#The toy collection was dusty as hell too. I remember this blue guy from a movie called like tiny soldiers or something

[arthur-morgans-left-testicle]

I am NOT old enough to remember the eighties, but my grandfather had a house that hasn't been touched since 1983, and you're absolutely right, other than the toy collection my uncle left behind, everything was just shades of brown. Halls and halls of nothing but dust and brown

[casual-eumetazoa]

thanks for the prompt @confused-android​ ! oof, took me longer to write this than i thought (or actually it took me like an hour but i postponed it till my exams were almost over). first - the word “enthralled”? i vibe with it. second - this kinda turned into a vaguely brotzly piece with some autism acceptance on the side, hope that’s okay. third… hope you like this! so here goes

———————

The Case of the Stolen Flower Basket (as dubbed, unofficially, by Dirk) started out on a more relaxed note than most of their cases: in a flowershop, with a stolen basket. A basket, mind you, that was stolen in broad daylight from a closed room, under mysterious circumstances.

It also started with Dirk ending up in a flowershop, accidentally, while he was trying to find an ice-cream place. And it wasn’t even a case then, as much as Dirk’s brief but intense obsession with closed room mysteries, but I digress.

Point is, a basket was missing, a basket thief was at large, and the holistic crew of the holistic detective agency found themselves in a huge abandoned storing space, following up on a “lead”. Todd, Dirk and Farah walked the damp bleak corridors, opening any block that seemed suspicious. Most of them did, and most contained a truly bizarre collection of items.

One was filled up entirely with broken IKEA furniture. One was stuffed to the brim with an assortment of left shoes. And, perhaps most unsettling, one consisted of nothing but headless dolls of various shapes and sizes, along with some disfigured plush animals.

-What the hell was this place? – Todd wondered, prying open yet another door.

Behind it was an empty space, containing exactly one chair with exactly one empty jar perched on the edge of its seat.

-The warehouse of a profoundly odd collector. – Dirk proclaimed. – He… had an excess of money, and wanted to collect things, but the normal things people collect like stamps or candy wrappers were too boring for him, so he did this instead.

-Found anything important? – Farah’s voice echoed against the crumbling walls.

-Yes! – Dirk yelled back.

-No. – Todd corrected, then turned back to Dirk. – An eccentric collector then huh? – Evidently, he had decided to entertain Dirk’s guess. – What about this one then?

He pointed at the nearest door and immediately proceeded to kick it down. It was meant to be a slight push, but instead the door caved in completely, slipping off its hinges and crashing against the floor with a deafening metal rumble.

-Sorry! – Todd bit his lip.

He saw Dirk wince and then almost shrivel up at the sound, arms pulled suddenly towards his chest, as if trying to protect himself from the noise.

Noises. Dirk did not do well with them. And Todd knew that all too well.

-Sorry. – He repeated. – I didn’t mean to do… that.

-It’s fine. – Dirk mumbled, trying his best to shake off the feeling and get back into investigative mood. – What’s in it then?

They stepped over the dilapidated door and into the tight storage space. Inside it were a few pieces of old furniture, half a dozen sealed boxes, at least a whole heap of sawdust, and…

-Todd! – Dirk really did try to tone down the enthusiasm, but alas. – Look!

First, Todd noticed Dirk’s flapping arms, and the smile on his face, and felt his own lips stretch into a grin. Only then he turned to check what was in there, and realized that the wall of the storage space was lined up with various musical instruments. Guitars, mostly; electric, acoustic, even toy ones…

-It’s your thing! – Dirk beamed.

-Yeah. – Todd agreed. – It’s my thing.

He approached the wall and picked up one of the guitars.

-It’s expensive. – He declared, and checked the instrument for any signs of wear and tear. – And new. Damn. – He went slowly through the collection. – Well, these aren’t the very top of the chain, but they’re fancier than I used to have.

He took one of the electric guitars – a slick, bright red beauty – and held it gently in his hands. He hadn’t played guitar since he bashed his last one against the wall of the Ridgley building… that happened less than a year prior, and yet it seemed a lifetime away.

-Can we take some? – Dirk asked, then, not waiting for a reply, picked out one of the guitars at random. – They’re no-ones so it doesn’t count as stealing.

-I guess I could take one or two. – Todd agreed. – They’re as good as thrown out at this point. No use for them collecting dust in here.

-Where the hell are you two? – Farah’s voice chimed through the corridor.

-Over here! – Dirk shouted back.

-Ugh. – Todd muttered. – I have to pick now. Wait. Actually… - He looked at the guitar he had in his hands, then the one Dirk was still holding, and smiled with the corner of his mouth. – Those two are good. Let’s go.

-Guys. – Farah nearly avoided a collision with the broken door as she entered the storage space. – You should see this. Now. – She paused. – I think I found a skeleton.

The guitars were then stashed in the corner, and waited patiently for their new owner to crawl on all fours into a basement, poke some human bones with a stick, and emerge – dusty, exhausted, and deeply confused.

*

The evening was slow and peaceful. While Farah was busy making phone calls and trying to arrange for someone to examine, discretely and unofficially, a mysterious unidentified skeleton, Todd and Dirk stayed in Todd’s apartment. Or, rather, at the apartment that used to be Todd’s. He didn’t remember the last time he had a dinner there, and besides, Dirk spent more nights than not in the guest bedroom, so it was really their apartment.

-Do you have any ideas about how the basket connects to the skeleton yet? – Todd asked, placing two cups of tea on the table.

He didn’t have to ask Dirk what he wanted; he knew his (rather narrow) range of food and drink preferences by heart.

-Not a clue. – Dirk admitted, and raised his gaze to the ceiling, staring attentively at some smudge. – I think we should go to Claire’s house.

-Why the owner’s house? – Todd asked.

-Feels relevant. – Dirk shrugged, eyes still focused on the smudge. – Oh. – He turned in his seat suddenly. – The guitars! Can you play for me?

Todd sighed. He anticipated this happening.

