#our printer is fucking junk

[dreamwatch]

Computer Love

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #22 - Prompt: Alternate Universe | Word Count: 995 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Steve | Pairing: pre-Steddie| Tags: IT Crowd AU, banter, my attempt at humour,

Ok, I wasn't going to write for today, but I was sitting on a work call and it made me think of the IT Crowd and that made me think of our beloved idiots. And honestly, I've been writing so much angst I thought I should try and redress the balance!

Steve wasn’t exactly over the moon about working for his dad, but one failed retail job after another and a few unpaid bills is all it took to have him crawling back to Harrington Senior. He didn’t want to be an office gopher, or work in the mail room, not at his age, but he’d suck it up.

Head of IT. His dad was making him Head of IT.

So far he’s told two friends. Robin, who stared at him like he had two heads before saying “Is he joking? Is it— is it like an April Fools thing?” And Dustin who was even less polite:

“What the fuck do you know about information technology?”

“Is that what it stands for?”

“Jesus Christ, Steve.”

He heads to the bank of elevators looking for his department. Harrington Industries is spread over twenty floors. He wonders if he’ll get a corner office. God the views… 

Steve runs his fingers down the list until he finds IT. Basement. No view then. Shit.

He exits the elevator into a dingy hallway, discarded PCs and printers stacked everywhere, and trips over a cable almost immediately.

Finally he finds his department. And… well…

Fuck.

Yeah. It’s all making sense now.

It looks like a frat house. There are two guys on a ratty couch playing video games, and another two at desks; one mop top making cat memes, and an admittedly cute guy with long hair with his feet up on his desk. There are phones ringing and no one seems bothered by them, until eventually Long Hair lets out an exasperated sigh and picks up.

“IT Support, have you tried turning it off and on again? Uh huh. Yeah it’s the button on the front of the… yup, big grey button… can’t miss it… you know what, let me send someone up. What’s your floor? Uh huh, and name? Melanie. Melanie in Marketing. Well, I’m going to be sending my best guy up—“

And, finally someone has noticed he’s there.

“Uh, he’s on his way, bye.” Long Hair drops the phone. “Guys, we have company.”

“Hi, I’m Steve,” he says, smiling at the four faces now firmly fixed on him. “I’m your new boss.”

“Not for long,” snarks one of the guys on the couch.

“Matty, be nice!” says Long Hair, and god he has beautiful eyes. Shit, fuck, no, don’t go there. “I’m Eddie, that’s Matt, who is just about to head up to Melanie on four—“

“Oh for fu—“

“—That’s Jeff sitting next to him,” Jeff raises a hand, “and this is Gareth.” Gareth just scowls at him.

Steve finally gets a good look at them all. Ratty band shirts and sneakers, ripped jeans, totally unprofessional, they look like they’re in a band not an office. He’s going to be making some serious changes around here.

“Well it’s good to meet you all,” he says and finally catches sight of a small office. He points at it, “Take it this is mine.”

“Sure is,” says Eddie. “We didn’t know exactly when you were coming so you’re not set up yet, but Jeff will get that done this afternoon for you.”

“Why this afternoon?”

Jeff stares at him like he has two heads. “It’s Minecraft Monday.”

“Yeah, I have no idea what that is.”

Eddie laughs. “It’s fine, I’ll come in a few minutes get you hooked up. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable. Boss.” 

His office is small and cluttered with more junk, and definitely no window. God, this sucks. 

There’s a knock at the door and he turns to find Eddie leaning against the door frame, arms crossed against his chest. 

“How d’ya like the place?”

Steve runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face.

“Uh, yeah, it’s, you know…”

“A shit hole?”

“Yeah, a shit hole.”

“I take it Donny didn’t exactly fill you in on the details.”

Steve drops into the torn office chair. “Not really,” he sighs. “He has a habit of that.”

Eddie straightens up. “You’ve worked with him before?”

He laughs. “Better than that. He’s my dad.”

“Oh shit.”

Gareth barges in. “Wait, Donny the Dick is your Dad?”

“Donny the— hey, that’s—he’s the guy that pays your salary, a little respect.”

“Pretty sure that’s Karen in finance.”

“What…? You know, never mind. Point is, this department is a mess and there’s going to be some changes around here. Starting with the way you answer the phones, you can’t just tell people to turn the computers on and off—“

“—off and on,” Jeff cuts in.

“Whatever, you can’t do it. You need to ask what’s wrong.”

Eddie laughs. “I mean, we could, but the answer would still be to turn your PC off and on again so…”

Jeff and Gareth nod along like those stupid plastic toys. God, is it too late to go back to Family Video?

“Well, that’s as maybe, but for now you’re… ah, dismissed.”

He doesn’t miss Eddie’s amused smirk, as he gestures for his troops to leave. But then he’s perching himself on the edge of the desk, leaning into Steve’s space, those big brown eyes pinning him in his seat.

“So, just between us, you don’t actually know anything about IT, do you?”

“I mean… I know… uh, like mice, you know and uh… oh!” Steve snaps his fingers and points, triumphantly. “HTNL!”

Eddie’s biting his lip, god he has beautiful lips. “It’s HTML, but you were close. Do you do a lot of coding, Steve?”

He flops back in the chair, defeated. “Up until last week I was working in Family Video.”

“In their IT department?”

“No, in their ‘this is due back in two days department.’” He groans. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

Eddie laughs. “Don’t sweat it, you’ve got a lot more going for you than the last guy.”

“I have?”

“Oh yeah. At least you’re pretty,” he says with a wink.

Yeah, Steve’s totally screwed.

[sunday-ruby]

oh im feeling so violent

[killervibe]

5 + 1 fic where Frost keeps walking in on Caitlin and Cisco doing things? Bonus if you mention THE broom closet and if the +1 is them walking in on Frost instead :P

5 Times Frost Walks in on Cisco and Caitlin + 1 Time Cisco and Caitlin Walk in on Frost

Killervibe Fic - (NSFW)

Killervibe Month Gift for @ava-has-a-closet-murderboard (who had requested this) and @ilikethequiet who had requested sexual tension.

“You really mean that?”

Though he didn’t have to say it again. Caitlin grabbed the lapels of his suit, surging in to kiss the soft look from his face. It was inevitable, she realized. Belonging with Cisco. And he kissed her so perfectly, she was all at once overjoyed and overwhelmed. The steps of the West house patio creaked beneath the shifting of their feet. It was cold on the dark street, Iris and Barry still slow dancing together in the living room after their vows. But it wasn’t the all-consuming, world-saving romance between the West-Allens and their children that left Caitlin feeling so nostalgic for love. It was seeing Cisco again, even in the Star Labs stole. Then hearing him say he was single again, not being able to believe the calmness he had about it. Then touching him again, now, in a way in which she’d never had the chance.

Cisco cupped her cheek and brought her closer. She’d never been so lost in a kiss.

The front door opened, and Frost tugged at her peach dress. When she looked up and saw Cisco and Caitlin in front of her, she stood shocked. Though the shock passed quickly when she realized they had yet to even notice she’d caught them. “Um?” Frost waved Caitlin’s clutch in front of them in the air. “Hello??”

They stopped, blinking away the haze from their quiet intimacy. Cisco’s arm immediately went around her, his chin over her shoulder too. “Frost, couldn’t you have just walked away or something? You’re interrupting.”

“I thought priests were supposed to be abstinent!”

“He’s not a real priest!” Caitlin snapped irritatedly. “He’s my boyfriend!”

Cisco grinned. “Really? I mean, yes. Absolutely yes. But, really? I thought you’d need at least a day or two before needing to settle on labels, which you could still have, by the way.” Caitlin shushed him, planting another kiss against his lips. “I don’t think we need to be wasting anymore time, Cisco.”

Frost flipped her silver hair over her shoulder and called into the house, glaring at Nora and Bart West-Allen. “Now look at what you’ve done!”

Nora West-Allen peered out, sporting a confused frown. “What’s the problem? They’re supposed to be together.”

“Yes!” Cisco said. “Thank you.”

“The problem,” Frost ground out as she marched down the steps, “Is that I live with her and Cisco sold his place so now I’m gonna have to live with them.” A red car drove up to the driveway. Frost got into the Uber and slammed the door. Two seconds later, the window rolled down, Frost’s eyes glinted that icy blue from the old days as she shouted, “I. Hate. Weddings!”

2.

Caitlin unpeeled her medical gloves, rolling down Cisco’s pant leg. “It’s not broken or sprained.”

“Oh good.” Cisco’s arm went over his eyes. Caitlin stood up from the black stool to wash her hands at the sink. “I didn’t think it was.”

Caitlin didn’t think so either, but watching him fall from the Star Labs Van had still rattled her. She returned with two pain killers and a plastic cup. Cisco sat up and swished the water and pills down. Caitlin watched anxiously. She quirked an eyebrow when a funny look passed his face.

“Cisco?”

“You know what would make me feel even better, Dr. Snow?”

A startled laugh pushed out of her throat. Of course Cisco would want to play Doctor. She played along, fighting the flush that greeted her. “What?”

Cisco patted on the wax paper on her bed, letting her know there was a lot of room. She sat beside him to humour him, though their sides squished. There was no room at all. “We’re not having sex in my Med Bay,” she warned.

“No, no,” Cisco said, all wide-eyed and innocent. “Doctor, I’d never!”

“Have you ever thought of going for a pHD?” she asked, teasing him. “You’d get a title of your own…”

The question gave Cisco whiplash. He pouted at her. “Caitlin. C’mon.”

She smirked, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Okay fine, maybe one kiss.”

“Mmmm.”

Somehow, despite her firm insistence on no sex, Caitlin soon found herself lying down on the medical cot anyway, Cisco climbing over her, fiddling with the buttons of her white lab coat. Her hair spilled over the edge of the thin pillow, and she couldn’t seem to stop where this was ultimately going. Her hips raised when Cisco grinded against her a bit.

“How long have you wanted to do this?” she asked.

Cisco laughed. “Oh, you don’t want to know that answer.” He stopped though, pulling back a bit. “Okay, I know you don’t wanna fool around here. My place?”

“What! No!” Caitlin grabbed his wrist. “You’re teasing me, I’m changing my mind.”

“Babe, you said…” Cisco narrowed his eyes, watching the slow smile spread across her face.

The door slid open. Frost gawked. “Why are you just dangled over her like that?”

“Frost.” Caitlin let out a very deep sigh. “....I was checking to make sure he was okay.”

“Well clearly, he is!” Frost exclaimed. “I needed to get Cecile a band-aid.”

“Just use your powers,” Caitlin told her. “It’ll close the wound.”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

Cisco shooed her out.

Frost grabbed the box of band-aids and walked away.

