#I actually had some of that on my walls previously as just taped up printer paper but it got worn slash fell off

[burinazar]

it’s so messed up that I moved into this apartment two years ago and still barely have managed to put anything onto the walls. I think there’s a total of three pieces of hung art. At this point I may be moving soon and I still don’t feel able to do it in terms of like hanging supplies and frames and it feels like if I started now it would just be a waste of time. Every time i register how bare my walls are it feels quite bad

[ineffablefool]

I hope this doesn’t come across as creepy but when I saw the picture of your room I was like “oh! that looks like a nice room.” like I dunno the best way I can describe it is “friend shaped” like if your room was a person I feel like it’d give me a hug and a cup of cocoa and show me a new crochet stitch

I don’t actually find this creepy at all!  I mean, it’s kind of a compliment, because my room is… basically me.  I don’t share it with anyone, and I don’t have a parent around telling me to keep it clean (the most I get is personal platonic Crowley occasionally begging me to please re-clear a path to the trash can so he can take it out on trash day.  right now it’s blocked by a box of photos from ~1996 and a box of all my CDs from the 90s and early oughts).  So it’s just my brain in rectangular-cuboid-filled-with-stuff form. 

For funsies, here’s a quick tour!

(Some of my stuffed animals on an IKEA shelf; the rest are in my closet.  IKEA Expedit with all my Sims 2 discs, a bunch of books, the scanner that I haven’t hooked up in years, a garbage bag spilling out cables to various stuff that we might not even own anymore like old printers, and various other junk.  There is an eye chart on the wall because I practiced with it after my LASIK back in 2017 and have never bothered to take it down.)

(IKEA Fabrikor filled with various things, from hand-painted sculptures of shoggoths to rocks I brought home from various places to a toy unicorn I’ve had since I was smol.  TV tray of knitting stuff, along with empty Klarbrunn can from since before we left for India, but it doesn’t have any sugar, it’s just flavored water, it’s fine.  IKEA desk bar desk, cluttered with All The Things.  See the wads of yellow paper on the desk?  Each is an unfinished Soft Zone™ fic.)

(Other side of desk, and the bookcase of just my personal books and sketchbooks and things; there’s also I think six bookcases elsewhere in the house.  There are things taped to the wall because that way I don’t lose them.  One is my mom’s phone number.  Another is the correct PSI to inflate our bike tires to.  Tall thin thing on right is my +2 Oaken Staff Of Walking.)

(unmade bed surrounded by A) original artwork by a professional artist previously of my acquaintance; B) two of my three favorite prints by Jay Long, because the third (third down, The Owltlet) is still waiting for me to mat and frame it; and C) a poster that says “RADIATION BLUES? DRINK TEA”.  One of the blankets is plaid because of course it is.)

My room would probably hug you and then try to find some cocoa but be unable to locate it.  But you’re pretty spot-on nonetheless.

[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.”