-Well, - he said, - I can’t play the electric one cause you need equipment for it and we didn’t steal any, and I haven’t played an acoustic guitar in like two years, but…

-I don’t care if it’s not your best or some equally stupid excuse. – Dirk interrupted him. – You know I’ll be impressed no matter what.

Todd laughed shortly, and nodded. It was true – Dirk was impressed and excited by seemingly everything, from the fluffy blanket assortment at Walmart (he had to touch every. single. one.) to the Sacred Wisdom shared with him by Todd that the number on the package of pasta tells you how long it will take to cook it. Dirk was also somehow oblivious to his own talents, insisting that connecting eleven entirely unrelated pieces of information into a complete narrative was “simple” and “obvious”.

-Fine. – Todd caved in, and got up to fetch the acoustic guitar. – But I probably won’t know the cords of the songs you like.

Considering that Dirk mostly listened to obscure European rock music, 80s pop, and Disney soundtracks, it was hardly surprising.

-Not tuned at all, probably. – Todd, the guitar now in hands, returned to his seat and gave the strings a test stroke. – Yep. – He nodded. – Gimme a few minutes.

He tuned the guitar as best as he could, and tapped his fingers on the table, trying to decide what to play. Dirk had watched him with curiosity and was now sipping his tea, waiting for the music to start. Todd paused, took a deep breath in, and began to play the first song that he was sure he remembered – “Behind Blue Eyes”.

The music flowed; Todd focused on the movement of his fingers, on the vibration of the string, and the metal at his fingertips. He sang the words softly, almost as an afterthought. He had forgotten how good it felt to make music happen. The song was in the air, brought to life by the motion of his hands, and the night was young, and he was lost in the moment. He skipped the electric guitar solo and went straight to the final reprise of the chorus.

Then the music stopped, and silence fell on his shoulders. He kept quiet, not saying anything, waiting for Dirk to react. That is when Todd realized that Dirk wasn’t talking – and Dirk was always talking. He talked over movies, and news on the TV, and shop assistants and, on one memorable occasion, over a talking parrot. It’s not that he was rude - it’s just that his head was so full of words, constantly, that they had to be let out.

But Dirk wasn’t talking now. Now he simply sat in his place, eyes transfixed on Todd’s hands, blinking.

-Are you okay? – Todd asked.

There was a pause.

-Mmm? – Dirk blinked faster and looked up, meeting Todd’s gaze, startled slightly, as if waking up from a pleasant dream. – Yes. Yes of course I’m okay.

-You kinda zoned out a little bit.

-I did?

-Yeah.

-You play really good music. – Dirk smiled softly.

-Thanks. – Todd smiled back.

-It’s nice to not be… attacked by sound for a change. – Dirk added.  – Can you… keep, playing, please?

-Sure. – Todd replied. -I mean, I don’t remember that many songs, and…

He remembered enough songs for a whole mini-at-home concert.

*

It doesn’t end there.

Together, they spend many an evening consumed by music, music brought to life by Todd, for Dirk, specifically for Dirk, and for him only. Todd plays everything – every song he has ever loved, acoustic versions of Mexican Funeral pieces, approximate renditions of whatever is on the radio these days…

Dirk makes requests. Todd googles guitar tabs and practices while Dirk is still asleep, in the ungodly early hours of the morning, sitting on the windowsill of the apartment block while people leave for first shifts at work. He has performed in front of huge crowds, and music journalists, and many girls (and guys…) he was trying to impress – but nothing has ever felt as personal, crucial, tender, as playing for Dirk.

The skeleton is identified, and the stolen basket is discovered. The convoluted twists and turns of the story, which involves a near-extinct flower, a 77-year-old Russian spy and an actual African prince, come to their natural close. The excitement and danger are over, if only for a brief respite, and peace is restored. A new case will arrive soon enough… but until then, they have their tiny apartment, and Todd has his guitars, and music lingers in the air, and Dirk is enthralled with the music, still and speechless in his seat.

They look at each other, and they understand each other precisely, and, for once in his life, Dirk has no words, and needs no words, and wants nothing else but to listen. God knows, his life is never safe or simple, but now Todd is here, and the world is really not that bad, and he is happy.

The Earth continues to spin. New bizarre, perplexing and astonishing things will happen. Songs will be played, and words will be said in time. Maybe, in part at least, because someone ran, and never looked back, and left behind all their belongings, even their very expensive guitars…

Sometimes – most of the times – the Universe wants them to help it. But, on this occasion, it is gracious enough to help them in return.

[reyxa]

can’t we all just get oolong? ch. 2

AO3

title: can’t we just get oolong? author: Reyxa rating: T summary: au where zuko and iroh settle in ba sing se post-banishment. when a pretty water bender start frequenting the jasmine dragon, zuko’s world turns upside down.

note: slightly shorter chapter this time around but the next one will be Beefy so stay tuned!!

Chapter 2: White Tea

Katara has spent the whole morning distractedly tugging on her braid, a little anxious at the notion of returning to the Jasmine Dragon.

It’s less that she thinks it’s dangerous and far more that she’s nervous to see Zuko. She hates more than anything the way he stirs her chest, the way his name is etched across her mind right now.

“Katara!” Aang jolts her from her reverie, calling her name as he emerges from their bathroom. “You wanna go looking for your mom’s necklace today?”

She searches desperately for an excuse. She just can’t take Aang with her to the teashop. She wouldn’t risk it, especially since it seems like those two firebenders had ties to Azula herself. It would be too dangerous touting the Avatar around like that.

And maybe a part of her really just wants to scope out the teashop again by herself.

“We can’t, Aang.” Sokka pipes up before Katara can even begin to form coherent sentences. “I really want to go talk to some more aristocrats and government officials around here. Knock on some doors.” he combs his hair into his wolf tail as he speaks, squinting into the mirror. “Remember that one guy across the street who warned us about the Dai Li after Joo Di left that first day searching for Appa? I’m sure there’s more people around here willing to talk to us and having the Avatar around won’t hurt.”