Caitlin leaned up on her elbows. “Did that kill the mood for you too?”

“Yep.”

“YOU’RE WELCOME!” Frost called from down the hall.

3.

“Are we alone?”

“I locked the door.”

That was good enough.

Cisco’s hands went to her hips, then up and underneath the blouse Caitlin had tucked into her shirt. She’s laughing a little into his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and stumbling as she tries to kick off her heels at the same time. “This is getting ridiculous.” Not sneaking off with Cisco in the middle of the day at Star Labs -- Barry and Iris do that too often to not be embarrassed about that -- but the sheer insatiability that instilled in the both of them since they got together. It was all the time. Nearly, every day, and it got set off by the slightest, silliest thing. If Cisco’s eyes glimmered when they shared a look at lunch, Caitlin wanted him. If she hopped onto Cisco’s desk at the workshop while he was working and crossed her legs, Cisco wanted her.

“Forget the shoes. You’re going to twist your ankle.”

“They’re uncomfortable, I want them off.” She takes a step back and loses her balance. Cisco pulls her just before she falls, arm slipping against her arched back, bringing her against his chest. Her eyes were wide and she caught her breath. Then smiled in a way she seldom did in public. A come hither, sexy mouth move that Cisco will have seared into his brain and committed until death. Cisco groaned and slipped his hand into her skirt just as the door handle rattles then falls to the ground and shatters. “Why are we even locking anything in this damn place anymore other than the pipeline-”

They jumped as Frost entered the room, stopping mid-mutter to stare at them. “Oh for fucking out loud.” She looked as though she wanted to hurl. “Chester sent me in here to get his printer blueprint stuff!”

“For crying out loud,” Caitlin corrected with just barely a whisper, still straightening her skirt as she blushed. She couldn’t decide if she was embarrassed or mad.

“Who even uses the printer anymore?” Cisco grumbled. “Those displays are HD and on Gideon’s cloud. Tell him it should be on his tablet.”

Frost rolled her eyes. “I’m not telling him that.” She marched forward and grabbed the stacks of papers from the silent printer off the side desk neither Caitlin nor Cisco were paying attention to. She threw a hand up at them, gesturing with her face screwed up in disgust, as though she couldn’t even stand to look at them in their dishevelled state. “If you wanted to get all frisky you should’ve used the archives. Everyone knows that’s where you screw around here, not the damn copy room, god. You two are such nerds.”

“You’re paying for the doorknob!” Cisco called after her. He went over to the shattered mess that had started to melt on the floor. Caitlin bit her lip, getting back into her heels. Cisco turned around. “Help me pick this up?”

“Of course.” Caitlin twitched her nose at the mess. “You know the Starchives will never work.”

“Obviously not.”

“...Maybe we should look into abandoned broom closets.”

4.

“Cisco-”

“Caitlin, god-”

Caitlin’s apartment door opened.

“Really?” Frost deadpanned. “On the couch?”

Caitlin covered her chest with the throw blanket. Cisco tucked himself back into his pants.

"We're sorry, Frost--"

"Save it."

5.

“OW!?” Cisco howled at the cold snow ball that had hit his head. Caitlin covered her eyes. “We were just kissing!”

“It always starts like that.” Frost lowered her icy hand. “Get. A. Room.”

+ 1

Cisco spun Caitlin around one last time in front of the door to the apartment after their six month anniversary date. He kissed her, slowly, sweetly. Then not so sweet. Caitlin loved it all. He backed her up against the door and deepened the kiss, but eventually pulled away and murmured, “Caitlin, I think we need to get our own place.”

Considering the fact all Caitlin wanted to do was drag Cisco to her bedroom while she knew Frost was inside told her he was exactly right.

She let out a small breath and bit her lip. “I want to. I just worry about…”

Cisco pinched his nose and sighed. Caitlin glanced up and down as he pushed back his hair. “I know that Frost loves you and all, but…”

“I know. I know.” Caitlin twists her clutch in her hands. “I’ll talk to her.” She gave him a look. “We’ll both talk to her.”

She opened the clutch for her keys and opened the door.

“--WHAT?”

Frost wiped at her mouth, standing up from her kneeled position on the floor. Cisco closed his eyes with a horrified yelp. “My eyes!”

Caitlin averted her own gaze at the strange man and his junk hanging out like that in the middle of her living room. “Who the hell are you?”

“Chill out Cisco, like I haven’t seen worse.” Frost licked her lips and grinned at Caitlin’s appalled yet cohesive grilling of the naked man in her house. “Caity, you’ll never believe it. Mark has a brother, and he’s also into art!”

Caitlin turned to Cisco. “Honey, we’re moving out.”

“Oh yeah.”

[skin-slave]

That RPF answer was awesome. I'd really love to hear more about the Tijuana Bibles, please?

*breaks knuckles* Time to ramble about junk again, boys.

Tijuana Bibles are little booklets, usually made in the 20s-60s, but some ppl still make them for fun or as art. They're mostly smut, but also have humor, political messages, inappropriate themes, etc. Some of the characters are OCs, some are comic/cartoon characters, and some are well-known figures, like actors. They were illegal, made anonymously, and sold in secret.

They were called Tijuana Bibles to imply that they were smuggled from Mexico. (In line with "Tijuana donkey shows," which also weren't a real thing.) They were also called a lot of other things, like eight-pagers and bluesies. They were sold under the counter or out of ppl's pockets. Organized crime was sometimes blamed, but it's more likely that most printers had presses for making labels and just switched to Bibles as a side gig.

What's important about them - other than the rpf angle - is that they were subversive "low-brow" art, made by regular ppl, for regular ppl. Though they absolutely did make money, they weren't marketable. The art wasn't expected to be consistent, so while some artists were actual pros *cough*Wesley Morse*cough* most of them weren't. The stories were meant to entertain, not to be classics. The creators were diverse (well, more diverse than in commercial products) bc they didn't have to fit any standard. There was no standard. Bibles were trash. Delightful trash, by the ppl, for the ppl.

They're considered by many to be some of the earliest comix, and I agree. Comix - underground comic books that gave a voice to social movement groups, women, the queer community, and other minorities - circumvented the rules for comics via self-publishing and clandestine distributing. If you ask me, and you did lol, that's a significant part of the heritage of fanfic/art as we know it now. Our beautiful mix of voices that would never otherwise be heard, speaking truth and entertaining our small but important audiences.

Going back to the Bibles specifically, the fact that they used various interpretations of beloved characters mixed with OCs makes them fanfic/art. They're tangible proof that we're wired to be inspired (can I get that on a pillow?) and to imagine so much more for the characters we love. They're a historical example of the fact that transformative art doesn't erode the source material, as they had little to no impact on the inspiration.

And they're proof that commercial art, while very valuable, isn't a barometer for our needs or wants. The secret art that we make for each other has always been sexual, dark, humorous, imperfect, gross, bizarre, and free. It embodies the things we aren't getting from "appropriate" media. It's where we find our niche content that no one can afford to publicly endorse. It's our own little world where we escape being told what to look at, and make what we want to look at.

It's also Mae West fucking Popeye. And I think that's beautiful.

[rue-king]

Family Found, Family Taken

(AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32892439)

Previous Part, Next Part

Summary: Gavin jumps right into the case that drives his brain in circles. He ignores and pushes RK900 to the side, determined to pretend he doesn't exist, but RK900 has had enough and makes a move.

Warnings: descriptions of a crime scene, cursing, kidnapping

Chapter Two:

“For someone whose handwriting is so messy you are quite organized” RK900 starts coming out of his interface trying to make conversation.

Reed rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore his attempt. Of course I’m organized, I am a fuckin good detective.

“You know partners need to actually work together” He continues on.

“You know I don’t actually give a fuck right” Reed snaps back lazily.

“Captain Fowler instructed that you cooperate”

“No he told me to accept it, not that I have to hold your fuckin hand”

“Aw you guys talking about holding hands already” Tina Chen jibes as she walks up from the direction of the break room.

“Real cute Chen”

“Haha, oh come on Gav. Anyway, move I wanna meet my new best friend. Hi I’m Tina Chen! Nice to meet you!” She says enthusiastically, putting her hand out for RK to shake.

“Hello, I am RK900.” He says, not accepting the handshake. It doesn’t seem like his ignorance is done in disdain but rather not really feeling quite comfortable enough to do that. Awkward.

Reed laughs quietly under his breath, Tina shoots him a dirty look taking back her hand.

“So new guy, you just go by RK900?”

“That is correct, I have no formal name given to me by cyberlife”

Stiff. Is he even deviant?

“Oh okay! Well it was nice seeing you!” She turns to the side to be dramatic “don't worry about this kid he’s like that to everyone.”

“I am not sure that’s a good thing” He says in a flat tone.

Gavins jaw drops a fraction, “alright, alright get out of here Chen.”

She blows a kiss and walks away with flourish. There is a moment of silence and Gavin starts to go back to work.

“There are multiple cases that are assigned to you and are marked as open.”

Gavin nods his head sarcastically, waiting for the RK unit to get to the point.

“Was that it?” Gavin asks coldly. “4 out of 5 of those cases are already closed, but our computers were down last week so paperwork is slow. I am currently assigned the string of double homicide cases.”

“We” RK corrects.

“The fuck did you say to me?”

“We- you mean, we are assigned to”

“Hah, you fuckin wish. I am assigned to the case, you are here to make the station look pretty.” Gavin bites back.

“Really? Well it seems to me that you are struggling with this case. Perhaps you need my assistance, Detective”

“I don’t need to ask you for shit”

“Well-”

“No fuck this, I’m leaving.” Gavin grabs his jacket, his luke-warm coffee and storms off.

Gavin hops in his car and starts it quickly, taking a deep breath, he pulls out of his spot and toward the latest crime scene.

As he drove he thought about the case's details. His knuckles curl around the steering wheel, stinging as he reopens the slight scabs and cuts that linger there.

Husband and wife, Christina and Mike, found dead in their home at 11:30 AM on September 21st 2039.

They are suspected to have died about 10 to 11 hours prior to their bodies being discovered.

Christina is suspected to have been killed first by strangulation and then Mike by blunt force trauma to the head. (Officers on scene noted that it may have been the corner of the coffee table).

Murder - suicide?

…...No, that's not probable men statistically are more likely to go with a quicker method.

…...Also, Christina showed no signs of defensive wounds and Mike would have shown some sign that she fought back. Regardless of relationship, when your life's on the line people normally try.

….the murderer is significantly stronger than both?

… enough for the main threat to be taken out last?

…..was the female victim used as leverage ?

There was no suspicious activity or persons around the scene reported by neighbors.

The two have a history of loud fighting, but have recently been reported as “doing well.”

