figure that would make Gumby jealous. “Oh,” she cast her eyes downward, “I’ve been expecting you.” Her porcelain fingers fluttered up to her hair, fixing some strands on her forehead. “Can I get you gentlemen anything?”

“No ma’am, unless you can get us a nice big cup of justice.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any.”

Bukowski smirked. “Don’t worry ma’am. We’ll get you some.”

Phelps leaned back on the couch. “Mrs. Carter, your husband is wanted for the robbery of Ying-Mau’s Chinese Laundry. We’d just like to ask you some questions.”

“Of course.”

“So where were you on the night of the robbery?”

“I was at home. I’m sorry, is this protocol?” Phelps was sniffing the air uncontrollably. He was on the scent. But it wasn’t crime he smelled.

“Is that chicken?”

“Wha – oh yes, I was carving it up for dinner,” her face darkened, “hoping my husband would come home.”

Saliva trickled down Cole’s sculpted chin. “Do you think I could have a bone from that chicken?”

“Cole, what the fuck?” His partner jostled his shoulder.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Mrs. Carter scurried away into the kitchen.

“Cole, if you don’t get your shit together we’re gonna blow this investigation. I’m already taking it up the ass down at the station for last week’s fiasco.” Last week had been quite the fiasco. It had been their turn to provide lunch for the office, and they had unfortunately chosen Big Bob’s Burrito Barn. Everyone else’s ass had already paid for their mistake, and now it was their asses on the line.

“Play it cool, I can smooth this over.” Mrs. Carter came back carrying a small bone on a plate. Cole snatched the bone and stuck it in his mouth.

“So,” Stefan started, “are you and your husband patrons of the laundry?” He turned to Phelps, who was gnawing obsessively on his chicken bone. Sighing, he turned back to the woman.

“Well, we passed it often while we went out on drives, but I have never taken any of our laundry there.”

Phelps grinned. “Mrs. Carter,” he started, “I think we all know the real reason this investigation isn’t going to go anywhere. You’re a beautiful woman with a slob of a husband. If we catch him, you’ll be tied to a convicted felon who’s rotting in jail while you stay at home single. You don’t even want us to catch him. You hope he’s dead, don’t you Mrs. Carter?”

“What? No, I love my h–”

“ADMIT IT YOU FILTHY WHORE!”

“Jesus, Phelps, take it easy,” Bekowsky nudged him, whispering in his ear.

He whispered back. “It’s called ‘doubting’. They’ll tell you what you need to know if you threaten them. Trust me, it’s an old pro trick.”

The innocent housewife sat there stunned. Phelps continued. “Look baby, I don’t know what you done, but you done something, so tell you what I’ll do. Let’s just have a little chit-chat. No interrogation, no crime, just relax.”

Stefan took pity on the woman. She was just confused. He put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. “It’s alright, he didn’t mean – Phelps, what the hell?!”

Phelps was on his knees next to the armchair Mrs. Carter was sitting in, furiously dry humping her leg. His eyes were wild, his tongue was lolling out. His nose had elongated into a muzzle and his hair on his body was thickening. A little tail had popped out the back of his trousers.

Cole Phelps was a dog the entire time.

[xamralime]

Lol Stefan Bekowsky

[thundercaya]

Bullshit

I’d been a cop for quite a while, just doing what I was supposed to, getting things done. I didn’t get a lot of recognition, but I didn’t care. I got paid, and it was nice to think that people were just a bit safer because of me. I finally made detective after the riots. They put me in one of the less exciting and yet somehow more gruesome departments, but I got comfortable there, like I do, and I didn’t give any thought to moving up or doing anything beyond my job.

Then I got saddled with the Golden Boy.

This guy, let me tell you. I know pretty much every cop in the LAPD, at least vaguely, but this guy had been around for so short a time I hadn’t even met him yet before they bumped him up to detective and made him my partner. I wasn’t really happy with it. This guy, it was like he’d been visited by a vampire that feeds on humor, because not only was he not funny, he didn’t think I was funny, and let me tell you that I have countless eyewitness testimonies that prove beyond reasonable doubt that I am in fact hilarious.

So I put up with this guy, because I had to, and I found out really quick how he’d managed to move up so fast. The guy was good. The guy was amazing. Add that to his modest war hero shtick, and he was exactly what the LAPD needed. Apart from his recent divorce he was absolutely perfect, and no one could even blame him for that. War changes a man, or so they say. I wouldn’t know myself.