Toph is toying with her headband, using it to poke between her toes. “I’m with Snoozles. We should really try to get our plans to the Earth King as fast as possible. Then we can get the hell out of this city.”

Katara hops off the couch to refill her waterskins at the basin, trying to hide her relieved expression. “They’re right, Aang. We should focus on finding Appa and figuring out the invasion first. I’m sure my necklace will turn up! It always does.”

Aang nods. “Yeah, I get it. But we’ll find it as soon as we can, okay?”

She smiles reassuringly.

~

Zuko peers into the teashop from behind the counter, counting the amount of customers who need serving. Sure that his uncle can handle it on his own for a while, Zuko slips out the backdoor into the alley.

The alley is empty save for a few abandoned carts collecting dust. The bustle of the main streets can be heard on either side but hardly anyone glances into the dark cove.

The mid-afternoon sun is high and heavy, but Zuko relishes its presence. He draws on its heat, feels it burn through his veins. Breathing deeply, eyes closed in concentration, he slides into a basic stance.

Drawing on his inner fire, he steps and throws a punch down the alley.

He opens one eye, praying for some sort of flame. His fist smolders, prickling with a fire that won’t burst.

He grunts and throws a regular punch at the wall, hardly feeling the skin on his knuckles split against the brick.

The one thing he was born to do and he can’t even do that.

Okay, okay, what would Uncle say right now? he contemplates, holding his mildly bleeding hand against his chest. ‘Zuko, it is not your ability that is wanting but your ability to look within yourself to seek your true abilities.’ he groans internally. That still makes no sense.

Shaking his head, he commits to working through a few more firebending forms, at most producing short erratic sparks. He isn’t sure how much time has passed but sweat is pouring down his temples and drenching his Jasmine Dragon uniform.

He throws in the towel, mounting frustration turning his mind to shreds. Wiping sweat with the corner of his apron, he slides back into the shop.

As much as he wants to rush upstairs and wash the afternoon off himself, his uncle is waiting by the door, tapping his foot expectantly. “What were you up to, nephew?

Zuko sighs. “I was trying to firebend.”

Iroh’s brow lifts in surprise. “Firebending? Any particular reason?”

Bracing himself for another lecture, Zuko stalks over to the teapots, pouring himself a chilled glass. “How many times do I have to explain, Uncle? Azula is on our tails! She’ll be expecting a fight, you know how she is.”

“This again.” Iroh shakes his head. “Prince Zuko, I understand I cannot remove this notion that the Fire Nation is chasing you. I know it is both what you fear and what you desire. But, please, at least do not let my teashop become collateral damage to your ways.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Zuko storms out into the teashop, piling dirty cups angrily.

He feels like he’s teetering on the edge, like his mind is a hurricane thrashing away at his grip on reality. The last time he had felt so tumultuous, he was angry at being stuck here in Ba Sing Se, instead of being allowed by his Uncle to chase the Avatar. All he had wanted was to return home, Avatar in tow. He had been neglectful of his burn wounds, barely caring for his health and lashing out at his uncle who did.

It had taken a long time for that anger to turn to dejection to turn to acceptance of his circumstance.

But the sight of that girl, with eyes bluer than Ember Island oceans and fierce unyielding words spilling past her lips, had made him regress. She’s a curse, he knows it.

But something tells him she’s his answer too.

~

Katara knows breaking into an unsuspecting teashop full of firebenders in the middle of the night may not be her brightest idea yet but it’s too late to turn back.

The streets are emptied save for a few Dai Li posts but she fancies herself a master of stealth as she hugs the shadows. Her shoes are soundless against the stone-paved streets and she keeps half of her water tucked in the palm of her hand.

The gang still hadn’t really figured out what the deal with the Dai Li is quite yet but Katara does know she’d rather not get caught breaking curfew. She had noticed their piercing gazes and Joo Di’s tight smile when any Dai Li were posted nearby. Though the city was a refugee haven, something told Katara they wouldn’t care very much that she was the Avatar’s companion if she were caught breaking the rules.

The sound of feet slipping against stone whispers in her ear, sending her ducking into an alley until her heart stopped pounding in her ears. The patrol of Dai Li, marching in stiff lines to match their stern faces, pass by her hiding spot without glancing her way.

She steals further down the dark alleyway, not particularly sure where in Ba Sing Se she was. Navigation is Sokka’s thing and she’s only been to the Jasmine Dragon once.

Sighing, she heads back down the main street, still lurking in the shadows. Time passes her by but the moon remains high in the sky, lighting her path.

“Hey! You’re breaking curfew!” a voice shouts behind her.

Katara’s spine stiffens, heart pounding wildly. She draws the rest of her water from her water skin, its presence assuring her she would not be the captured one tonight. She pivots on her toes to face the Dai Li voice.

His rocks are poised to handcuff, feet already in an earthbending stance.

But it isn’t her he’s shouting at.

Dirt flies as she throws herself behind a vacant food stall. She counts her heartbeat as the altercation develops to blows.

“I need back up!” The Dai Li soldier shouts. Katara can hear the sounds of struggle but she isn’t sure who was on the other side.

Against her better judgement, she peeks over the dusty wooden table. The Dai Li soldier slides into his bending forms solidly, pushing rock after rock. Clearly trained well, he springs off the wall as he narrowly escapes the deadly end of twin swords.

Twin swords Katara finds a little familiar.

No way.

Scrambling on hands on knees, she crawls closer to the fight. Her head pokes out from the left side. Across the stone-paved street is the Dai Li agent, sweating under his green robes as he ducks under the reach of a broadsword. Two other agents run in from the far side of the street, faces illuminated beneath the street lamps. Between them is the swordwielder, a flurry of motion as he fights off the agents. A mask conceals his features, a taunting blue smile with tusks on each end.

The man hesitates just for a second before throwing one of his swords to pin a soldier against the wall. Katara can’t help but imagine golden eyes staring at her.

She wants to run. Go back home or keep skirting the streets to find the Jasmine Dragon but she feels glued to her spot as the swordwielder takes hit after hit. He remains soundless, even as a boulder to the chest takes him down. His last sword skitters out of reach.

