#( SARAH & BOBBY TAG PENDING. )

[ohthathurt]

So I’ve been struggling lately quite a lot with my writing (if a writer had a dime for every time they said/thought that lmao) and so many of my mutuals and friends on here have given me advice and a push to do further and I absolutely love them and cherish them for that x

But I also thought of all the WIPs living in my docs for a long time now. There’s a few in there that i know i will never post because, to me, they’re just empty words going nowhere.

And so I thought I’ll post the most vague one I can find that doesn’t have a definitive ending or beginning and someone, anyone on here can pick it up and run with it? A bold move I know lmao but I’m not being revolutionary I just want all of us to get writing again. And I definitely don’t mind if two different blogs pick it up at the same time, please tag me and I’ll reblog every single one of them! Here we go, under the cut:

“I’m telling you, it was the pug.”

Lydia blinked furiously at the man- no, at the suspect, in front of her before looking in puzzlement at her senior, who was sat beside her and not faring any better.

Detective Chief Inspector Grant was a man in his fifties, quite shrewd when it comes to cases like these and if Lydia could dig further in, she’d find a happy marriage and family behind that stern expression. It’s just how it is.

Detective Constable Lydia Stanton, that’s what they called her now. After years of acing all her tests and grueling hours of practice, she was finally sat here, in the interrogation room, observing a DCI investigate a possible homicide.

The suspect had arrived with four other accomplices at their holding cell and was uneasily charming since. Police Constables Ross and Miller had pulled them out of their house, only a few feet away from which were two rotting dead bodies that were peculiarly drained of all blood.

Since then, Lydia had whipped her notepad out, ignoring the snickering and dirty looks of her fellow trainees and started scribbling through, noting all the details as well as any specific behaviour the suspects portrayed.

The suspect leaned in again and whispered, “Have you seen those little things? They look calm, sure, but they’re vicious.”

His green eyes widened, “One bite and you’re done for it.”

DCI Grant sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. Lydia frowned at him; that was one sign he was breaking instead of the suspect.

“Let me get this straight, Mr. Styles. You claim you had nothing to do with the two corpses lying outside of the house we found you in. Furthermore, you are accusing the neighbour’s two pugs of the crime.”

Styles sat up straight, eyes twinkling and dimples deepening, “That’s absolutely correct!”

DCI Grant only turned to her and muttered a quick, “Bring in the next one.”

As thrilling as this job was, Lydia was more interested in a future as a behavioural analyst, hence her nifty little notepad and handy pen by her side at all times. She took note of the way Styles’ expressions were exaggerated, his smiles effortlessly charming and a wall of emotion between them every time the corpses were mentioned.

Yes, he very well could be a psychopath, she noted in her notepad.

The next suspect out of the bunch wasn’t any better on DCI Grant’s flustered nerves. He was flushed heavily by now; skin a glowing red despite the harsh winter cold biting into the metallic room. The suspect in front of them – Lydia consulted her case file – a Mr. Tomlinson, age 27, worked at the same company as four other suspects, brown hair, deep blue eyes and gorgeous cheekbones –

Wait, Lydia stuttered mentally and forced her inappropriate thoughts to a halt.

It wouldn’t do to lust after a suspect, as gorgeous as he was.

It was as if Tomlinson knew his own charm, mouth twisted into an amused smirk, sharp eyes darting over the room, fingers trailing through brown hair flopped over his forehead.

Lydia scribbled into her notepad, taking in all of these details in case she ever needed them again.

DCI Grant opened his case file and placed two photographs of the victims’ rotting corpses in front of the suspect. Tomlinson stared him down instead.

“Mr. Tomlinson, would you please take a look at these and tell me who they are?”

“I don’t know them.”

“You haven’t looked at the pictures.”

“I assure you I did.”

“When?”

“When I left the house in handcuffs.” Tomlinson turned his piercing gaze towards Lydia who tried her absolute best not to blush. He tilted his head and his smirk widened.

DCI Grant cleared his throat rather loudly, “Where were you at the time of – “

He was cut off rather abruptly by Tomlinson butting in, “Look, if you’re not charging me with something I’m walking out.”

“You can’t just walk out.”

“Why not?”

“We haven’t finished our questioning.” Grant looked like a smug little frog right at the moment, and Lydia noted the way Tomlinson’s jaw clenched in answer.

The suspect leaned back in his chair, arms wide open, “Alright then, do your questioning.”

Grant nodded smugly at Lydia and turned to Tomlinson, “Where were you at the time of the murder, which was approximately between midnight to 2?”

Tomlinson glared at him but kept his mouth shut.

Grant moved on, “Do you know the victims personally?”

Nothing.

“Do you know Sarah French and Bobby Hoffman?”

Not one word.

“Were you stalking them? Maybe you felt like a bit of fun at midnight, eh?” Lydia whipped her head round to stare at DCI Grant in shock, this was pure speculation and could get him into a lot of trouble.

She took the initiative quickly, “Will you comply with any more questions, Mr. Tomlinson?” Her first question at a suspect and she was so glad her voice didn’t shake.

But Tomlinson stared back at her with a bored expression. She sighed and looked at Grant who was now turning a furious shade of red. Oh, dear.

She quickly moved to have Tomlinson transferred back to the holding cell and have the next one in. This one was a blond, Irish, in his mid-20s, with laughter so loud she could hear it from where the holding cell was.

Absolutely baffled as to what could make a potential criminal laugh like that, she quickly made her way down. The scene that presented itself to her, was rather puzzling. They didn’t have any other pending cases so the five individuals brought in for questioning were the only ones in it.

Curly-haired psychopath was lying on the floor on his back being laughed at boisterously by blond suspect. Tomlinson was carelessly sprawled over the tiny bench on the side of the cell and the rest two were huddled in the corner. Frowning, she took a step forward to see what the two were doing and to her absolute surprise, they were –

Cuddling? Hugging? In a holding cell? The shorter of the two with black hair had his face hidden in the other man’s chest. Arms covered in tattoos, he held onto the other man who was swaying him back and forth in his embrace.

The taller of the two, she noted, was unbelievably handsome. Brown eyes that held a bit of danger and a face full of scruff, he looked like he’d fit the dangerous criminal sort quite well. Not that Lydia liked stereotypes.

She stood there quietly observing the two as the taller man then began pressing kisses to the other man’s head. Tired of not having any names for them, she fumbled with her notepad.

“Horan?” She called out and they all snapped their heads up to look at her. Curly only grinned at her as Tomlinson resumed his smirking. Even the two lovebirds turned towards the sound of her voice but all she could make out was hazel, teary eyes peering up from a red plaid shirt-covered chest.

The blond Irish piped up, “That’s me!” Like he was being called over for a party game, he hastily climbed over Curly and went over to where the holding cell door was. A shout of ‘stand back!’ and Horan was let out. Lydia noted he wore an easy grin and his body language was rather loose and casual for someone arrested for homicide.

She sighed internally as she guided Horan towards the holding cell, where hopefully a much calmer Grant sat.

She opened the door and let him in and he settled quickly into the chair, smiling just as big at Grant. Grant, she noticed, had a steely gaze on him. Still, it was eons better than him losing his calm.

“Mr. Horan, I’ll be quick with this one.”

Horan nodded amiably, “Sure, sure.” Grant looked at him with narrowed eyes and Lydia held her breath hoping he didn’t say something inappropriate again.

But soon the DCI turned back to the file and repeated the same motions and questions he did for the other two before them. Surprisingly though, this one showed emotion.