The bodies were discovered by Mike’s sister, Cathy, who was supposed to come over for breakfast on the 21st.

Gavin growls under his breath and frustration creeps back up his spine. This case is relatively new but the bodies have already been moved to the morgue for a more conclusive autopsy. The CSI guys on site are shit and nothing they do is quite up to Reed’s standards, so he normally tries to get a look at the crime scene himself.

“Those fukin CSI guys and no name beat cops have probably contaminated my crime scene” Reed grumbles as pulls into the neighborhood.

The crime scene is still pretty fresh as it's a day old. Cops control the area as the press covers the story.

Reed grabs his ancient dark brown leather jacket and slings it over his worn body. He likes autumn, but he's much too grumpy right now to acknowledge it.

He’s too angry and bitter to look at the warm colored leaves that saturate his peripherals and breathe in the crisp air. He would enjoy it too, what a bummer.

Guarding the main entrance to the home is some random beat cop that Gavin has seen around the office. He passes him quickly and brushes off the press’ questions with a stern, cold shoulder.

As he enters the house the first thing he notices is the cold draft of air. The house itself is decorated in a very homey manner. With each piece of furniture and decoration being slightly mismatched, everything is brought together in a sense of warm belonging.

The cold draft makes it feel like he’s gazing into the past. Gross.

He walks further into the house, breaching the archway that separates the foyer and the living room. There he sees the blood. It spatters across the floor, centering around what would have been the back of Mike’s head. It leaks out toward the rug and stains that homey blue color into an ugly dark red.

Gavin takes a deep breath, ready to find whatever the reports left out.

He looks up and calls over to the nearest officer, “are you the only one in here?”

“No, it's me and my partner, who's out back.”

“Oh, well get out I don’t need you guys walking all over my evidence” Gavin states bluntly.

The officer is taken back. He recognises Gavin, the department asshole. He scoffs a bit and walks off to get his partner and leave anyway. Fighting with the DPD’s detectives is a losing game, everyone knows that.

It's as if a switch goes off in Gavin’s brain. He begins to analyze his crime scene.

Blood splatter on the wall and furniture suggests that Mike went down facing the inside of the house.

….he was pushed. There is no way to throw yourself backward with enough force. Murder-suicide.

....there had to been enough force for him to go down fast enough at that exact trajectory to cause a deadly blow

...Mike has a violent(-ish) history, he would have fought back.

….no defensive wounds? (Note: check autopsy reports, maybe go down to morgue?)

At this point, Christina is already dead by strangulation. Her body was found facing away from the front of the house slumped toward the coffee table.

….looking in. What were they looking at? She is used as leverage and her husband is next, why does she die looking away from him? It takes about 4 minutes for a person to die of strangulation (unless the assailant was exceptionally strong).

…. If it took so long, why did Mike not try to fight as his wife choked?

...Something is not adding up. There's a missing piece somewhere.

Reed walks around the living room languidly. He wanders over to the innermost corner of the room, from this position he can see both “bodies” perfectly, along with a view of the front window.

The two victims are facing this corner, this is where the murderer stood. That's where they were when they strangulated Christina and where they pushed Mike. Gavin hums to himself, his brain works in quick and efficient cogs. Moving from thought to thought and connecting each tidbit with a string of concentration.

Mike’s wound should have taken another 5 minutes to become critical enough for him to bleed to death. But he is still looking right here. At this corner.

...what is he looking at? What am I missing?

Reed spins around wildly, looking at the piece of the room behind him. All that lies behind him is a single arm chair and a small circular picture frame that hangs above it. This corner of the room takes up no space and is a V-shape that connects the living room entrance to the kitchen entryway.

He stares hard at the little chair. Little chair.

A door opens in his head, but he can’t quite pin it down.

A sparkle catches his eye. He bends down to get a closer look, reaching his hand under the little chair. He pulls out a dusty untied bow with a few colorful sequences hanging off.

Little chair. Bowtie.

...Child. They are staring at a child.

He breathes out a hard puff of air. He hates cases with children.

They aren’t reported to have any kids.

He walks into the kitchen with a little more energy. He spots the tall white fridge that's adorned with colorful magnets. Magnets at child height with nothing attached to them and one higher up holding an empty, unmarked envelope.

That's so fake. Rigged. Staged.

He pulls open random drawers in search of the junk drawer. He knows there is always at least one in every household.

When he finally finds it he pulls out a slightly bent piece of printer paper. It's a drawing, a child’s drawing. A tall figure drawn in light blue holds the hand of a smaller green figure in a dress who is linked to a taller purple dress clad figure.

A little cloud to the left and a big tree to the right. It’s their family.

They were hiding evidence of a child, their child. Why? They were killed unexpectedly, it wasn’t to hide from the murderer. Who then?

…”Mike’s sister, Cathy, who was supposed to come over for breakfast on the 21st.”

...hiding evidence of a daughter from the sister? Why?

Gavin’s head hurts, he doesn’t even notice he's clenching his jaw in anger. Cases with kids make him angry. He is on a roll now, he can’t stop his momentum.

He pries open the fridge.

Mostly empty. One carton of eggs, one jug of milk, and various vegetables in the drawer. Don’t kids have like snacks or something. This is the fridge of a bachelor.

He moves on, going upstairs. He figures that they can try to hide little photos, but a kid in a house of this size would have her own room.

The parents room check out, nothing special. It’s just as homey as the rest, left as if they were just out running errands.

He moves on to the door at the end of the hallway to the left, facing the street. Jack pot, it's the kids room. Though at first glance it looks like a normal neutral guest bedroom.

He takes a peak under the bed, small toys like dolls and stuffed animals are tucked in the farthest corner. The sheets are new and the bed is freshly made. (As fresh as a day old can be anyway). He walks over to the window and peaks out.

He can make out the big tree that blocks some of the view. From the drawing.

Reed can also make out the image of his freshly dubbed partner stepping out of an automated taxi. RK900’s stark white uniform shining under the overcast weather outside.

Fuckin perfect. Gavin huffs, even more determined to finish quickly. He doesn’t need some pristine plastic to walk in and ruin all his work. He can do it on his own. He doesn’t need help.

He goes to the closet and opens it up. Hangers are crooked and a few pieces of child’s clothing are sprawled on the floor.

Taken in a hurry. Fuck.

That solidifies it. Cristina and Mike had a child, or at least one living with them at the time of the murder. There is no other victim, so it is safe to assume that this double homicide has upgraded into a kidnapping.

“Fuck. FUCK”

Gavin pulls out his phone and dials Captain Fowler's number as he leaves to meet with the officers outside.

As the phone hits the second ring he is met with the face of his brand new partner.

“I will be assisting you on this case De-”

“Shut the fuck up tin can. Get out of the way” Reed rushes out. RK resists getting out of his way, determined to spit his own insults at the rude detective.

The captain doesn’t pick up. Reed moves past RK anyway.

Gavin reaches the officers outside. “Hey you, come here” he calls over the officer he sassed earlier in the house. “How many officers are on scene, right now?”

“Four. My partner and I, and Ortis and his partner as well.”

“Okay, listen up. I need you to stay here and keep the press under control and in the area, get the other three to comb through the neighborhood and alert me if they find anything. Our murderer may have kidnapped a little girl and we don’t have any other information.” Gavin commands in a low tone.

The officer's eyes widened, opening his mouth to say something.

“No, shut up. We can’t let the press know, so you stay here, stay quiet and make sure your buddies do their job. Got it?” He nods, and Reed shoos him off.

“How did you come to that conclusion, Detective?”

RK900, right, perfect.

“None of your business, RK900” he overprounances the unit’s name to be condescending, but his partner stares at him with cold, uncaring eyes. So naturally Reed continues on.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a competent detective or something? Figure it out yourself.”

“Oh I did, I just wanted to know how you got to that conclusion.”

Flames heat up Reed’s body. He is quick to anger.

“You piece of shi-”

“Oh and while you were off being an ass I already contacted Fowler about the situation and the search for the young girl continues on at the office.”

Gavin clenches his jaw again, his tongue flicking over his teeth in quiet rage. RK900 stands there with an unfeeling look on his face, peering down at Gavin.

Reed would swear that there is a hint of a smirk teetering at the corner of that bastard's mouth. The shadow RK’s high brow creates on his eyes makes the distance between them seem daunting, widening the gap between them. Further smushing Gavin’s fragile ego into the bits and pieces between the dirt.

Dramatic, he knows.

Gavin from a couple months back would have ripped forward and swung on RK900, but this Gavin is tired. Resigned from the fight against his inferiority. He takes a breath, though it does nothing to relieve him of his anger, and walks off with nothing but a dirty look.

He has to solve this case, he has to. It is his last chance.

[alison-anonymous]

flawsome bandits pt. 1 ♡ sonic

Flawsome First Meetings

EARLY RELEASE!

Hello, my darlings and WELCOME to my second multi-part fanfic, Flawsome Bandits (a Sonic the Hedgehog Movie! x Reader). I have not yet finished the second chapter of this story yet, and I’m currently trying to prewrite these chapters so I can update them along the way, but I wanted to get the first one out to all of my patient darlings as soon as possible! Please let me know what you think, the love always encourages me to write more ;) Love you all, please enjoy!

Warnings: none

♡♡♡

If you've ever had amnesia, you'd know that things seem very quick.

Little flashbacks of what you're guessing to be your backstory come back in little spurts that never last long enough and are gone too soon. They leave huge, gaping holes in your background information from what your favorite color is to who your parents were. Try your story on for size.

You were Y/n Wachowski. A sassy, quick-witted teenage girl with a love for speed and a sharp tongue. Parents? Unknown. Distant relatives? Undiscovered. Hometown? Who the fuck knows. You were sent to live with the Wachowski's as your permanent foster parents after you were discovered wandering around the woods by a couple of hikers. They said that they found you wearing a ripped and dirty jumpsuit with pastel colors that looked like it was ten times smaller than your size. When they had tried to confront you, it was almost as if you couldn't hear them, your mouth open and unspeaking. Eyes wandering, glossy and unseeing. 

You couldn't remember much about your past. Most of the time it was like looking at a blank sheet of paper, ready to get into the printer but it's out of ink. After being diagnosed with a concussion and severe amnesia, you were seen as unfit to take care of yourself, so that was how you ended up with the Wachowskis. But just because you were lucky enough to have loving and patient foster parents didn't mean that you had an answer to every question they asked. You had no idea what your favorite color was, what you liked to do in your free time, or even if you were a night owl. 

It was like you didn't even remember who you were. Like you had just been born, only you weren't a baby and were instead a teenager. It got incredibly lonely being a child with no memories, and the kids at school found you very creepy. But it was okay. Tom and Maddie made sure to give you as much love as was humanly possible, and when the bullying at school got to the point where they would follow you home, they switched you to homeschooling. 