The Dai Li wear triumphant smiles as they wrestle him to his feet to cuff him. The flash of Water Tribe lapis lazuli tied around his wrist winks at her for a second before rock binds his hands together.

Her heart stops, she blinks as if imagining it. Sighing, she rises to her feet, watching a Dai Li agent reach for his mask. I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?

Adrenaline is already filling her veins as her waterskins pop open.

Feet pounding against the pavement, she encases her arms with the water and reaches across the street to the agent. The water stretches, wrapping around his shoulders. Katara flicks her wrist, throwing the man against the wall.

Her water splashes over the masked man and the other agent who takes no time to summon a few boulders.

She skids out of their path, throwing ice shards at the agent. His distraction with her loosens the grip he has on the man in cuffs. She watches the rock encasing crumble away from his wrists as he slams them against the brick wall. Katara can’t help a silent smile as he rushes to grab his swords.

Dai Li agents seem to double in numbers every second that passes. They emerge from the shadows and Katara finds herself fearing arrest. For every single agent she knocks out, two others replace him.

She sweeps her leg, water follows its trail and knocks back several Dai Li agents. A presence at her back sets her spine straight but it’s only the masked stranger standing at her back, swords a swift blur.

Instinct takes over. Her body moves through bending forms on its own volition while overly aware of the potential firebender at her back.

A streetful of Dai Li agents either lying unconscious on the pavement or pinned to several buildings are left when they’re done.

Katara’s panting wildly, her heart pounding out of her chest. So much for a discreet heist.

“Come with me.” the masked man grabs her risk and drags her off before she can bother protesting.

~

Zuko tears off his mask as they duck into the alleyway behind the Jasmine Dragon. He waits for surprise to flicker over the waterbender’s face but it doesn’t come.

She simply looks at him, arms crossed. “I have questions.”

“It seems like you always have questions.” he rolls his eyes, sheathing his swords.

Indignation fills her voice. “Yeah, well you owe me answers! Why do you have my mother’s necklace? You took it from me on purpose, didn’t you? Of course you did, why wouldn’t you stoop so low, firebender? You know—”

He grabs her shoulders, hushing her quietly. “Please, stop. You talk more than my uncle.”

Her blue eyes blaze. “Fine. Say your piece.”

He shakes his head. She really is something. “Fine. I didn’t take your necklace, you left it here.”

“And you decided to comb the streets of Ba Sing Se looking for me?! Why?” she’s straining to keep her voice low.

“Let me talk!” Zuko didn’t exactly have an answer as to why he thought taking the necklace and sneaking out would be a good idea. There was a very slim chance he would run into her or find where she was staying but he had taken the chance anyway. He can’t help but feel a little smug that it worked out. “I needed answers. I needed to know what you know about Azula.”

“I’m still not convinced you’re not working with her. Your uncle is nice enough but you, I don’t know.” she steps away from him, eyeing the necklace dangling from his wrist.

“I’m not working with my sister and I never would!” he chews his lip, eyes flickering over her face. He sighs. “I just want to keep my uncle and his teashop safe from her. If she found out we were in the city…”

Her eyes soften a little and something in Zuko’s chest shifts. He throws the feeling to the back of his mind. There’s no time to analyze that. “I— fine. But I have questions too.”

He nods, feeling the pit in his stomach dissipate. He’ll finally get answers. He can finally find peace.

“Are you two going to keep shouting in the alleyway or will you at least come inside?”

Zuko jumps back at the sound of his uncle’s voice. The waterbender is holding fistfuls of his shirt, equally startled.

Iroh grins at them, still in his pajamas. He gestures for them to follow, humming as he leads them into the teashop.

Zuko and the waterbender girl glance at each other before she yanks back her hands and follows his uncle.

Zuko shakes his head and shuts the door behind them.

[kershellemikeladykiller-blog]

Chapter One

The little blue corvette zoomed across the dusty highway running through my hair and beating against my Ray Bans. With the sun ahead of me, there was absolutely nothing to fear. The ball in the sky flickered orange and yellow, getting smaller and smaller and the little dust tornadoes made by my tires twirled skyward. The stars were just coming out and winked at me. I couldn’t help but smile broadly. Nature agreed with me. It always seemed to mirror the way that I was feeling inside. It was saying what I was still too unsure to say.

I was free. Free! All of it was burning and twirling away and finally teasing what would be. All of it looked good. My smile grew wider as I heard the song that was playing on the radio

I’m only human

Let’s shake free of this gravity of resentment

And fly high, fly high.

My smile turned into giggles and then into fits of laughter. I stood halfway and let out a primal scream. I was free! I couldn’t remember the last time that I felt like this. It was intoxicating and relaxing and…….joyful. It was overwhelming. I continued down the highway that I knew was open to me and me alo-----

SCREEEEEEECCHHHHHHHHHHH!

I slammed on the brakes just in time to stop myself from barrelling through a barricade of police officers lined across the I-15. It was like a scene from a movie. I didn’t even blink all the way and when I looked around again there were guns aiming at my head and multiple people screaming at me. I took a deep breath and let it out through my nose. This was not the time to start panicking. It was the worst possible time to start panicking. And yet, on the inside, I was panicking.

I steeled myself before addressing the gargle of policemen that now surrounded my vehicle.

“What seems to be the problem, officers?” I asked flashing my most debonair smile. They all quieted at once. Some of them started looking at each other in pure confusion. Then they started shouting again. Some of them wanted me to get out of the car, some wanted me to get on the ground, one person wanted to know who I was. It was all really confusing. They all gargled at once like angry mother geese. I calmly stared at them before talking again.

“I’m having a hard time understanding anything you guys are saying. Am I in trouble here?”

They quieted again. I knew what they were thinking. They had gotten the wrong girl. The gun that was closest to my face lowered ever so slightly. There he was.

“Officerrrrrrrrrr Jones, is it?” I said peeking at his badge. He firmed up again and pushed his barrel closer to my face.