You’d think that with a partner like this guy, my job would get easier. I could just sit back and let him take care of everything. Not the case. I actually had to work harder than ever just to keep up with him and not look like a complete waste of tax dollars. Not that I cared what the Captain thought, or the other detectives. I never cared what they thought and I still didn’t. The one whose opinion matted to me was him. It didn’t take long for me to start admiring him, and I didn’t for a minute want him to think poorly of me.

I guess you could say I sort of fell for him.

And onto him. On his couch one night when I’d finally managed to lug my way up over that bland wall of his and he was willing to have me over for drinks. In the next few minutes I found out what had been missing from sex. In the next few months I found out what had been missing from life.

Things were great for a while. We got so much more done together than I could have ever hoped to do on my own, and it made me feel amazing. Then we’d go back to his place or to my place, and he made me feel amazing again. He eventually came to find me as funny as I knew I was, and I found out he was pretty funny, too, now that I could understand his humor. Things were great.

Things couldn’t stay that way, though. Inevitably, they wanted to move him again, this time to burglary. It was pretty rough after that. Not that I couldn’t handle the job without him, but we’d gotten so used to seeing each other all day at work, and finishing at the same time since we were on the same cases. Now we couldn’t even arrange to have lunch at the same time, and we were lucky if we had more than a couple hours together at night. A lot of people have to deal with that, but we had to make adjustments.

I knew what I had to do. I had to get a promotion, too. And sure, it might seem sort of suspicious that I was suddenly interested in moving up when I never had been before, but I think a lot of people were bitter at how fast this guy was moving compared to them, and me being his partner, maybe I could play that up as my motivation. There was no guarantee that we’d be made partners again, but given our track record, the captain would have to be an idiot to keep us apart.

So I worked at it. I gave more than I even knew I had in me, getting through all my regular work, taking on extra work, coming in when I didn’t need to. He was always working anyway, so it didn’t actually cut  much more into our limited time. Before long I could hear people talking about me, and I knew I was close.

Then this bullshit happened.

They moved him.

They moved him! Again! Before I’d even made it into burglary, right when I was at the door and I could just about reach in and touch him, they yanked him away from me again. And where did they plop him down after snatching him up so rudely?  Homicide. Homicide! Guys like me don’t make homicide. Not until we’re middle aged and fat and they feel sorry for us being there for so long and so-and-so is retiring anyway so why not.

That’s it. I’m done.

He says it’s not that bad. He says I can do it. I don’t see how. I’m already working harder than I ever have in my life. I’m giving it everything I have. There’s nothing left to give.

So he hands me this notebook. I have notebooks. I take notes down like anyone else, key items to jog my memory when I need to. Him, he writes everything down, every little detail, though I don’t see why he needs to. He’s got the best memory of anyone I know.

So he gives me this notebook. Tells me to write down my goals. Big ones, small ones, whatever, and when I get ideas on how to reach them, to write those down too. He says not to worry about being organized. He won’t try to look at it, won’t even ask. No need to be embarrassed. This is for me and me only.

Write down my goals, he says. So far all I’ve written is this.

God, this is bullshit.

[thundercaya]

Sick

If Cole really wanted to, he could get away with staying in bed. It was a Saturday, after all, and he didn’t have any plans.  Thing was, he wasn’t the kind of person to let that stop him. In the past he wouldn’t even have considered sleeping in; he supposed it was just his lazy lover rubbing off on him. Cole ran his eyes over the man asleep next to him, and then a light hand, before forcing himself out of bed and into the shower. He didn’t know if most people showered before going out for a run, but he’d never leave the apartment without doing so.

When Cole returned some time later, he wasn’t surprised to find Stefan still in bed, but he wasn’t expecting the man to still be asleep. He took a second shower, changing into his casual wear, which still left him a tad overdressed, then approached the bed, where Stefan appeared to have finally awoken. Stefan didn’t seem to be happy about it, though, groaning to himself under his pillow and shifting restlessly.

“Not getting up?” Cole asked.

“I don’t feel good,” Stefan said, slightly muffled. Cole knit his brow and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah? Do you want me to take you to the doctor?” Cole offered, always wanting to be useful, especially to the man he cared most about.

“No,” Stefan said. “It’s not that bad.”

“Do you want me to get you some medicine?”

“Not that bad, either.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone so you can get some more sleep?”

Stefan let out an unintelligible sound.

“No,” he said. “Don’t go.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” Cole asked. Stefan finally pulled the pillow from his face.

“Take off your pants and lay in bed with me?” he tried, hopeful. Cole gave a light smile.

“Yes, I suppose I can do that.”

[thundercaya]