It appeared that you not only had no existing memories of your past, but you also had barely any idea how things on earth worked. Whenever someone mentioned examinations, vaccines, bucket lists, and even governmental agencies, you had no clue what they were talking about. 

Not everyone was as patient as Tom and Maddie were, unfortunately. Most people would assume that you were kidding when you asked them what a protractor was or why people ride animals. It all seemed so strange and new to you, like Tarzan when he was visiting the human world and not the ape land he was familiar with. But out of it all, there was one thing that you became absolutely fascinated with. 

Cars. 

The faster, the better. You seemed to have an unchecked need for speed that tickled at your mind every time you got behind the wheel. Whenever Tom allowed it, you'd take the truck or his old squad motorcycle out for a spin in the abandoned corn fields where you could do as many tricks as you wanted without putting anyone else in danger. One of your favorites was driving backwards. 

It's during one of those days where our story finally begins. The Montana sun was high up in the sky, beating down its scorching rays onto the untouched pavement. A flock of birds fled for the telephone polls in an attempt to escape from the ever increasing sound of revving coming from the abandoned corn field near Crazy Carl's traps for the supposed "Blue Devil." In the midst of the dead and crusty corn stalks, there sat a young girl on a very old squad motorcycle. Her hair fluttered gently in the slight breeze running through the air, a pair of sunglasses perched delicately atop her nose in the absence of a helmet. Before her stood a makeshift riser composed of some old wooden slabs she had "borrowed" from an old tree house a little ways south. A smirk played across her lips as she kicked up the bike's kickstand and revved the engine. 

"Alright, Y/n, if you make this jump, you'll be the most famous girl in Green Hills…" Her words got lost in the wind as she took a deep breath and began to ride towards the jump, her speed increasing with every passing second. The distance began to decrease, her growing closer and closer until an abnormal electric blue blur zipped past her. Startled, she swerved, momentarily losing control of her bike as she slowed to a stop, planting her boots firmly on the ground. Chest heaving, she flipped her sunglasses up onto her forehead and slipped off of the bike, looking around the empty field to see if she hit anything. 

What was that? She wondered. 

Unbeknownst to her, a couple feet away from her, hidden deep within some dehydrated bushes was a royal blue hedgehog. He had been on his way back to his cave after taking a turtle for a little joy ride down the interstate when he spotted his favorite human on earth, Star Chaser. She was the most amazing girl he had ever seen, and lived with Donut Lord and Pretzel Lady. He would make it a priority to hang out with her every time she was out practicing her racing tricks, a dopey grin spreading on his face every time he saw her ecstatic smile. She just never knew he was there. 

More than anything, he wished that he could get to hang out with her just once. Just for one day, spent full of speeding down the empty country roads and flying over makeshift jumps and laughing about the funny faces they made from the wind hitting their skin. But he knew better. He had to stay hidden, just like Longclaw said. Never stop running, and always stay hidden… alone. 

There was something about her that just drew him to her, something familiar. He watched with caution as Star Chaser searched the field a bit more, her footfalls making satisfying crunching sounds on the long gone plants. Her beautiful e/c eyes searched the grounds before her for whatever had interrupted her practice. Finally, after she was satisfied with not having hit anything, she got back onto the cycle, flipped her sunglasses back on, and zipped away, leaving a trail of smoky exhaust in her wake.

The blue hedgehog zoomed back to his cave himself, dodging trees and bushes with expertise. The whole time he ran, he couldn't prevent his mind from wondering what life might be like if he were somehow able to live alongside the humans. If he could have a conversation with Star Chaser that didn't exist in his imagination, to maybe even discover why she seemed so familiar. What would life be like if he didn't have to hide? 

♡♡♡

Just when things finally start getting familiar, the concept of moving decides to rear its ugly head in. Y/n had found out that her foster dad got a promotion, a job in another city with a higher ranking and a wider variety of donut holes to snack on. That meant that they were going to have to leave Green Hills. 

But, knowing her, she shoved the grief and frustration so far down inside her until it became nonexistent. Maddie had left on a trip to see her sister, leaving Y/n and Tom alone. They had had a freak power outage the night before, leaving Tom a bit on edge. His phone kept ringing off the hook as his coworker was just a bit dependent on him, and had no idea if he should just ignore the 911 phone calls or pick them up. 

“Remind me to drive by the library tomorrow,” Y/n set down her latest novel on the counter by the car keys. She watched as Tom stole a bit of frosting off of the cake and scrunched up her nose at the lack of sanitation. “I need to return this before we get fined.” 

Tom nodded just as his phone began ringing. He held up a finger to his daughter and leaned against the counter, lifting up the phone to his ear as he began to talk to his wife. Y/n turned to the fridge and was trying to decide whether or not she was hungry or just bored as she did her best to not listen to them talking about the move. Just as she was about to reach for the watermelon, a loud clattering noise came from outside. Tom and Y/n exchanged an alarmed glance and quickly shuffled over to the window, childishly trying to shove each other out of the way so they could get a good look. 

“Shit,” Y/n swore as she took in the knocked over trash bins sitting next to the garage.

“Watch your potty mouth,” Tom scolded, but a smile still stayed on his lips. “The racoons are back.” Y/n watched as he quickly turned towards one of the junk drawers and pulled out Maddie’s bear tranquilizer gun. She snorted. 

“You better not be using my tranquilizer gun,” she heard Maddie’s voice say over the speaker. “That’s for bears.”

“Good,” Tom grinned as he loaded up the machine. “Now I know it’ll work. Y/n, stay inside.” Y/n scoffed as he hung up the phone and opened up the back door. Yes, of course she was going to stay safely inside like a crappy sidekick and miss the potential action of scaring trash pandas half to death. Grabbing an extra flashlight, she raced out after her dad to see him pressed up against the side of the shed, holding the gun and flashlight near his face. He jumped once she saddled up next to him, putting her flashlight in front of her like her own makeshift gun.

“I thought I told you to stay inside,” He narrowed his brows. To his dismay, Y/n only shrugged.

“You did. I didn’t listen,” she grinned, making it obvious that he had no other choice than to let her stay. He sighed, but nevertheless nodded. On a quick countdown from three, the two burst into the shed, waving their flashlights around like mad men.

“Green Hills PD, put your paws up!” Tom hollered. Y/n slowly made her way out from behind him, flashing her light around the empty room until it finally came to a stop. Her eyes widened in shock and her jaw nearly dropped to the floor as she tried to make sense of what exactly she was looking at. An electric blue creature wearing white gloves and tennis shoes stood before them, holding what looked like a gold wedding ring between his forefinger and thumb. She couldn’t tell what was stranger: the fact that he existed or the fact that he seemed oddly familiar. The creature’s green eyes flashed from hers to her father’s before he let out a small, nervous chuckle. 

“Uhh, meow?” 

And then, Tom screamed. His fear and the sudden introduction of the loud noise caused Y/n to scream, too, which finally led to the little blue creature screaming. But the longer Y/n stared at it, the more she began to experience a slight hint of deja vu. She couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that she had seen this thing before. 

“Wait,” she whispered, barely loud enough for her dad to hear, but the blue creature’s ears perked up. He turned his attention back to her and the second they locked eyes, the same sense of familiarity began coursing through his veins. After all of those days spent watching her from afar, how did he never notice the e/c eyes? Where had he seen them before?

Unfortunately, Tom just had to go and ruin the moment by pulling the trigger on the tranq gun. 

“Dad, no!” Y/n cried, but it was already too late as the dart sank into the blue creature’s thigh. They could only watch as the animal looked down at the needle in his leg and slowly looked back up with a hurt glare.

“Ow,” he whined, his eyes already beginning to lose their concentration. Y/n was about to take a step towards the creature, but Tom wrapped his hand around her arm to stop her. The creature’s eyes floated over Tom’s shirt, zeroing in on the words that littered the old fabric. “San… Fran…sisco?” He muttered. The ring he had been holding on to loosely slipped from his fingers, and began rolling across the floor. As its velocity increased, it began expanding, deying all laws of logic as a portal overlooking the given city appeared. Y/n and Tom’s jaws dropped to the floor as they watched the creature stumble, dropping his little bag through the portal and collapsing onto the ground. Y/n’s heart ached for the poor thing as she fought to get out of her father’s grasp in order to help him. 

Within seconds, the portal closed up, eliminating the slight wind that had appeared. “N-No…” The creature whimpered before finally passing out. A thick silence crossed over the three as Tom’s grip on Y/n’s arm loosened, both humans trying to figure out what the heck they just witnessed. 

“What the actual fuck?” Y/n breathed. 

“Language…” 

♡♡♡

“Yes. Let’s shoot the poor thing and then put him in a cage,” Y/n rolled her eyes sarcastically, watching as her father poked the blue creature resting inside of their dog’s old cage. She batted at his hand, and gave him a death glare, but he just sighed. 

“Come on, kid, what if he’s an alien?” Tom asked incredulously, turning back to the sleeping creature. He nudged its head with a metal spatula and sighed. 

“I don’t know…” Y/n sighed, resting her head on her knuckle. I mean, she had to admit he was kind of… cute. The nostalgia that he was causing was just an added complication. There was something about his entire being that seemed eerily familiar to her, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. Tom slowly withdrew something that had fallen onto the padding; an electric blue quill. The two slowly leaned closer to inspect the object, noting the little blue bolts of electricity that whizzed across its surface. It absolutely fascinated Y/n, while Tom seemed a little more apprehensive. He turned away from the cage and set it down on the counter, running a hand over his face. 

“This is nuts,” he whispered. Y/n took the opportunity to get a little closer to the being, scanning his body with careful eyes. She debated reaching through the bars to touch him, but before she had a chance to, his eyes slowly popped open. Her eyes widened and she stayed perfectly still as he pushed himself up to a standing position and made his way to open the cage. Her breath catches in her throat as he finally looks up at her and gives her a small, sheepish smile, stumbling out onto the counter top. Even in the given circumstances, the only thing that the girl can think of is how absolutely adorable he is. 

...wait, what?

“Star Chaser?” Y/n quickly turned her attention back to the present and furrowed her brows in confusion. Who was Star Chaser? “Donut Lord?” The blue being slurred, holding on to the cage for support. Tom swiveled around at the sound and scoffed.

“So the Blue Devil can talk. You’re not here to abduct us are you?” 

“YOU abducted ME,” the Blue Devil replied defensively, pressing his hand against his chest. Y/n rolled her eyes and stepped between the two, looking the being in the eyes. 

“I am very sorry for that-”

“Why are you apologizing to it?!” Tom cried, running his hands through his hair incredulously. Y/n just rolled her eyes. 