“Whoa.” I took a manicured finger and tried to push the thin barrel out of the way. “You can put someone’s eye out with that. Be careful with tha----“

The one was replaced with five or six. They don’t like it when you touch their toys. I let out a low whistle. These boys weren’t playing around. It was time to get serious. I looked blankly at them and they stared intently at me. I couldn’t breathe. I dared not breathe.

Okay, Janelle. Just stay calm. They won’t sweat you if you just stay calm.

We stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity. I heard the screeching of gravel and knew that they had requested more backup. I heard doors slamming and then shouting from the back. Something about incompetence, protocol and hardened criminal. Wait. I knew they could not be referring to me as a hardened criminal.

“Get out of my way! Move you morons!” The sea of uniforms parted and from it emerged a round balding man with a salt and pepper moustache. He couldn’t be more than fifty-five and I guessed from the way that he was barking at everyone, he was their boss. He placed both hands on my car and stared straight into me. I stared back. There were chip flakes in the stache. There was sugar in the stache. There was……hair dye?

“Spinelli,” he called calmly. Out of the side of the formation, came a wispy, middle aged man with grey sideburns.

“S-s-sirr?” replied Spinelli.

“Would you, or any of your men, care to tell me why the perp is still in the vehicle?

Hold up. Perp?!

“Sssiirr?!”

Sir rounded on the man. He got dangerously close to him.

“Do you know me to have a speech impediment, Officer Spinelli?” he hissed at him.

“N-n-n-no, sir,” Spinelli replied. He was absolutely terrified. I was absolutely amused.

“You guys had ONE JOB! ONE JOB! You didn’t even do that right! I asked you to apprehend the suspect….”

“Sir. S-s-she’s…..She…..Are you sure she’s the one, sir?” Spinelli offered.

“ARE YOU INSANE?!” Sir screamed. “Have you completely lost it? I asked you to arrest her over forty minutes ago. Forty minutes!!!! Why in the hell is she still in the car?!!!!”

“We did instruct her to get out and she refused to comp---“

“YOU WERE GIVING HER FREAKIN’ OPTIONS?!” Sir ranted at Spinelli.

All the attention was off me at this point. The real show was being put on by Sir and Spinelli. I rested my head on the door just looking in pure amazement. I could forgive them now. It wasn’t that they didn’t care. It was that they were incompetent. I forgave them there and then. I chuckled. A little too loudly it would seem.

“Is something funny to you, PERP?” Sir spat the last word at me.

I took my shades off and threw them onto the passenger seat before turning my face to him again.

“No, sir,” I replied. “I’m just wondering if someone is going to arrest me eventually. Cause it would seem that that is what you wanted to happen here today.”

“You think you’re so clever,” he said.

“Not at all,” I replied. “In fact, I believe quite the opposite of that about myself now. I must not be very smart to still be here after…” I checked my watch.”……almost an hour.”

He stared at me, bewildered at my gumption. I lapped that right on up. Sometimes, it still surprised me.

Don’t worry, bud. I’m getting used to it too.

“Look, Sir, if you’re going to arrest me, I would suggest that you do so now and stop wasting my time. I have somewhere that I need to be and not enough time to get there,” I stated pointedly.

He squinted at me angrily and beelined for the car.

“Listen to me, you murderer, you criminal,” he hissed at me. “If I decide to book you and house you right here then you will stay right here, zip it and not be able to do a damn thing about it.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Wanna bet?”

“SHUT UP! Shut. Up,” Sir barked. I threw my head back and laughed at his attempt to scare me. Maybe in another time, it would have worked but not today. I just laughed. That sent him over the edge. Suddenly, I felt myself being dragged out of the car and heard Sir screaming in my ear. I felt a familiar searing pain on my cheek then cold metal on top of it.

“Laugh! Laugh now! Isn’t it funny anymore? Laugh now!” Sir continued to scream. I was stunned but by the time I collected myself, I gathered that the game had changed. I felt the cold metal around my wrists and the I felt myself being dragged up. Sir turned me around to face him.

“I swear. I will make your life a living hell. I don’t care if you’re a woman. You are nothing but DIRT in my eyes. YOU HEAR ME? Dirt!” he yelled. I could feel flakes of chips hit the side of my face and as much pain as I was in, it took all the strength that I had to not erupt into laughter. My eyes did water though and he mistakenly took it to mean that I was crying. He smiled satisfied.

“Save those tears for the judge. They ain’t gonna save you now. You disgust me. You are the scum of the earth. I am going to make sure that you rot in jail for the rest of your life. Do you hear me? You are so disgusting. If I could I would get rid of you right here and now, you filthy little----“

“Enough!”

Sir froze in his tracks. The sea of uniforms parted again and this time a tall figure emerged. It was too dark to see his face. His trench coat flapped in the wind dramatically. The figure took two steps toward Sir and Sir stared at him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sir sputtered.

“My job,” the figure stated matter-of-factly.

“This isn’t your jurisdiction! Why are you in my town?!”

The figure turned away from Sir and faced me. He flashed his badge although I couldn’t see the details. The way this person carried themselves just exuded authority. He wasn’t to be trifled with. I could feel him staring intently at me even in the darkness.

“Janelle Carson,” he said carefully. “You are under arrest for the crimes of murder and the sale of illegal substances. You have the right to remain silent. Anything that you say from this point onward……”

But I didn’t hear anything after that. I was just mesmerised by the sound of his voice and baffled by the fact that I was about to be imprisoned again. All over again.

[forbidden-creepypasta]

Check

Skeptic If you're anything like I was, you can read a hundred of these scary stories and not be too disturbed. Spooky dolls mischievously grinning at you? Check. Ancient secrets revealed in some simple ritual? Check. Something from beyond coming for you, now that the author told you about it? Check. Its just words on a page, right? Yeah I used to think that too. In fact, I used to be just like you, enjoying each and every spooky fix and spine shiver that M. Night Shyamalan and Stephen King had to offer. I don't do that anymore, not after last year. It happened completely randomly. I was just off from working a extended shift at a shipping warehouse. I didn't own a car, so I had to rely on either a buddy of mine picking me up or taking the public bus for two hours home. Turns out the management had overestimated the amount of work they had for us, which meant we'd get off early. To everyone else, that was great news. To me, that meant I had to wait for 2 to 3 hours before my buddy could come get me. Either that, or take the bus and get home about half an hour early. I figured it was a wash either way, so I decided to wander around downtown for a while. No sooner than ten minutes of wandering and I find one of those Psychic palm reader studios, or whatever they're called. Remember, back then I didn't believe in any of this nonsense. I was planning on putting down five bucks and letting them bullshit me for twenty minutes. I knew what I doing; or at least I thought I did. Don't get me wrong, up until I actually sat down in front of the psychic, they put on a good show. Darkened rooms, talked in whispers, the whole nine yards. It even had a fairly modern tone to it all. No billowy smoke coming out from under the table or some stupid shit like that. You'll never guess what the psychic said when I finally walked in the room to meet her though. "I can't take your money," her words had a plainness to them, like it was a simple statement of fact. Somewhere, deep in my collective 26 years of experience, I remembered something a buddy told me about old cons. 'The best way to convince someone to give you money is to convince them you don't want it.' Throws off their guard. "Why's that?" I asked, pensively. "You don't believe," she replied. I looked her up and down. No funny wig. No stupid hooped earrings. She was actually somewhat slender too, with dark hair and deep brown eyes. Had I met her anywhere other than here, I might have tried to pick her up. The only couple of things to set the 'tone' of the place were the dim lights and faint incense on the table in the back of the room. After some back and forth, she agreed to explain exactly what she meant. Magic, it seems, is a force of the mind. It has the power to do extraordinary things, but only to those that recognize its power. Things that we called 'faith' and 'paranormal' and all that are really just manifestations of our own inner power. It all boiled down to belief - Only if you actually believe in this mystical universal truth could you be affected by it. Skeptics, like me, were denied the benefits of self realization. She explained that was probably a good thing, as there were many skeptics in the world. "Why?" I asked, casually. "If Magic is as good as you say it is, what's the harm?" I guess I should have seen her answer coming. "Not all magic that can help or hurt someone comes from them," she explained. "You ever have people pray for you? Or wished ill on someone you didn't like? In a church they call it faith. Down south, they call it voodoo. I call it magic. But really, its just the power of the mind making things real." It wasn't a bad line, and I waited on the catch. You know, the part of the con where they ask you for all your money. I must have looked dirt poor, because she didn't ask me for any. Instead, she put a small, tan figurine in my hand. It was very plain, about half the size of my hand, like one of those plastic action figures you'd get at any department store, only slightly smaller. "This will be you," she explained. "If you want to open yourself to magic, all you have to do is wish kind thoughts for this doll. The more you believe your good karma will affect it, the more you will allow yourself to be affected by magic." I got up to leave. Somehow, we had already been there 45 minutes. As I was getting up to go, her face turned more serious and she leaned in, as if telling me a secret. "Just be sure this is what you want," she whispered. "Right now, it is as if there is a door between us, blocking us from seeing each other. The more you open that door, the more you will feel the effects of the divine upon you. And once you open yourself to this great mystery fully, it cannot be undone. You will find yourself more affected by prayers, more susceptible to the paranormal, more in tune with the occult." That last little bit unnerved me a little, but I quickly brushed it aside. I said my goodbye's, stuffed the little voodoo me doll into my pocket, and made my way back to meet my buddy. Naturally, I did what any rational thinking human being would do with a trinket like that; I stuffed it in a sock drawer and completely forgot about it. Most people would expect burying myself in effigy would cause some kind of real trauma, that's how magic works right? The catch though is that I didn't believe in it, so it had no power to do a damn thing. Without the power of the mind to empower it, it was just a poorly made G.I. Joe in my sock drawer. It must have been a couple of months later that I found the thing while quickly getting ready for work. Vaguely remembering the encounter with the cute psychic, I casually decided to put it up on my dresser and wish it a pleasant day. There was no earth shattering crescendo of good luck that followed. To be honest, I don't even remember whether I had a good day or not. But what did happen was that I was making a little game of wishing 'myself' good fortune every morning. For the next couple of months, things really started picking up for me. At first it was little things, like finding money or saying just the right thing at a party. Then it escalated into random good fortune. A friend of a friend hooked me up with a better job. I finally moved into a new apartment, which I came across by accident just before the owner listed it. I even found myself a new girlfriend. Her name was Cindy. Blue eyes, dusty blond hair and a tight ass. Not perfect, but fun to talk to. To be honest, that's where the trouble started, but not for the reasons you'd think. I had bumped into my dresser one day and accidentally knocked the little guy onto the floor. Picking him up, I noticed something odd. It was smiling. Not like Exorcist turned to face me and smile or any stupid shit like that, but I do remember when I got the damn thing that there was no expression at all on it. But now it had a slight grin, like what you would see on a Lego man or something. I counted it off to just not remembering correctly. I put my little effigy back on my dresser, gave it a goodbye kiss on the cheek and went on with my day. That weekend was the night my new-found girlfriend decided it was time to fuck me. Whatever came over Cindy was a little out of the ordinary, even for my standards. It was then, lying there naked and exhausted, that I started putting the pieces together. I had been obliviously engaging in this stupid little morning ritual, and my life had really taken a turn for the better. Hell, I was about to buy a car; a nice one too, if I could manage it. So I decided to put on a little experiment. On