“I told him to just leave you alone. But, if I may ask, who are you and why were you in our shed?” She finished. Tom facepalmed behind her while the Blue Devil did his best to concentrate his fatigue on the beautiful girl standing before him. Gosh, her eyes were pretty…

“I-I needed a safe place, and Donut Lord’s house was the only place I could think of, Star Chaser!” 

“Why does he keep calling me Donut Lord?” Tom asked warily, slowly reaching for the tranq gun. Y/n quickly shot him a glare and he let out an annoyed huff. Even though he was her foster father, they acted like siblings with good-hearted and frequent quarrels. 

“Because you talk to donuts,” the Blue Devil explained. “And then eat them when they get out of line.” Y/n snorted, trying her best to contain her laughter by pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. She didn’t notice the small smile that formed on the blue hedgehog’s face as Tom shrugged, nodding his head slightly. 

“Fair. Why is she Star Chaser?” The Blue Devil got a distant look on his face, a small, thoughtful smile still lingering on his lips.

“I’ve watched her race out in the fields. It’s amazing how fast she can go. Sometimes I wonder if she’s trying to chase the stars out of the sky…” A soft smile slowly formed on your lips at his words. No one had ever talked about you like that before. 

The distant look on his face was suddenly replaced by one with worry. His eyes began frantically glancing around the room, Y/n being able to practically see the alarms going off in his head. “Wait, where are my… Why am I still on earth? Oh no, I lost my rings!” 

“Rings?” Y/n furrowed her brows in confusion. Just then, a loud rumbling sound came from outside. It had such an impact that it shook the entire house, startling the chimes that Maddie had hung up above the sink. The three looked around in confusion.

“What’s happening? Is this your mothership?” Tom began panicking, walking briskly around the table towards the window. He jabbed an accusing finger at the nervous hedgehog. “I do NOT want my daughter getting probed.”

“Dad, stop,” Y/n sighed, following him towards the window. “You’re the one who abducted him. Can’t you be just a little bit sentimental?”

“Thanks,” the hedgehog muttered just loud enough for Y/n to hear. She stood next to her foster dad at the window and peered out the glass. A giant grey vehicle that had been passing stopped and began backing up towards their driveway.

“What the hell kind of make is that?” Y/n muttered. The Blue Devil was by their side in a second and was peering through the window too. Once he caught sight of the ginormous lab van, he let out a squeak and pulled the white curtains shut.

“They’re after me!”

“Who’s after you?” Y/n questioned in concern. She got pushed behind Tom as he stood protectively in front of her, eyeing the Blue Devil suspiciously.

“And what does that have to do with us?” 

“I don’t have time to explain, but you have to help me!” He pleaded. Y/n felt her heart sink for the creature, her instant gut feeling telling her that they had to help him. He was in danger, albeit he was apparently a runaway. Unfortunately, Tom had different ideas as he furiously shook his head.

“No, we don’t!”

“But Dad-”

“Y/n, enough,” Tom ended her protests sternly. He turned back to the blue hedgehog and furrowed his brows, wondering what reason he could possibly have that would need them to help him. “Why should we help you?”

“Well, my legs, which normally would be classified as legal weapons, feel like spaghetti. I need your help, please! It’s life or death.” The Blue Devil’s green eyes pleaded to Tom. Y/n slowly made her way out from behind her dad and glanced down at him. He knew exactly what to say in order to get Tom to help him, didn’t he? It was almost as if he had been there all of those times when Tom was wishing for someone to come to him in their time of need. His facade crumbled and he caved in almost instantly.

“Alright, fine. Y/n, take him up to the attic. I’ll take a look at what’s going on outside.” Tom ordered. Y/n nodded and motioned for the blue hedgehog to follow her. They quickly scampered towards the stairs, and as they began to walk quietly up the flights, Y/n noticed two things. One, Crazy Carl was right after all. The little “Blue Devil” was a lot larger than she had expected him to be, measuring up to be about half of her height. And two, the thing was having a horrific time walking. With a strangely racing heart, Y/n slowed down her pace and offered her hand to the being. He gave her a small smile and accepted it, wrapping his gloved hand around her own. 

“My actual name is Y/n, by the way,” she finally spoke in an attempt to break the hurried silence. “But I like Star Chaser better.” He smiled beside her, trying to figure out why the girl before him seemed so familiar.

“I just thought it suited you. My name’s Sonic. Sonic the Hedgehog.”

“I knew you weren’t an alien,” Y/n said as she let go of his hand to pull down the ladder. She picked the hedgehog up and set him down gently inside the attic. His name kept ringing throughout her head on an endless loop, like it was supposed to bring back some big part of her life, but it always came back empty. She gave him a small smile and was about to head back down when he stopped her.

“Wait,” his dreamy green eyes were full of concern as he looked straight into Y/n’s. “Be careful.” 

Y/n appreciated how genuinely concerned he was for her safety. It was a beautiful gulp of fresh air amidst all of the others who thought she was crazy or weird. At least his sincerity made the fact that he had been basically stalking her and her family for a while now a little bit less creepy. Y/n gave him a reassuring smile and closed the attic door, racing all the way back down to the main floor where she skidded to a halt by the door. 

There was Tom, with some very strange looking man sporting a signature Man with the Bowler Hat mustache standing in the Y/n slowly approached her dad and watched as the man turned his attention towards her.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you had a daughter,” the man smiled creepily, sending shivers down her spine. She scrunched her nose as Tom wrapped his arm around her shoulder protectively.

“I have a name,” she raised her brows skeptically. “Y/n.” 

At the sound of her name, the man got a shocked look on his face, his eyes widening to the size of saucers as he stared intensely at her. Tom and Y/n exchanged confused glances before the man quickly snapped back into reality. 

“Y/n…” he repeated. “Interesting. Anyways, where was I? Oh, yes,” he suddenly propelled himself towards Tom, becoming very uncomfortably close to his face. Y/n slowly sank into her father’s arm in order to back away from the strange man. “I was spitting out formulas while you were still spitting up formula.”

“I was breastfed, actually,” Tom responded, mildly weirded out. Y/n’s face contorted in disgust. What the hell was this conversation?

“Nice,” he nodded. “Rub that in my orphan face.”

“Okay,” Y/n spoke up, finally having enough as she pushed the two apart. “Listen, I have no idea who you are and why you are here, but I think you should be leaving.”

“Ooh, fiesty one,” the man nodded, narrowing his eyebrows at you to the point that the folds on his forehead nearly overlapped one another. “Doctor Robotnik, I-”

A sudden thump sounded from the kitchen, startling the man enough to make him shut up. Tom and Y/n froze, running through every possible excuse in their minds as to what that could have been that wasn’t Sonic. Y/n turned to Robotnik and offered him the best sheepish smile she could muster.

“Um… Racoons?”

Robotnik gave her a fake smile and shouldered his way into the house. Y/n and Tom scrambled to follow him, praying to god that their little blue friend wasn’t sitting on the kitchen counter. Thankfully, once they reached the kitchen, they were greeted with a friendly racoon, shoveling handfuls of celebratory cake into its mouth. Y/n breathed a small sigh of relief through her mouth.

“See? Racoons.” Tom spoke defiantly, placing his hands on his hips. Y/n began to search the room quietly for any sign of Sonic while Robotnik was preparing to leave. They had almost gotten him out the door when he stopped and backtracked. In confusion, Y/n and Tom followed his gaze and their hearts stopped.

He slowly held up the lone electric blue quill for all to see.

“Looks like I was right,” a shit-eating grin formed on his face. “Note the lack of surprise.” He pointed to his monotone expression and Y/n could already tell that she fucking hated him. She slowly began to back away from him when a floating egg shaped orb harnessing a bright red laser became very interested in Tom. Y/n’s heart raced, back growing tense as she began to hesitantly back away until Robotnik gave her a warning glare. 

She wasn’t going anywhere.

“So, let’s try this again. Where. Is. It?”

“Look, man, leave her out of this. We have no idea what ‘it’ is,” Tom exclaimed, beginning to hold his hands up in surrender. Robonik simply shook his head and pushed some buttons on the gloves that he was wearing. 

“I hate liars. You have five seconds to tell me where it is. Five… Four…” He began to count down, Y/n only being able to watch in horror as the white orb came ever closer to her father, the menacing light flashing. Daring someone to challenge it. Tom stared, his facade crumbling with every second that was counted down, trying desperately to find a way out. Things were looking to death when a sudden electric blue blur shot out from behind the counter and stood in front of Y/n, hands outspread in protection.

“Wait!” Sonic cried. “Don’t hurt them!”

Y/n looked down at the little hedgehog in shock, and was startled when Robotnik let out the most girlish scream anyone had ever heard come from the pipes of a man. Then Tom punched him in the face. 

“Yes, go Dad!” Y/n whooped as the Doctor crumpled onto the floor, unconscious. Their victory was short lived, however, as the second she finished talking, she was dragged behind the counter by Sonic to avoid getting hit in the face by a laser beam. The three watched in horror as the Wachowski’s custom designed kitchen became destroyed by the angry red bots, shooting around with no instructions as their master was now taking a nap on the floor. Before Y/n even had the chance to ask what they should do, they noticed that Sonic was already missing. Looking frantically around the room, Tom motioned up to one of the kitchen cupboards, and sure enough, there was Sonic preparing to jump onto one of the bots that was probably scanning for their heat signatures or something equally significant. The two shook their heads rapidly, but Sonic simply gave them one of the most adorable sassy nods Y/n had ever seen. He leapt onto the robot, trying desperately to smack it as it spun around like a horse without a head.

“This-was a… horrible idea!” Sonic screamed before he got flung off the robot, sailing through the air, and landing straight into Y/n’s arms. He offered her a sheepish smile, and Y/n rolled her eyes, a smile still playing across her lips. She set him down just in time to see her dad knock the bot out with a frying pan. It careened to a halt and collapsed onto the ground. 

“Alright,” Y/n nodded, kicking it once with the scuff of her shoe for good measure. “Shall we get out of here?”

“Yes, please.”

♡♡♡

The three runaways were able to pull out of the driveway just as a bunch of other Men in Black vans were pulling up to the house. Tom sat behind the wheel while Sonic sported a shotgun, and Y/n crouched in the middle of the backseat with no seatbelt. Because this was living on the dark side, and on the dark side, we don’t wear seatbelts.

“Okay, so now that we aren’t running from scary doctors, what the hell is going on here?” Y/n asked, leaning forward on the console and resting her head in her hand as she turned to Sonic. He leaned his head back against the seat and sighed.