my way home, I went to a toy store and bought one of those little matchbox cars. Nothing too fancy, just a plain blue car. I stuck it under my little G.I. Joe and waited. It took about a week. A buddy of mine was down on his luck and needed some cash. He had just lost his job and had to unload his car. Not thinking at all about my little voodoo experiment, I went ahead to check the car out. He opened his garage and I took along look. Blue. And he was practically giving it to me. Had I at least a little good sense, I'd have turned him down and put that little doll back in the sock drawer. But I was on a 'voodoo' high. Driving the car home, I started to think of all the cool shit I was going to 'conjure' for myself. New clothes, nice raise ... hell, even a new girlfriend. Don't get me wrong, Cindy was a nice girl. But if I could have found myself a little plastic Courtney Hansen and red matchbox convertible ... well, you get the picture. So all this good shit was happening to me and I didn't even blink when Cindy broke up with me. She had good reason to; I had been kissing a gorgeous blond in the back room of our favorite hang out. 'Ah, to hell with her', I thought to myself. 'I've got fuckin voodoo, what'd I need her for anyway ....' I didn't get laid that night. Instead, in a drunken haze I had fallen over and ended up with a concussion. After spending the night at the hospital, I came home and crashed on my bed. "You let me down little guy," I joked, glancing over at my dresser. My little good luck effigy was gone. I wasn't hard to guess who took it. I had casually told Cindy about the little 'experiment' I was undergoing. You would think that she would take my house key and smash in my car windows or trash my room or something. Instead she takes my good luck charm. Turns out that was much worse. The next day, I'm standing in the shower, imagining all the terrible things she could do with my action figure, and I'm washing my hair. The water starts to feel especially hot. 'Not unusual', I think to myself. That can happen in an apartment building. Eyes closed, I reach over to turn the handle slightly and turn it down ... and the damn temperature goes up. When that happens to a person, the natural reaction is to yank the thing to cold, hard. As I grabbed the handle again, a searing pain shoots through my hand. Opening my eyes, I saw the handle practically smoking with heat. In the few seconds I had a grip on it, I had yanked the thing all the way to cold, and the damn thing was hot as an iron. So was the water. The only thing I could think to do was ungracefully eject myself from the shower by slamming through the side door. After carefully using an old broom handle to shut off the water, I went and checked my bedroom mirror to inspect the damage. I had 2nd degree burns all over my back and part of the upper side of my right arm. I knew the best thing to do was run it under some cold water; the trouble was finding some. Not trusting the plumbing, I used the water from my kitchen fridge, taping the handle to keep it open and redirecting it to my back by letting it flow down my arms. I must have looked like a complete idiot that morning. Next day, nothing. Other than scalded sores that itch like hell, I had a perfectly normal day. I had bandaged some of the bigger boils to keep myself from popping them. What I wanted to do was stretch my back out against that tree in front of our building and rake them all open, but my good sense knew that doing that would make them worse. God, they sure did itch though. I was coming home from work a day later when my instincts got the better of me and I accidentally popped one of those damn sores just under my arm. I could feel the small amount of fluid seep into my sleeve as I opened the front door to my apartment. I left the window open again. That usually meant mosquitoes. I reached up to pull it shut when I noticed - and felt - something skitter down my upper arm. I hated bugs. I once went an half hour out of my way to kill a housefly that had invaded my room when I was 16. As far as bug hunting goes, I was pretty good. But not noticing this little critter sooner and letting it get all the way to my back had me irked. It must have stopped moving because I couldn't 'sense' where it was anymore. I'd have introduced the whole of my back to the wall, but my recent injury and common sense prevented me from sending the little demon back to whatever bug hell awaited it. Besides, my burned back was too numb to be sure exactly where it was anyway. I felt movement again, this time at the left side of my back. Stripping off my shirt, I made my way into the bathroom and turned my back to the mirror. Strange. I couldn't see it. I could definitely 'feel' it there, but the combination of dim lighting and obscured vision (I was looking behind me at the mirror) made the bugger impossible to find. I was never very flexible, but I figured I could kill the damn thing anyway by simply reaching over and crushing it, regardless of sight. I lashed out with my right hand, my fingers landing squarely where I knew it was. There was a satisfying, ever so slight squish that let me know I'd struck gold. Breathing a sigh of relief, I reached over and flicked the light switch on. I could feel the slight trickle of more fluid on my back; I had accidentally popped another blister. Craning my neck, I used the mirror to find the spot on my left side where I'd smashed the bug. I felt movement again, this time on the right side of my back. But I couldn't SEE anything. Terrified that whatever it was could be under the bandages, I reached both arms over my head and stripped them off. The quick turning motion combined with the bandage tape had popped even more of my blisters. The bigger ones gave way, relief flooding over me as the itching subsided. That relief faded as I looked in the mirror. They weren't crawling on top of my sores, they were crawling out from them. Scores of teeny, tiny arachnids emerging from my open wounds, spreading out in many directions. I abandoned all sense of reason and threw myself at the opposite wall, contorting myself in as many positions as possible to crush the miniature invaders. As I squirmed, I could feel my other blisters break, revealing the insects within. They were all over me, breaking away in multiple directions to evade the certain death of my contorting frame madly arching against the wall. My next instinct was to jump into the shower, crank it to full and wash them off. I reached out for the handle and caught myself. 'Bad idea', I mumbled. A moment of clarity hit me, and I grabbed a washcloth off the basin before turning it on. Testing the water tentatively, I quickly ascertained it safe before jumping in. It was way too cold, but I had been used to short cold showers ever since I had been scalded. I quickly rinsed myself from head to toe and jumped out of the shower, making sure to remove my pants and shoes and scrub them out as well. With the cold water still running, I collapsed into a heap on the shower floor, weeping uncontrollably. I was shaking, both from the freezing cold water and knowledge that what I had just experienced was something very paranormal. When I had regained a bit of composure, I looked around the bathroom to find a complete disaster. Firstly, there was a huge Rorschach blot on the wall of smashed spiders, bodily fluids, and blood. The irony was palpable. Usually you took a Rorschach test to see if you were crazy. In this case, the markings on the wall were the undeniable proof that I was not. There were still loose spiders here and there. As I killed them, I came to a decision ... I had to make peace with Cindy. I knew it wouldn't be easy. I'd have to do a lot of apologizing. I didn't care; I had to get her to stop this stupid shit and leave me alone. I pulled the number off of my address list on my computer and nervously dialed. "Hello?" I heard her familiar voice and calmed my voice. "Hey, its me. Don't hang up," despite my best attempts, my voice was cracking. There was a long pause, then she spoke. "I'm still here," she seemed unusually calm. "I just ... I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am ...." I couldn't keep my composure. "I'm o.k. with it. I mean, I thought you were different; that we had a good thing, you know. But you're not the first guy to fuck around on me. If you're looking for closure or something, don't. I'm fine. I mean, I'm still a little pissed at you ...." Something was off. She started to trail off into some long explanation about moving on and being O.K. with herself, the way men are, and the whole world. Had we still been together, it'd have been a great philosophical discussion. Like I said, she's easy to talk to. But the strange thing was that this didn't sound like some crazy bitch who'd be pissed enough at me to start voddoo cursing crazy shit. No sooner than I realize this than she said something that instantly caught my attention: "...you know I was so mad that day that I stormed off without leaving you a note where your key was. I just left it in your sock drawer with your stupid 'me' doll, or whatever the hell you call it." I stammered, but not because I was broken up about her. "So, you're really O.K. then?" "Yeah. Sweet for you to call though. Believe it or not, I actually feel a bit better. Take care of yourself." "You too," I hung up the phone and dashed into my room. I ripped out the sock drawer and spread the contents on my bed. The little me doll spilled out, face down by my pillow. If Cindy didn't have it, and I didn't have it, who the hell was using it to fuck up my life so much. I turned the little bastard over, and saw that it was smiling even wider. Not a little Lego man smirk either. No casual smile this time. It was a full on, splayed wide, Joker meets Batman grin. Jesus fucking Christ. I could even see its little white teeth, fitting together loosely just the way mine did. I had to get rid of this thing. But how? If I stuffed it in a plastic bag and threw it in the river, would I meet the same fate? How do you dispose of your own voodoo doll? My stomach turned. Maybe that was the whole point of voodoo; the victim is so fucked over by the end of it all that it really doesn't matter what you do with the doll. There was only one person left who had any hope of exorcising this little evil me. I grabbed the cursed thing by the feet and grabbed my car keys. Being careful to lie it face down on the dash, I buckled my seat-belt and drove out into the night, making my way as quickly as possible to that psychic that had started this whole mess. I made a hard right turn on 5th avenue, the kind of jarring twist that spills your coffee in you lap. Little me responded by rolling across my dash, landing sideways in front of my steering wheel, face up. "You think you're REALLY fucking funny, don't you," I yelled at my effigy. The silence of the drive was only broken by the occasional thump of rubber tire against the pavement. "You goddamn Mattel reject. Answer me," I muttered. I looked over to see its eyes - my eyes - turned ever so slightly from its normal, straight ahead gaze. Although it was splayed horizontally out in front of my dashboard and facing the ceiling of the car, it was definitely looking right at me. "Goddamn it you little fucker! Just DIE!" I was just approaching the downtown intersection when I noticed I couldn't stop. My brakes had gone out. "Shit." Luckily for me, I was driving a manual. I started frantically downshifting and letting out the clutch, hoping the car's engine could slow me down enough in time to avoid the oncoming local downtown traffic. Forth gear. The hum of the overextended engine and jolt of the car did nothing to ease my panic. Third gear. Goddamn, those cars were getting close. Second gear. I felt a sense of relief. I may just hit them, but if I can time it o.k. it won't kill me. First gear. I sauntered up to the intersection and let the lack of gas stall the engine. It was flat ground, and I rolled to a stop. I was able to restart the engine, pull over, and find a metered parking spot. Little me had fallen on the floor, so I picked him up and - without looking at him - stuffed him into my pocket. My old work wasn't far from where I was, so I put my jacket on, got out of my car, and made the 10 minute walk there. It took me a while to find the place. I knew where I used to work. I knew it was within walking distance, and yet it still took me a good hour to finally find it. After entering, describing the person I had to talk to and finding a seat, I waited another good hour before she could finally see me. "Cracked the door open a bit I see," she remarked, looking me up and down. I explained to her about the figurine, the turn in luck, the girlfriend, the ex-girlfriend, everything. Some parts she even filled in for me before I could get them out. After it all, I jumped ahead to the thing that was really bothering me ... "What about the doll?" I inquired. "Let it go," she replied. "... the fuck? Seriously. Here there was a little me doll that is wishing all sorts of crazy shit on me, and the best you can give me is, 'let it go'?" She replied calmly, "It's a symbol. That's it. There are no rules to magic, only the ones you create. You think that little figure is you, it is. You let it go and it isn't. You fear it, and it becomes something more. No one wished good or bad karma on you, except yourself. The doll simply manifested the hopes and fears of your own mind. To be perfectly honest, you don't even NEED a doll, you can perform magic without it." So that was it. No stupid rituals. No demons that ate your entrails if you said a bunch of gibberish in the wrong order. No ghosts in the attic, no black eyed kids trying to get into your car. The only shit that could hurt you was the stuff that you conjured in your head. The reality -the real secret- is that the world we know is just one big mindfuck. I took the doll from out of my pocket and looked at it. No expression, no Joker style grin, just a innocent looking piece of plastic. I gave it to her, with my thanks and a big tip - probably more than I should have. But god-dam, I'd nearly died. If I can dream up all that stupid shit and nearly kill myself, there's no telling what an under-tipped psychic could do to me. It's a little more serious than a waitress spitting in your food, you know? I still wish myself well every morning. I try not to dabble in stuff I don't understand, and I sure as hell don't read any of those creepy stories anymore. "There are no rules," the psychic told me, "only the ones you create." Fuck that noise. Because when you're sitting there, spooking yourself with a good Stephen King or Lovecraftian epic, you inevitably catch movement out of the corner of your eye. Or maybe your cat bumped a table in the other room? See, it isn't that the stuff you imagine isn't real, its just that your disbelief is barely strong enough to keep you safe. Spooky dolls mischievously grinning at you? Check. Ancient secrets revealed in some simple ritual? Check. Something from beyond coming for you, now that the author told you about it? Only what you conjure up.

Credit to: Morebrainsplx