“Well, I just might have been the reason for that big power explosion… and now people after me. To make things worse, I lost my rings to a place that I’ve only ever seen on your dad’s skin tight T-shirt, and I have to make it to the Mushroom Planet or else I’m putting everyone here in danger.” He finally took in a deep gulp of air after pulling out that whole explanation in one breath. Y/n furrowed her brows in concern.

“Mushroom Planet?” Tom asked, his lips pressing into a firm line. 

“You must have lost them in San Francisco,” Y/n said. Suddenly, Tom jerked the wheel to the right and pulled off to the side of the road, unlocking the doors in the process.

“Alright, get out.” Y/n and Sonic stared at him in confusion.

“I’m sorry, what?” Sonic narrowed his eyes slightly. Tom leaned forwards and opened the passenger side door for him, running a hand down his face.

“Look, this is the worst time for me to be getting into trouble with the law and my daughter doesn’t really need a track record. So, you can go off and have good luck with finding your weird little Mushroom Planet. I’ll hopefully wake up in a hospital room soon with a successful colonoscopy and a happy, totally sane teenage daughter, so goodbye.”

“What? Dad!” Y/n started to object, her blood boiling in irritation at his insensitivity. Sonic shook his head and gave her a half-hearted smile as he slipped out of the car. 

“It’s okay, Y/n. Goodbye, I guess…” But instead of leaving, he just stood there. Staring. Y/n turns to stare at her father too to double the effect. 

“Why aren’t you leaving?” He groaned in frustration.

“How the hell is he supposed to know where San Francisco is?” Y/n laughs, and Tom sighs in defeat, knowing that she’s right. He gives her a half-assed glare, but as usual she was refusing to back down. Sonic doesn’t notice the small smile forming on his own lips, his appreciation for this strangely familiar girl increasing with every second he spent with her.

“It’s West. Straight shot.” Tom finally tells him. Sonic nods.

“Okay. West. Cool. Cool, I’m totally cool with saying goodbye right now,” he exaggerates, swirling his gloved hands around with the hurt clearly evident on his face. 

“I’m not,” Y/n grumbles, pressing her cheek against the rough leather of the driver’s seat. Before anyone could say another word, Sonic shot off in the given direction faster than the speed of sound. Y/n’s jaw drops open along with Tom’s as they look down at the spot where he once was. 

“H-holy shit,” Y/n stuttered. 

“D-did he just-” Tom didn’t even get to finish the sentence before Sonic came back, only this time soaking wet. He was sporting a nice fish on his head and a bunch of seaweed hanging on to his quills, which accented his sarcastic expression perfectly. Y/n tried to stifle her laughter by pouting and turning to her father as he rolled his eyes.

“So, as I crashed into the cold, dark Pacific,” Sonic began, sending a wink in Y/n’s direction. “I noticed a couple things. A, I have no idea where I’m going. B, salt water stings. And C, I shouldn’t even be on this planet right now but I am. Why? Because you shot me.” Sonic’s eyes narrowed.

“I know,” Tom sighed, turning back to the road.

“You shot me!”

“Okay, you don’t need to rub it in,” he sniffed, glancing at Y/n out of the corner of his eye. “She was there too…”

“She didn’t shoot me,” Sonic stood up for her. Y/n gave him a kind smile as he began listing off characteristics on his gloved fingers. “I’m wet, I’m cold, there’s a fish on my head, and clearly I’m not going to be able to do this on my own!” Once he finished, Y/n slowly reached out to him and pushed the fish off his head, watching as it flopped about helplessly on the ground.

“You do owe it to him,” she subtly pressed, leaning back once again in her seat. Tom stayed silent for a moment, staring firmly at the little blue hedgehog for what seemed like forever. Finally he caved and started the ignition once again.

“Fine. Get in.”

“Really?” Sonic and Y/n chimed in hopeful unison. “You’re going to help me?” He shook out his fur at such a high speed that once he finished, it poofed out like a dramaticized afro. Y/n giggled in her seat, not being able to handle how cute it was. Butterflies began to wander around in her stomach.

“I guess it is sort of my fault,” Tom hesitantly admitted. 

“Actually, it’s entirely your fault,” Y/n teased. He gave her a playful shove, but snorted nonetheless. Sonic quickly climbed into the car and slammed the door shut behind him.

“Road trip!” He cheered, looking excitedly around the car. Y/n cheered along with him while still trying to shake the eerily feeling of familiarity. Tom shook his head, squeezing the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

“What the hell am I doing with my life?”

♡ a.a.

[musings-n-memes]

Iliza Shlesinger’s: Freezing Hot sentence starters

"I have what I’m hoping is altitude sickness and not some weird form of meningitis.”

“Thought it’d be colder. I really did.”

“Oh my god, it is so hot.”

“I like it when it’s hot, but not too hot. But I also like it when it’s cold. But not too cold, because then it’s like, brrr.”

“Will you just, pause Halo for like, two seconds please?”

“Should I just do like, four scarves and no pants?”

“The female body is capable of carrying another human being inside it for nine months, but apparently, a lightweight jacket stuffed with feathers is where we draw the line.”

“You’re willing to brave that icy walk for the glory of not having to carry a jacket.”

“I have lost many a hot Amber to that walk.”

“Order a lemondrop and toast to my memory.”

“Maybe they got a tracking device in their junk.”

“You’re cold. Time to go home. Time to hibernate. Time to watch a show on TLC about a six-hundred pound woman eating herself to death.”

“Don’t let your date get cold. If you’ll notice, the body language for ‘I’m cold’, and, ‘I’m fucking pissed at you’, is the same body language.”

“Everything’s a contradiction, wrapped in a bow.”

“I’m gonna wear tight pants, but don’t you dare look at my butt.”

“I’m so cold, I’m like, sweating. I don’t know. It’s freezing hot in here.”

“I’ve been planning this fall since July. Of like, two years ago.”

“Fuck yeah. Cinnamon. Nutmeg. Cloves. Pumpkin everything!”

“Let’s go. We’re doing fall shit. We’re going apple picking.”

“Fine, I’m gonna go to the grocery store and throw apples at children.”

“Every year, the leaves change color and we lose our shit.”

“The leaves aren’t brown, they’re fucking dead! They’re dead and you’re doing crafts with their corpses you sicko!”

“Did you just eat a leaf?”

“If and when I get married, I’m getting married the day after Valentine’s Day, and my wedding theme is going to be 75% off chocolate.”

“I’ve seen your porn. I love you anyway.”

“You can’t admit you’re hungry, that’s admitting weakness.”

“Hi, we’re in a rush, because we’re entitled.”

“What text is coming in so fast you gotta hold your hand over your phone, OK Corral-style?”

“I couldn’t dress like a nineteen-year-old lesbian Hot Topic manager.”

“That is a cow pattern, straight up. It’s got the black splotches. I’m gonna look like a model for Gateway printers, I’m not wearing that.”

“We don’t gotta go to no fancy restaurant, I brought a hot plate.”

“I don’t need a can opener, I got this shit.”

“He has really nice eyes. I wonder what they look like in a jar.”

“You need to RAAAAAAAGE!”

“Go to the door guy. Ask him if he has drugs. Do not specify. See what he comes up with.”

“Jump up on that table. Start dancing. There is no music. I will provide the music. La lalala la lala laaaaaa.”

“Run into that CVS. Find the dairy isle. Grab some whipped cream. Do some whippins. It might kill you. It’s fucking worth it.”

“Go outside. Take a picture. Put it on Instagram. Take it down ten minutes later because, oops! We can see your nipple.”

“A relationship? No, I just wanna fuck in perpetuity until you tire of me.”

“It was sexual rejection, in like, the weirdest form.”

“I don’t even know how I got in my house. I just ended up there.”

“I stood by open French windows for ten minutes waiting for bluebirds to come and undress me.”

“Why are there holes in your clothes? Because tears corrode.”

“Hey, had a great time tonight. I would’ve loved to kiss you, but I have to be up early.”

“I don’t even know how to answer that like a human.”

“Tonight, we strike.”

“You put time and effort into dating me, and I will return that time and effort, plus interest, in the breakup.”

“You can’t get wool wet, you’ll smell like a dirty sheep and no one is going to miss you.”

“You don’t even watch Breaking Bad, how are we supposed to be together?”

“You have the power to create conflict where there formerly was none. We’re talking out of thin fucking air.”

[leiaorganicsolocup]

Alright, future parents, listen up

Okay, so let me begin this with a disclaimer: I love my mom. She is so supportive and so self-giving and always thinks of others before herself, I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world.

But that being said, she can get openly and outwardly cranky about doing things for others. Take tonight for example: I stayed up until 2am (and probably later because of this godforsaken website) to finish a scholarship application that is due tomorrow. I told my mom multiple times that this was my mess I was in and that she could go to bed whenever she wanted. I made sure to say that, because yes, I fucked up by not getting this thing done earlier, but let’s be real, this is the earliest I’ve gotten in my bed to go to sleep in around 3 days, so I’m feeling okay.

My mom, in the other hand, is laying on the couch, making it very obvious that she is tired and wants to go to bed. She instists that she stays until the application is printed out, in case something goes wrong. Here’s the thing with that: 1, I know how to handle our printer (even if it was a piece of junk, don’t but dell printers y’all) and 2, my dad, who stays up late all the time, is still awake, meaning that he could help me if I needed it.

Once it was printed, she gave me a lecture about paying for college and waiting till the last minute, which I get, but godamn the amount of anxiety I already have about college is through the roof. Then she tells me good night and hopes aloud that she gets a good nights sleep.

Now, some of you know where I’m going with this, cause it happens all the damn time, but some of you are probably wondering what the big deal is. She’s just trying to be nice, right?

Wrong. I love my mom, but she can hold a grudge like no other. I can guarantee that she’ll be grumpy and cranky tomorrow. She’ll be snappy because she didn’t get enough sleep. Sleep, I remind you, that she would have gotten if she had gone to bed and not stayed up with her procrastinating daughter. And I know that I’m going to feel guilty tomorrow, but in reality, it’s not my fault.

So future parents, take notes. If you want to sit with your child through something that will be draining for you, please don’t make your kid feel guilty for the choices you make.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk

[bomberqueen17]

So *I* have moved offices. 

I have moved five carloads of crap from one store to the other. I have set up my desk, computer, a new printer. I have downloaded countless Windows Updates, and have now upgraded from Win 10 Home to Pro so we can install the VPN.

My coworker is still at the old location with his desk, his computer, our database server, and all our shipping supplies. 

I am in the new office and three-quarters of the room is filled with junk the people who work here wanted to store in here. But I have my shit set up in the 1/4 of a room that’s left, and have put my shit neatly away. It is up to my coworker to be a dick about the rest of the garbage in the room; it seems the others do intend to remove it but I have little faith in them doing so unprompted.

I also flipped my shit because the bathroom was covered in residue from one of the workers here’s experiment in cyanotype print making, which was impressively splattered around in such a way that a fresh roll of paper towels was lightly included in the splatter, making it one thousand percent fucking clear that she hadn’t so much as torn a single sheet off the roll and made the most cursory attempt to tidy up after herself. And so she was summoned in to clean up the room, as it’s been several days now and she lives locally. Apparently she was running late at the time, was the excuse, but, it’s been several days, and it’s obvious she had literally no intention of cleaning up in that room. So maybe now she thinks I’m a horrible bitch, she’s never met me and avoided looking at me when she was here, but I don’t give a shit, that was an incredibly shitty thing to do and I’m going to be a bitch about it. 

I am going away to the farm for an overdue week, and i don’t give a shit whether the rest of the move is completed in the meantime. 

[lamptracker]

FIC: Spy vs. Spy (part 6/?)

Because I’m not sure when I’m going to get to update again, stupid work

Also: I think it’s awesome that Harrison finally has a big job! I’M LIKE A PROUD MAMA OVER HERE

FIC: Spy vs. Spy, part 6/?

Pairing: Spy!Harrison Osterfield/Spy!Female Reader

Overall summary:  Harrison Osterfield, one of Britain’s top spies, keeps getting thrown into missions with rival spy (y/n). Can they work together without killing each other? Or will something more develop?

Part summary: Harrison is forced to confront his feelings after Cervelli kidnaps (y/n).

Warnings: Language, blood, some violence. Oh, and a perfectly good pair of boots gets ruined.

Part 1 * Part 2 * Part 3 * Part 4 * Part 5

Tagged: @itstabata   @purelyfictionallife   @deleteidentity   @peterspanish   @mindless--thinking   @harrison-osterfield-appreciation   @lemirabitur   @m4df4n

“I’m just saying,” Tom said, a thin flashlight clenched in his teeth as he carefully pried off the cap of (y/n)’s boot heel. “This is an awful lot of work for someone you hate.”

Harrison scoffed. “I don’t hate her. Well, I don’t like her very much, but I don’t… look, she’s my partner. I have to be able to get to her in case something happens. It’s….this is a business move. That’s all.”

“Business move, sure. Because everyone puts trackers in their business associates’ shoes. Especially ones they say they hate but they slept with.”

“I told you not to judge me, Tom.”

Tom took the flashlight out of his mouth and turned it off, setting it on the table. “Hey, I’m not judging!” he said defensively, throwing his hands into the air. “I’m just saying…”

“Whatever, just hurry up before she gets out of the shower, yeah?”

Tom quickly installed the tracker and put the cap back on her boot heel, whacking it against the table slightly to make sure it was secure. Of course, that was the moment (y/n) had decided to come out of the bathroom.

“Spider,” Tom explained, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Ah.” (y/n) walked over to the coffee pot, where Harrison offered her a cup; she gladly took it and sipped it slowly. “How are those blueprints coming?”

“Oh, they’re done.” Tom pressed a button on his laptop; the wireless printer in the next room whirred loudly as the blueprints jutted out.

“Cumberbatch called while you were in the shower,” Harrison said. “Management wants us to wait until Thursday to map out our route, Cervelli’s twins have some awards ceremony at school he’s expected to attend so that’ll give us a window.”

“Father of the year,” (y/n) snorted as she reached for a muffin. “Have we figured out exactly who the hell Management is yet? And why they have such a hard-on for us working together?”

“First question: No. Second question: Your guess is as good as mine.” Harrison ran into the living room to grab the blueprints off the printer. “Okay, (y/n), take a look at these and tell me what the plan is.”

“You got it, Osterfield.”

On Thursday morning, (y/n) was supposed to meet with Harrison at his apartment at 9AM sharp. The awards ceremony started at 10, so that would give them plenty of time to go to Cervelli’s hideout and get set up.

9:05 rolled around, and (y/n) had failed to show up.

“Maybe she fell in a ditch and died,” Tom (not-so) helpfully suggested to a now-pacing Harrison.

“Shut your gob, Tom. It’s not like her to be late.”

“You don’t even like her, what’re you so worried about?”

“She’s my partner. We’re supposed to be doing this together.” Just then, Harrison’s phone rang. Without even looking to see who was calling, Harrison answered. “You’d better have a damn good explanation for being late, (y/n), because…”

“No, Osterfield, it’s Cumberbatch.”

“Cumberbatch, what…”

“Look, I’m going to cut right to the chase on this. (Y/n) was kidnapped this morning. It was Cervelli, he figured out that Rachel Cummings was just a cover ID. He’s holding her for ransom, we’re going to pay it, I…”

Harrison’s heart dropped straight through the bottoms of his feet.

Kidnapped?

(Y/n) was kidnapped?

A million thoughts at once could have sprinted through his mind - What does he expect me to do about that? Maybe she should stay kidnapped. We should pay the ransom and move on. Cervelli will be begging us to take her back within the hour.

But only one made its way through:

I have to get her back.

“Like hell are we paying that ransom,” Harrison mumbled through clenched teeth. “I’m going after her.”

“Osterfield, no. It’s too dangerous, we can’t risk it, I…”

“I’m going after her,” Harrison repeated firmly. “With or without the agency’s help. She’s my partner, we’re working on this case together and I. Am. Going. After. Her.”

“Management figured you’d say that. The law says we can’t help you, so… good luck.”

Harrison hung up the phone, picked up the empty paper cup that had previously held his coffee, and hurled it at the wall.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked.

“(y/n). She’s been taken. Cervelli. We need to find her, Tom, can you get a location off that tracker?”

“She’s been taken?” Tom gasped in surprise.

“Are you going to help me or not, Tom?” Harrison barked angrily; Tom jumped back a little.

“Y-yeah, of course.”

“Good. Now get me that location.”

While Tom got to work, Harrison gathered up supplies - his gun, extra ammo, a Taser, duct tape. As he stuffed the items into a duffel bag, his eyes fell on something on the floor near the chair. Curiously, Harrison picked it up.

It was a block of c4, one that had probably fallen out of (y/n)’s purse.

“You know what,” he said to himself, “I may actually need this.” He smiled fondly as he tucked it into the bag.

“I have a location,” Tom announced. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s?”

“You can’t go by yourself, it’s too dangerous, yeah?”

“No offense, Tom, but… you?”

“Yeah, I know, but right now I’m kind of all you have.”

“Fair point.”

Harrison pulled up to Cervelli’s hideout, where the tracker had led them. Brandishing his gun, he stormed inside.

“(Y/n)!” He called. “(Y/n), are you here? Where are you?”

“Um… Harrison?”

Harrison whirled around; Tom was pointing at a metal chair. (Y/n)’s boots were resting in the chair, as was a note.

He marched over to the chair, snatching the note from it and reading aloud.

“Looks like you just missed us. Too bad. For her. Good luck finding us now. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t suffer… too much. XOXO Luca Cervelli.” Harrison picked up the boots, hurling them at the wall with such force that one heel stuck in the drywall; he angrily kicked over the chair.

“FUCK!” he screamed; Tom immediately started rifling through the drawers of Cervelli’s desk.

“Well, I’m not finding anything here,” he said, after a moment. “I’ll have to see if I can find a list of known hideouts someplace.”

Harrison sighed in defeat, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging slightly. “Please hurry, Tom.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Harrison paced as Tom quickly started typing away at a nearby computer. Where was she? What has Cervelli done to her? Why is he doing this?

Why do I care so much?

“Got it. There’s at least six known hideouts, let’s start looking.” Tom programmed the address of the first one into his phone and they ran to the car.

“Harrison?” Tom asked, after a moment. They were now driving to the third hideout on the list, after striking out at the first two. “I understand if you don’t want to answer, but why…”

“Because I love her, okay?” Harrison snapped, cutting into Tom’s sentence. “I know, it doesn’t make sense. She frustrates me in every possible way. She’s cocky and reckless and has no regard for her safety or anyone else’s. But she’s also smart, and sexy, and funny, and I don’t know how it happened but I fell in love with her. And if she dies before I got a chance to tell her that…” Harrison gulped back a sob. “I can’t let that happen, Tom. I have to find her.”

Tom just nodded solemnly. “I get you, man. I’ll help you any way I can, I promise.”

They pulled into the parking lot of a familiar-looking warehouse. As they ran up to the door, Harrison realized he knew this place.

“This is the warehouse I interrogated one of his goons at,” he explained. “The first time (y/n) and I worked together.”

“Oh, when she Tasered that guy’s junk?”

“That’d be the instance, yes.” Harrison tried to open the door; it was locked. He mustered up all his strength and with a mighty kick, the old metal door fell off its rusty hinges.

“(y/n)!” Harrison called. “Please be here, please be here…”

“Oh… she’s here.”

Luca Cervelli came around the corner, holding a gun in front of him.

“Tom,” Harrison whispered. “Go outside, call Cumberbatch. Tell him where we are, to send an ambulance.”

Tom nodded and quickly ran for the exit; Cervelli fired a shot after him but missed.

“Now, Osterfield. We have some unfinished business to attend to. You destroyed my gang, you know that?”

“You and your gang are a blight on society,” Harrison spat.

“Society is a blight on me,” Cervelli replied.

Harrison scrunched up his nose in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“Never mind that. You’ve destroyed my organization, the one I worked so hard to help build from the ground up. You almost destroyed me; The Don was going to personally kill me this morning. I shot him in the head and then I grabbed your girl. I missed my kids’ awards ceremony but it’s worth it to see the look on your face right now.”

“Where is she, Cervelli?” Harrison snarled.

“She’s here. She’s safe… I mean, for now.”

Harrison started walking toward Cervelli; the other man raised his gun.

“Now, Osterfield. You don’t want me to hurt her, do you? I mean, any more than I already have.”

“What did you do to her, Luca?”

Cervelli fired his gun; Harrison dodged out of the way and the bullet hit a wall. “We are not on a first-name basis here, Osterfield. And you’ll just have to see for yourself.” Cervelli chuckled to himself. “That is, if I let you live that long.”

He aimed his gun right between Harrison’s eyebrows; he was just about to squeeze the trigger when a shot rang out. The bullet hit him in the middle of the forehead; Cervelli dropped to the ground, dead.

Harrison raised his hands and slowly turned around.

Standing behind him, holding a gun, was Tom Holland.

“Nice job, Tom!” Harrison said. “Who knew you were such a good shot?”

Tom just shrugged. “I play a lot of Call of Duty. Anyway, Cumberbatch is on the way, so’s an ambulance.” He clapped a hand onto Harrison’s shoulder. “Now… let’s go get your girl.”

Harrison nodded as he ran through the warehouse. It wasn’t a big warehouse, and it didn’t have a lot of rooms; where could she be?

“Harrison!” Tom yelled, pointing to an office in the corner; Harrison ran to where Tom was standing. He opened the door…

...and there she was.

She was tied to a chair, blindfolded, duct tape covering her mouth. Harrison gasped as he got a good look at her; she was covered in blood and bruises.

Cervelli had really done a number on her.

Harrison quickly removed the duct tape from her mouth and started to untie the blindfold; not knowing who was there, she panicked.

“Oh, my God! Who’s there, what’s going on?”

Harrison gently rested a hand on her shoulder. “Shh, easy, darling, it’s me. It’s me.”  He untied the blindfold, then the restraints securing her to the chair.

“Harrison,” she whispered. “It’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He slowly helped her to a standing position.

“I… you came for me,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him and clinging to him with all the strength she had left. “You found me.”  And with that, her eyes closed and she went limp; Harrison quickly caught her before she hit the ground.

“No, no, (y/n), stay with me, please.” He collapsed to the ground, holding her in his arms. “Please, please stay with me.”

Just then, Cumberbatch and four paramedics rushed into the office.

“How is she?” Cumberbatch asked quickly.

“Still breathing, but unconscious,” Harrison said as the paramedics extracted her from his arms. “She’s lost a lot of blood; she may have some internal injuries but I’m not sure.”

Cumberbatch nodded solemnly. “You did a great job today,” he said. “Nobody’s ever even come close to bringing Cervelli down. We would have preferred him alive, but everyone else is much better off with him dead.”

“I can’t take credit for that,” Harrison said as Cumberbatch helped him to a standing position. “Tom’s the one that shot him.”

“Tom? That skinny kid out in the hallway?”

“I’m not skinny, I’m just lithe,” Tom called from outside.

Harrison chuckled and shook his head. “Okay, so now what?”

“I don’t know. I guess… I guess we wait.”

[mildly-incoherent-ramblings]

Alturas

Derived From, And An Offshoot Of “The Weekend In The Country” Writing Prompt, Given By Adam Gnade. 

A Preface: This story is awful. I have tried to work through this experience for years. This is a work of semi-fiction I suppose, but most of this really did happen, and you can guess which character is based on me pretty easily. I do not condone ANY of the actions depicted here. Please, care for your animal friends, and your elderly family, and if you cannot, find help for them. Good fucking god find some help and fucking save them. Do everything in your power. I did not sleep a full night’s sleep for months after what I saw that weekend.

CW: animal abuse, animal neglect, self neglect, dementia, guns, gunfire, themes of transphobia/homophobia, domestic abuse, toxic family dynamics, misogyny, vivid sensory descriptions of these things.

Part 1: Knuckle Bones

The drive itself was not bad. There was felt a certain nostalgia for many trips down south to San Diego to visit my great aunt with the family when we were children, or to the north to see the snow in the winter. Dad got lost for a little while, but he refused to admit it, he just angrily grumbled to himself and yelled to the backseat if anyone made a noise that broke his concentration. We rode through miles of outstretched quiet roads interrupted by the occasional rest area, and only stopped briefly at points for food and gas, and to rotate who got to sit in the front seat. On freeways and then off of them and up into the endless hills, long winding roads that almost felt like going in circles we drove, all of us anticipating the destination. We were going to visit grandma and grandpa, my Dad’s stepmom and father. They lived on a little farm out in Alturas.

Alturas is a small town nestled up in the rightmost corner of California, bordered both by Nevada to the east and Oregon to the north.  When we finally arrived there, the first thing I noticed were the hot air balloons. I had never seen them in person before. Floating out toward the horizon and above us and all around were hundreds of these drifting along, wicker baskets and all. Being mostly a city kid, I had almost forgotten they even existed. Peacefully scattered near and far in an expanse of clear blue sky I saw them; big beautiful ones with complex designs in an array of bright colors; mostly red and yellow with splotches of cyan and green, bits of neon pink. They reminded me of printer cartridges or SMPTE bars on a TV screen. I fixated on them as we rode up onto the main street of the town.

We stopped at a diner for breakfast, and the realization hit me that I was with my family and in a moderately conservative area. I would have no choice but to act as a woman here, I would not be given another option. I’d have to try my best to blend at least. Dressed in a baggy T-shirt and jeans, and a baseball cap backwards like some 90′s mall bro troupe, one could say that alone was a dead giveaway. But to these people, and to my family at the time, I was a dyke at best. At worst... lets not get into it.

We ate breakfast at this little place, dusty and kind of worn down, white walls yellowed over the years with tacky décor displayed upon them. The Don’t-Tread-On-Me flag hung up in the corner made me very nervous. Dad and my brother didn’t notice, but the old folks at the table next to us, and the truckers on the other side of the room, and the CHP officers grouped together at the bar shot daggers in my general direction, some of them holding their glare on me like snipers aiming for my head from the top of a building. I tried to eat quickly and eat well, especially since I hadn’t had anything that day except for gas station coffee and a pack of hostess mini donuts several hours before. I ate like I eat, which can be stereotyped as like how a man eats. At one point my brother said I wasn’t being polite, even though his table manners were about as bad, and the reason why he felt it different for me need not be spoken. Loud and clear.

My brother had a really hard time accepting my transition. Same with Dad. Neither will admit to it now but they both were cruel to me often, and for a while hoped they could just disregard this aspect of me and force me back into the box of womanhood until I gave up. When I first came out my brother he offered me a pair of jeans he didn’t wear anymore and asked me if I needed any advice on good cologne to wear, needed any razors, etc. This enthusiasm wouldn’t last. The next time he wanted money from me, or my weed, or something of mine he could sell, or someone he could point his anger toward, he would weaponize my former femininity against me and revert back to the same misogynistic behavior I had always known him to engage in. I was a woman again when he wanted me to be one, and I had no choice in this matter. This would go on for years. He still to this day has a deep subconscious hate for women, but thankfully and in despite of how sickening these implications are I have escaped this form of mistreatment after starting testosterone.

My Dad was a bit more open, he just didn’t know how to navigate it. He wanted to allow my brother to “have his own opinion” and opted to avoid discussion of it as much as possible. He would later learn that when it comes to something like this, there are no SIDES, there is either upholding the human need to live authentically or deny that need no matter how negatively this affected me and others like me. These days, he proudly supports me and is kind to the trans people in his neighborhood, and would like very much to take his kids to pride once covid is contained and its safe to attend large events again. He got better. Thank fucking god he got better.

We checked into an Inn down the road, got out and stretched our legs. My brother and I immediately went to go smoke a joint. We hid around the back of the building hoping Dad wouldn’t notice, but apparently we stank up the whole area and came back to him seething with anger. He sparked a cigarette, tried to calm down, and we unloaded our belongings from the car in silence. Then it was time to head to the farm. 

A few miles out from town we drove through the acres of desolate farmland down a dirt and gravel road that seemed to go on forever. I didn’t recognize the area until we started pulling into the driveway to their little house. Dad was swearing and smacking his steering wheel, cursing no one in particular but frustrated at how the gravel would scratch the paint on his car. We were, though we did try to blend in, hilariously obvious city people.

I recognized the shapes first, the house, the big looming tree on the right side, the wire fences surrounding the property, the rusty old truck. I had only been here as a kindergartener so my exact recollection of this place was fuzzy, but I had fond memories of the animals and how happy grandma and grandpa were to see me. I felt some excitement to return to this place that I always felt to be so welcoming, warm and filled with love. Then we got closer.

The first thing I noticed were the dogs. Two gigantic rabid pitbulls, one chained to the tree in the yard and one chained to a fence post just to the side of the house behind him. They were both aggressively barking and pulling on their chains trying to get to our car, foaming at the mouths and vicious as hell. I am cautious to describe this because I am aware of a certain stigma around pitbulls and their commonly misunderstood demeanor, and I will add that I have never known any dog of this breed to be cruel in any way by nature. But these dogs, they were not aggressive out of any sort of inherent violence and hatred, they were scared. They wanted to escape. The felt us to be a threat. Their paws were caked in shit and mud, mucus leaking from their eyes and matts in their fur. There were big festering wounds on the side of the dog nearest the truck as though he was bitten by something. Before him, the remains of a cat who had been caught and torn to shreds lay splayed open and rotting in the summer heat, the carcass filled with maggots. Bits of the poor things insides were scattered around the yard.

I turned my eyes over toward the house. The building itself had deteriorated significantly. The paint was peeling and chipped. Rotting wood was visible underneath all covered in a thick, black mold. The entire yard was littered with trash; rusty old cans and plastic bags, rotting apple cores, some unidentifiable mounds of what I can only assume had once been food waste. Weeds overgrew dusty and dry, and the front porch itself was falling away barely keeping its shape. To the left of it, the garage was wide open and I could see the stacks upon stacks of busted furniture, rusted metal piping, lengths of barbed wire wrapped in bundles and all manner of poorly kept junk haphazardly packed against the inner side wall.

My father’s eyes went wide as we all sat in silence, shocked at the appearance of what was apparently the home his mom and dad had been living in for the last few decades, and just how much the state of this place had declined since our last visit. He held his fist to his mouth, clenched so tight you could see his knuckle bones through his skin. Pushing back tears, he tried his best to shake the face of disgust and horror from himself before cautiously opening the door. Under his breath, my brother uttered the phrase “what the fuck,” which immediately resulted in dad turning toward the back seat angrily and slamming his fist on the middle console, growling at him to shut the fuck up through clenched teeth. The spray of his spit fell on our faces. His expression had shifted to be dramatically similar to the dogs. Anger and defensiveness as a secondary reaction to an underlying feeling of danger, and a desire to escape the inevitable. I have nightmares of this face. 

Just then grandpa came hobbling out from the garage clutching a 12 gauge shotgun, screaming for grandma that they had burglars on the premises and commanding us to leave. He pointed it upward and haphazardly fired a warning shot which went straight through the roof of the garage and aimed the smoking barrel directly at us. All three of us had our hands up instantly. Grandma came hobbling out of the house pulling through the dirt in her walker as quickly as she could, yelling for him to stop.

“Garland, that’s your fucking SON. And the grandchildren! They’ve come to visit, we just discussed this earlier this morning FOR FUCKS SAKE GARLAND PUT IT DOWN!” She grabbed his arm and he froze, the tension in his shoulders dropped. He lowered his weapon, staring at us puzzled as he processed the situation.

“ANDREW?” He yelled. “ANDREW IS THAT YOU SON?”

“Yes, Dad. Its us. Me and the kids.” he returned. He was shaking so much in the front seat I could feel it from the back. He slowly lowered his hands to his lap, my brother and I frozen in shock. 

(part 2 coming soon)